The next day, as Suren and the construction team returned to the work site, they were met with devastation.
Shaped stones lay shattered across the clearing. Wooden beams had been reduced to splinters and fine sawdust.
Suren knelt slowly, lifting a handful of broken pebbles in disbelief.
"Wha—what did this?" he whispered, his voice tight with shock.
Za'tan crouched beside one of the splintered supports, running a hand across the ruined wood.
"Closer to a who than a what," he muttered, grim. Then he stood, brushing dust from his palms and turning to the stunned youths behind him. "Doesn't matter. This is just a setback. We rebuild—and I'll speak with the Chief."
The teenagers nodded slowly, but the spark of yesterday's excitement was gone. Their movements were sluggish and heavy, and the fire in their eyes had dulled.
As the workers moved slowly, the ground began to tremble with heavy, rhythmic footsteps.
Heads turned. Through the white leaved trees, a formation of Greste riders approached—massive beasts thudding against the soil, their riders upright and imposing. The moment the teens recognized the elite warriors of their tribe, they dropped their tools and sprinted toward them.
The mood shifted instantly.
Though Kru'an and his squad hung back, speaking only to the few who approached them, Ou'ang rode forward with a wide grin. He dismounted and greeted the workers warmly, even lifting a few stunned teens onto the backs of his warriors' Greste for brief rides.
Za'tan strode over, his brow furrowed. He spoke to Ou'ang in low tones, explaining what had happened earlier—the broken wood, the shattered stones.
Ou'ang nodded, casting a sideways glance toward Kru'an's silent squad, but said nothing. His expression hardened only briefly before he turned his focus back to the workers.
The warriors moved to the edge of the clearing and began their training drills, giving the builders space.
The teens returned to their tasks—but this time, their posture was different. Heads were held higher. Movements quicker. The earlier gloom began to lift, and once again, the sound of hammering, carving, and singing rose into the sky.
They continued like this for several days, the tower rising steadily with each passing hour. From framing the base to laying interior supports and shaping the outer shell, progress became visible—palpable. The camp watched in quiet awe as stone met wood, and the structure began to take form.
Za'tan, took it upon himself to carve intricate artistry into the outer walls, embedding symbols drawn from the tribe's ancestral beliefs—spirals of wind, Greste of enormous size, and stars.
At night, he and Suren worked in silence by torch and starlight, sprawled over parchment and dusty flooring. Together, they mapped constellations onto the ninth-floor ceiling, carefully aligning every point with the real stars above.
The morning the tower was to be completed dawned bright and windless. A stillness hung in the air—as if the plains themselves were holding their breath.
Suren and his crew gathered at the base of the nearly-finished Tower of Astrum Ruin, applying the final layers of resin to the wood and guiding the last stones into place. A sense of nervous pride crackled through the worksite like static.
Then came the horns.
Three short blasts followed by a rising note.
Everyone froze.
Within moments, the crew dropped their tools and began hurrying back toward the camp, dust and whispers trailing behind them.
From the southern horizon, a caravan approached—dozens of beasts and yurt-carts in tow. Their banners flapped in the breeze, each bearing a distinctive sigil:
A weathered spiral-flower at the center, its petals curled inward. Encircling the bloom was a delicate ring shaped like carved bone. At the base of the blossom were three sharp fragments, jagged and pale—reminiscent of teeth or talons.
Suren stepped beside Ti'chan, who had paused at the edge of the work path. Together they watched as In'ang and the senior riders of the tribe mounted their Greste and rode out to meet the visitors.
"Who are they?" Suren asked, eyes fixed on the strange caravan.
Ti'chan, like the others, had started to disperse—some returning to their yurts, others gathering near the communal fire pit, waiting for news.
"They are the Lai," Ti'chan said at last. "A medium-sized tribe from the salt valleys. They pass through every few seasons—known for dried herbs, bone crafts… and salted fish."
By midday, the Lai had entered the Grest camp. They rode large birds like creatures on four legs and long brown hair and lean bodies, their warriors dressed in long veils and layered leather died with orche.
As the tribe welcomed the Lai, Kru'an stood apart from the festivities, arms crossed. His expression remained unreadable, but his gaze lingered—for too long—on the tower and the Lai's chief, a wiry woman named Ka'shala, who was engaged in conversation with In'ang.
