The sun stood high in the sky, beating down on the dunes with an intensity that would make any ordinary creature cook inside its own skin within minutes.

  For Kaelen, however, the heat was the least of his concerns.

  He was standing exactly where he had sworn he would never set foot again.

  Before him, the mountain of black stone rose against the pale blue sky, just as immense and silent as the first time. But under the daylight, the structure seemed even more oppressive.

  There were no shadows to hide its magnitude; it was simply a colossal, artificial mass that defied the very existence of the desert.

  Kaelen felt the weight of the bone spear in his hand, but it felt like a useless stick in front of those iron gates. He looked back, seeing the small group accompanying him.

  They were restless, their tails stirring the gray sand, amber eyes fixed on the structure with the same terror he was trying to hide.

  "I said I would never come back..." Kaelen murmured to himself, the sound swallowed by the dry wind.

  The day before, he had fled that place feeling as though he had been given a second chance at life. He had felt the racial fear, the prey instinct in the presence of a predator, and he had run until his lungs burned.

  But fate — or rather, the Tribe Chief and the desperate situation of his people — had brought him back in less than twenty-four hours.

  The reason for his return was the smell of burnt flesh that still lingered in his nostrils.

  Soon after he returned from his first visit, the massacre resumed.

  It was happening again.

  A patrol from the local human vanguard had located one of the Obsidian Fang Tribe's outposts. From afar, Kaelen had watched his strongest warriors turn to ashes within seconds.

  They were figures that shone like small suns, unleashing flames and lights so intense that they blinded the Cindralisks before incinerating them.

  For cold-blooded creatures who relied on their scales and the thermal protection of the sand, that ability was the ultimate nightmare. There was no way to repel it; there was no way to fight against something that melted them before they could even thrust a spear.

  When he returned from his visit the night before, bringing the account of his experience inside the black mountain to the settlement, Kaelen had expected an evacuation order.

  He suggested that the tribe flee, that they move their location to the depths of the desert, far from both the humans and that structure.

  But the tribe's Chief, upon hearing about the "Sovereign" and the scale of power Kaelen described, made a decision that bordered on madness.

  "Run where, scout?" the Chief had asked, his voice hoarse with age. "The desert is chaos. If those shining humans hunt us like animals today, tomorrow they will find our new burrows. We no longer have a home."

  The Chief understood that the tribe would disappear within days if they did not find a protector.

  And the only anomaly powerful enough in the desert to possibly repel those figures was precisely the owner of that mountain. To the Elder, it was preferable to submit to an unknown and terrifying entity than to passively wait for extinction at human hands.

  Kaelen objected.

  He argued that the figure on the throne was beyond anything he had ever seen, something that did not belong to that world, and that asking for his help was dangerous.

  But the Chief was unyielding.

  And after another attack that occurred this morning, where more scouts were hunted by squads of humans, there was no other option left.

  This time, it was not just reconnaissance. It was a plea. Kaelen's objective today was complete submission; he was here to offer the loyalty of his people to the Sovereign in exchange for the mere chance of not being erased from existence.

  Kaelen took a deep breath, feeling sweat run beneath the cloth covering his snout. He took the first step, once again feeling like a worm crawling into the mouth of a sleeping monster.

  He stopped before the gigantic gates and, with his heart hammering against his ribs, raised his trembling hand.

  Thump! Thump!

  The sound was muffled, but to Kaelen it sounded like thunder. He closed his eyes for a second, expecting that when he opened them, the small servant with the crooked hat would appear.

  However, the silence persisted.

  The heat of the sun now bounced off the black metal of the gates, creating a mass of hot air that distorted vision, but the interior of the mountain remained sealed.

  "Why aren't they coming out?"

  One of the scouts behind Kaelen asked, his hoarse voice filled with anxiety bordering on panic. "Yesterday... yesterday the little one with the hat appeared almost instantly. Why the silence now?"

  Kaelen remained silent.

