REALMS; season one

R‌E‌A‌L‌M‌S‌ SEASON ONE‌

BY NATHANIEL MIRANDA

SEASON ONE CHARACTER LIST WARRIOR CLAN (REDSTONE) JIG – MAIN CHARACTER; STARTS AS A LONE PLAYER AND RISES TO BECOME PRINCE OF THE WARRIORS. RAXOR – LEADER OF THE WARRIOR CLAN; STRATEGIC, RUTHLESS, AND JIG’S MENTOR. QUARTZ ARCHITECT CLAN CELEN – JIG’S BEST FRIEND; INTELLIGENT, LOYAL, AND SKILLED IN BUILDING AND PLANNING. GOLD KING’S CLAN KING MIDAS – THE GOLD KING. LEADER OF ALL. SIR AUREX – A HIGH-RANKING GOLD NOBLE TRIGGERING THE LARGER WAR. EMERALD TRADER CLAN ZYREL – LEADER OF THE EMERALD TRADERS; MAKES SECRET DEALS AND MANIPULATES EVENTS. TARRON – EMERALD TRADER SEEN DURING NEGOTIATIONS. COPPER ENGINEER CLAN FORGEON – LEADER OF THE COPPER ENGINEERS. COPPER ENGINEER TROOPS – ENGINEERS AND SOLDIERS DEFENDING COPPER TERRITORY. AMETHYST PEACEMAKERS VIRELLA – AMETHYST PEACEMAKER LEADER; THE MAN IN THE MIDDLE, MAKES PEACE, TRAILS, LAWS. ALWAYS THE MAN WHO EVERYONE GOES TOO.

SUMMARY

SEASON 1 INTRODUCES A WORLD DIVIDED INTO POWERFUL CLANS, EACH DEFINED BY A MATERIAL AND ITS WAY OF LIFE. THE STORY FOLLOWS JIG, A SKILLED BUT UNAFFILIATED PLAYER WHO IS PULLED INTO THE DISCIPLINED WARRIOR CLAN. AS JIG STRUGGLES TO FIND HIS PLACE, HE FORMS STRONG BONDS, NAVIGATES TENSE ALLIANCES, AND IS FORCED TO MAKE CHOICES THAT TEST HIS LOYALTY AND STRENGTH. POLITICAL DEALS, RISING TENSIONS BETWEEN CLANS, AND THE LOOMING THREAT OF WAR SLOWLY BUILD, SETTING THE STAGE FOR A MUCH LARGER CONFLICT THAT WILL SHAPE THE FUTURE OF THE WORLD.

EPISODE ONE “THE WARRIOR”

THE WORLD WAS ALREADY DIVIDED LONG BEFORE JIG EVER STEPPED INTO IT. STONE PATHS CUT THROUGH FORESTS LIKE SCARS, EACH ONE LEADING TOWARD A DIFFERENT BANNER, A DIFFERENT COLOR, A DIFFERENT WAY OF SURVIVING. EVERY LAND CARRIED THE MARK OF ITS MATERIAL—IRON WALLS RISING COLD AND UNYIELDING, GOLD TOWERS GLEAMING IN THE SUN, COPPER MECHANISMS HUMMING BENEATH THE GROUND. POWER WASN’T EARNED HERE. IT WAS MINED, CRAFTED, AND CLAIMED. JIG HAD NONE OF IT. HE MOVED ALONE THROUGH THE LOW HILLS AT DAWN, CLOAK TORN AT THE EDGES, GEAR MISMATCHED AND WORN. HIS SWORD, BARELY SHARPENED—MORE HABIT THAN WEAPON. NO BANNER FOLLOWED HIM. NO CLAN WATCHED HIS BACK. JUST THE QUIET CRUNCH OF DIRT BENEATH HIS BOOTS AND THE DISTANT GLOW OF TERRITORIES HE WAS NEVER MEANT TO ENTER. UNAFFILIATED PLAYERS DIDN’T LAST LONG. EVERYONE KNEW THAT.