Without a word, Kru'an motioned one of his riders over—a sharp-eyed young warrior named Velk'ar, known among the Grest as the best scout in the tribe.
"I want you to pass this scroll to the Lai elders," Kru'an said under his breath. "Tell them the Grest are building a tower—with the help of outlanders. Tell them it's meant to harness Ethos. Tell them it's almost finished
Velk'ar blinked in surprise. "But Chief In'ang hasn't—"
"This is my order," Kru'an cut in, voice sharpened to a blade. "You serve the Second Squad. Move fast. Do not return until you've spoken to their elder. Tell them it's urgent. Tell them danger festers under our roof."
Velk'ar hesitated only a moment longer, then bowed and vanished into the gathering shadows
That evening, torches lined the Grest camp, their flickering light casting long shadows over the packed earth. A great fire blazed at the center, crackling like a living thing.
Meat roasted on spits; platters of dried fruit, spiced root stew, and salted fish—gifts from the Lai—were passed around. The rhythmic pounding of drums echoed across the plains, steady and ancient.
In'ang and Ka'shala sat at the heart of the feast, sharing fermented milk from a horned flask to seal their seasonal trade pact. Even Kru'an, for once, joined the circle of merrymaking, laughing among his warriors, their cups full and their voices loud.
A young Lai boy approached Ka'shala, whispering in her ear. She gave him a small nod, and he vanished back into the crowd.
"So, Chief In'ang," Ka'shala said smoothly, her tone casual as she sipped from her cup, "I noticed a tall structure earlier—during the day. Is your tribe thinking of laying down roots?"
In'ang didn't flinch. "Of course not. Nothing takes root on these plains," he replied. "But some outlanders we saved have insisted on building it. It may benefit our people. So—I let them build."
Ka'shala tilted her head. "And yet, a little bird whispers to me of danger—danger that you bring to your people."
The air around them grew still.
"Trusting outsiders," she said coolly, "is never the right thing to do."
In'ang stared her in the eyes before replying.
"It is not trust, it benefits us as well so why not," He said sternly.
"Oh," she said. "So what are these benefits you keep mentioning?"
Silence.
Tower of Astrum Ruin
As laughter echoed across the camp, Suren barely heard it.
He stood at the edge of the worksite, now draped in starlight, with Tinkwick, Rickon, Ti'chan, and Za'tan at his side.
The final carving had just been set in place atop the ninth floor—a celestial star map etched with charcoal and dusted with silver powder.
His heartbeat quickened. The tower's lines were complete.
He stepped forward slowly, reverently, and placed his palm against the central pole.
His Mark began to glow.
Then—it surged.
Design Synchronization: Complete
[Tower of Astrum Ruin – Constructed]
From the tower that reaches the stars, your understanding deepens.
Function Activated: Astral Purification Array
Time Until Ethos Pool Formation: 00:30:00
Skills Gained:
Astrum Storage – Increases Ethos capacity
Radiant Construction – Create temporary astral constructs
The tower came alive.
A low hum resonated through the stone, like the deep breath of the plains themselves.
Runes sparked across its surface, racing outward in blue light. A spiral of energy surged up its walls, leaping toward the spire above.
"Look!" a child shouted near the edge of camp.
Heads turned. A ripple of astonishment swept through the gathering. The celebration faltered.
The tower pulsed again—brighter, bolder.
Light condensed around its upper levels, streaking upward until it pooled into the ninth floor. The star map flared to life, and the spire gleamed with the sheen of molten glass.
At the substructure where a pool once stood empty small drops of radiant liquid started to fill the bottom streaming from grooves running from the walls.
Then—
The Tower of Astrum Ruin shifts balance.
The demons will seek to reclaim what was lost.
Suren stared at the message. His breath caught.
"Uhmm… guys," he said, turning from the tower's peak toward the camp.
"We've got a problem."
Tinkwick, mid-leap on a spiraling beam of light, paused. "What problem?"
The others turned. Suren simply pointed.
A sound like bone scraping against iron shrieked through the night.
From beyond the firelight's reach, shadows slithered.
Some moved like beasts. Some crawled unnaturally on too many limbs.
Others stood tall—shapes that flickered between forms too warped causing vertigo in all those who saw them.
Their very sight seemed to twist space around them, making it hard to look and harder to breathe.
The warmth in the air drained.
And then, all the world's light seemed to dim.