  His eyes were fixed on the tiny gap between the gates, searching for any vibration, any sound of gears moving.

  "Maybe you should knock harder." Another commented, gripping his spear so tightly that the joints of his scaled hands turned pale. "Like the first time. Try again, Kaelen!"

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  "..." Kaelen nodded, swallowing and feeling his throat dry. He raised his hand and delivered a series of heavy strikes against the cold iron using his spear.

  Klang! Klang! Klang!

  The impact reverberated through his arm, but he didn't stop.

  "Sovereign!" he shouted, his voice tearing through the oppressive silence of the desert. "We have returned! I ask forgiveness for the intrusion... I know we should not disturb you, but I need to speak with the Sovereign!"

  ...

  ...

  ...

  Silence.

  The Ziggurat remained silent.

  "Are we being ignored?" one of them asked, his voice trembling. "Does he... does he know the humans are coming and doesn't want to get involved?"

  Kaelen clenched his fists.

  The Elder's words echoed in his mind: Do not return without an answer, or you will have no tribe to return to. If that was the only path to avoid extinction, if the fate of hundreds of lives depended on that door opening, he could not afford to keep a warrior's pride.

  Slowly, Kaelen released the bone spear.

  The object fell into the sand with a dull sound. Bending his knees, he felt the heat of the sand burn his scales, but he ignored it, prostrating himself before the gates.

  "SOVEREIGN, PLEASE SAVE US!" The cry came out with all the strength of his lungs, echoing across the gray vastness of the desert.

  Kaelen pressed his forehead into the sand, in a gesture of submission that no Cindralisk would ever willingly make toward another species.

  Behind him, the other scouts exchanged glances.

  The terror on their faces was replaced with grim understanding.

  One by one, they dropped their weapons and imitated Kaelen, kneeling and repeating the plea in unison.

  "SOVEREIGN, PLEASE SAVE US!"

  "SOVEREIGN, PLEASE SAVE US!"

  "SOVEREIGN, PLEASE SAVE US!"

  ...

  Kaelen, head lowered, kept shouting.

  "MY TRIBE IS DYING!" he exclaimed, his voice muffled beneath the cloth over his snout. "The men of metal... they carry the sun in their hands! Our nests are being incinerated, our tunnels are turning into glass tombs! We have nowhere to run, Sovereign!"

  He dug his claws into the sand, feeling his own helplessness.

  "Yesterday you allowed us to leave. You were curious about us. If there is any mercy in this mountain, I beg you... do not let us be erased like smoke! Accept us! Use us! Save my people!"

  Kaelen remained there, unmoving, hoping the honesty of his desperation would work.

  "..."

  The silence that followed was worse than any physical wound.

  Kaelen kept his forehead pressed against the scorching sand, feeling the fine grains slip beneath the cloth covering his snout, but nothing changed.

  The Ziggurat did not tremble, the gates did not groan, and no voice rose to interrupt the wind.

  Minutes passed that felt like hours.

  Kaelen began to feel the muscles in his neck tighten, the pressure of the sun on the top of his head becoming nearly unbearable.

  He opened his eyes, seeing the black base standing in silence.

  Did it not work?

  A bitter frustration began to bubble beneath his fear.

  He had thrown away the pride of his race, kneeling like a domesticated animal before a closed door.

  Kaelen had exposed the plight of his people, begged a stranger for mercy, and the answer was… nothing.

  "Kaelen…" one of the scouts whispered behind him. "Maybe we should return. They won't open."

  Kaelen did not respond. He felt a stab of anger at those words.

  Return?

  He lifted his head slightly, looking at the immensity of the structure.

  'Please...'

  ***

  Mark froze for a moment in the middle of the street, his hand instinctively tightening around the stack of books against his chest.

  Hermos' voice had sounded with unsettling clarity. It was as if the butler were whispering directly into his ear, but the sound seemed to come from somewhere below his chin.

  Mark lowered his gaze to his own chest, where the lump beneath the cloak stirred.