HE’D SURVIVED BY STAYING INVISIBLE—SKIRTING BORDERS, TRADING SCRAPS, FIGHTING ONLY WHEN CORNERED. BUT THE WORLD HAD BEEN TIGHTENING LATELY. PATROLS RAN DEEPER. BORDERS CREPT OUTWARD. NEUTRAL LAND WAS VANISHING. AND JIG HAD FINALLY RUN OUT OF PLACES TO HIDE. THE FIRST SIGN WAS THE RED GLOW ON THE HORIZON. NOT FIRE. NOT LAVA. REDSTONE. IT PULSED FAINTLY IN THE DISTANCE, LIKE A HEARTBEAT EMBEDDED IN THE LAND ITSELF. TOWERS ROSE FROM THE HILLS AHEAD, LACED WITH WIRING AND PLATES THAT CLICKED AND SHIFTED EVEN FROM AFAR. TRAPS. SENSORS. DEFENSE SYSTEMS THAT DIDN’T SLEEP. THE WARRIOR CLAN. JIG SLOWED HIS PACE, INSTINCTS SCREAMING. EVERYONE KNEW THEIR REPUTATION. DISCIPLINE. PRECISION. EXPLOSIVE FORCE WHEN PROVOKED. REDSTONE WASN’T JUST A MATERIAL TO THEM—IT WAS PHILOSOPHY. EVERYTHING CONNECTED. EVERYTHING TRIGGERED SOMETHING ELSE. YOU DIDN’T WANDER INTO WARRIOR TERRITORY

BY ACCIDENT. BUT HUNGER HAD A WAY OF FORCING BAD DECISIONS.

BY MIDDAY, JIG WAS INSIDE THEIR LAND.

THE AIR FELT DIFFERENT HERE—TIGHT, ALERT. PRESSURE PLATES HID BENEATH MOSS. THIN WIRES GLINTED BETWEEN TREES IF YOU KNEW HOW TO LOOK. HE ADJUSTED HIS STEPS, CAREFUL NOT TO RUSH, CAREFUL NOT TO LOOK LIKE PREY. IT DIDN’T MATTER. A CLICK ECHOED BENEATH HIS BOOT. HE FROZE. THE WORLD EXPLODED SIDEWAYS. A REDSTONE CHARGE DETONATED JUST FEET AWAY, THROWING DIRT AND SMOKE INTO THE AIR. JIG ROLLED INSTINCTIVELY, SWORD OUT, HEART POUNDING. BEFORE HE COULD RECOVER, HE FELT IT—COLD METAL PRESSED TO THE BACK OF HIS NECK. “DON’T MOVE.” THE VOICE WAS CALM. TRAINED. UNAFRAID. MORE FOOTSTEPS SURROUNDED HIM. HE COUNTED AT LEAST FOUR. PROBABLY MORE HIDDEN. JIG SLOWLY RAISED HIS HANDS. “I’M NOT HERE TO STEAL,” HE SAID. “JUST PASSING THROUGH.” A SHARP LAUGH CAME FROM SOMEWHERE BEHIND HIM. “NO ONE PASSES THROUGH HERE.” THEY DRAGGED HIM TO HIS FEET AND MARCHED HIM TOWARD THE NEAREST OUTPOST. THE STRUCTURE WAS PURE WARRIOR DESIGN— FUNCTIONAL, BRUTAL, ALIVE WITH MOTION. PISTONS SLID, LEVERS SHIFTED, REDSTONE LAMPS FLARED AND DIMMED AS HE PASSED. EVERY EYE FOLLOWED HIM. AT THE CENTER STOOD RAXOR.