  "Pippin?" he murmured, confusion spreading across his face as he noticed Hermos' voice escaping from Pippin's mouth.

  "It's Lord Hermos, Sovereign!" Pippin quickly explained, his head peeking from the collar of the cloak. "He's using [Bloodline Resonance]. Since he is my superior in the Winged Clan, he can use my body to transmit his will..."

  Mark blinked, stunned.

  He thought Hermos would communicate mentally. He didn't expect it to work like this.

  Well, now wasn't the time to think about that strange ability.

  "He's trying to speak with you right now!" Pippin added, his milky eyes glowing with the connection.

  Mark nodded, sensing that something was wrong. He couldn't have this conversation in the middle of the Bronze District, surrounded by civilians and adventurers.

  Without wasting time, Mark turned on his heel and began walking quickly toward Ivory Haven.

  He crossed the streets with long strides, ignoring the shop windows and the movement around him. As he entered the inn, he passed through the lobby like a blur.

  "Sir Vaelin! You're already back? I was thinking about—"

  Elias, who had been leaning near the counter, smiled when he saw him return and started following him, clearly interested in making conversation.

  However, Mark didn't even turn his head. He waved his hand and went straight upstairs to his room, leaving the receptionist talking to himself in the hallway.

  Upon entering the room, Mark locked the door. He opened his cloak, and Pippin jumped onto the bed with agility.

  The small servant sat down, closed his eyes, and opened his mouth stiffly, as if entering a trance.

  [ "My Lord? Can you hear me?" ]

  Hermos' voice came from Pippin's mouth, maintaining the same polished and respectful cadence as always.

  [ "I hope you slept well during your stay in the city of humans. The climate here in the Ziggurat remains stable, although the absence of your presence makes the corridors somewhat... melancholic. I was just commenting with Karkinos about how—" ]

  "Hermos, get to the point." Mark interrupted, sitting on the edge of the bed.

  "My time is limited."

  [ "!!..." ]

  There was a brief pause on the other side of the bloodline connection.

  [ "My apologies for my rambling, Sovereign." ]

  Hermos' voice resumed, now more serious. [ "Those desert lizards that visited us yesterday... they have returned. They are standing in front of the Ziggurat's gates at this very moment, shouting and causing unnecessary commotion. Shall I give the order for the servants to remove them permanently?" ]

  Mark frowned.

  Those guys again?

  What did the Cindralisks want with him?

  Mark clearly remembered the terror in Kaelen's eyes the day before.

  The lizard leader looked like someone who would rather tear off his own scales than return to that place. What could have made them come back in less than twenty-four hours?

  "They returned so early today..." Mark murmured to himself. "What's the content of the message? What exactly are they shouting?"

  Pippin — or rather, Hermos through him — seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if processing the distant cries coming from outside the black fortress.

  [ "They seem... desperate, my Lord. They are shouting for the Sovereign to 'save' them. It is a rather pathetic sight, if I may say so. As if they were worthy." ]

  Mark fell silent, his mind working quickly.

  Why would low-level desert monsters come asking for help from someone they barely knew?

  In the game, monsters rarely sought asylum; they simply fled or fought to the death when entering the Ziggurat.

  "Save them from what?" Mark asked.

  [ "They mention nests being incinerated and tunnels being destroyed. Their noise is beginning to disturb Lady Carmilla..." ]

  Hermos replied, his tone showing little interest in the lizards' fate.

  "Wait. What's threatening them, Hermos?" Mark caught the implication and asked quickly, preventing Hermos from rambling again.

  [ "Their language is somewhat rudimentary, My Lord..." ] Hermos paused, as if listening to another shout outside. [ "Something about... 'men of metal bringing the sun in their hands'." ]

  Mark froze in place.

  He felt a slight chill run down his spine as Hermos' words echoed in his mind.

  Men of metal?

  Sun in their hands?

  That didn't sound like the behavior of desert monsters.

  Were there humans near the Ziggurat?

  Wait... sun...

  'Don't tell me that...'