HE DIDN’T WEAR A CROWN. HE DIDN’T NEED ONE. RAXOR’S ARMOR WAS LAYERED REDSTONEINFUSED PLATE, ETCHED WITH MARKS OF OLD BATTLES. HIS PRESENCE ALONE COMMANDED SILENCE. WHEN HE TURNED, JIG FELT LIKE HE WAS BEING MEASURED—NOT AS A THREAT, BUT AS A VARIABLE. “NAME,” RAXOR SAID. “JIG.” “NO CLAN?” “NO.” THAT EARNED A FEW MURMURS. RAXOR STUDIED HIM FOR A LONG MOMENT. “YOU CROSSED THREE PERIMETER TRAPS WITHOUT TRIGGERING THEM.” “DIDN’T MEAN TO TRIGGER THE FOURTH,” JIG REPLIED. A GHOST OF A SMILE TOUCHED RAXOR’S MOUTH— GONE AS QUICKLY AS IT APPEARED. “SKILL KEEPS YOU ALIVE,” RAXOR SAID. “BUT INSTINCT DECIDES WHETHER YOU’RE USEFUL.” HE GESTURED TOWARD THE TRAINING GROUNDS. “FIGHT.” THEY DIDN’T GIVE JIG TIME TO ARGUE. A WARRIOR STEPPED FORWARD—BIGGER, BETTER EQUIPPED, CONFIDENT. THE CROWD LEANED IN. THIS WASN’T PUNISHMENT. THIS WAS EVALUATION. THE DUEL BEGAN FAST. THE WARRIOR STRUCK HARD, TESTING STRENGTH. JIG BARELY BLOCKED, RETREATING, READING MOVEMENT, WAITING. HE WASN’T STRONGER. HE KNEW THAT. BUT HE WAS FASTER. SMARTER. HE ADAPTED MID-FIGHT, USING TERRAIN, TIMING, AND MISDIRECTION.

REDSTONE TRAPS ACTIVATED AROUND THEM— CONTROLLED CHAOS. JIG USED IT. A FINAL MOVE. A DISARM. HIS BLADE STOPPED INCHES FROM THE WARRIOR’S THROAT. SILENCE. RAXOR STEPPED FORWARD. “WHY DIDN’T YOU FINISH IT?” JIG LOWERED HIS SWORD. “DIDN’T NEED TO.” RAXOR’S EYES NARROWED—NOT IN ANGER, BUT INTEREST. THAT NIGHT, JIG SAT ALONE NEAR THE EDGE OF THE CAMP, STARING AT REDSTONE LINES GLOWING FAINTLY IN THE DIRT. FOR THE FIRST TIME IN A LONG WHILE, HE WASN’T BEING CHASED. RAXOR APPROACHED QUIETLY. “YOU DON’T BELONG TO ANY CLAN,” HE SAID. “BUT YOU FIGHT LIKE SOMEONE WHO UNDERSTANDS WAR.” JIG DIDN’T LOOK UP. “I JUST UNDERSTAND SURVIVAL.” RAXOR NODDED ONCE. “SURVIVAL IS WHERE ALL WARRIORS BEGIN.” HE EXTENDED A HAND. “STAY. LEARN. PROVE YOURSELF.” THE REDSTONE PULSED BRIGHTER. JIG TOOK THE HAND. AND WITHOUT REALIZING IT, HE STEPPED ONTO A PATH THAT WOULD SET THE WORLD ON FIRE.

THE WARRIOR CAMP DIDN’T SLEEP. REDSTONE VEINS PULSED BENEATH THE GROUND LIKE LIVING ARTERIES, LIGHTING THE NIGHT IN SLOW, RHYTHMIC FLASHES. PISTONS SHIFTED. DOORS SEALED AND UNSEALED. SOMEWHERE IN THE DISTANCE, STEEL MET STEEL IN LATE-NIGHT DRILLS. EVERYTHING MOVED WITH PURPOSE. JIG SAT NEAR THE EDGE OF THE CAMP, BOOTS RESTING AGAINST A WARM STONE, WATCHING THE GLOW REFLECT OFF HIS BLADE. HE COULD FEEL EYES ON HIM—CURIOUS, SUSPICIOUS, MEASURING. OUTSIDERS DIDN’T SIT THIS CLOSE TO THE HEART OF WARRIOR TERRITORY. HE SMIRKED FAINTLY. GUESS I MADE AN IMPRESSION. A WARRIOR PASSED BY AND MUTTERED, “DON’T GET COMFORTABLE.” JIG DIDN’T LOOK UP. “WASN’T PLANNING ON REDECORATING.” THE MAN SCOFFED AND WALKED ON. JIG EXHALED SLOWLY. THE BRAVADO CAME EASY— IT ALWAYS HAD. BUT UNDERNEATH IT, HIS CHEST STILL FELT TIGHT. ONE WRONG MOVE EARLIER AND HE’D BE FACE-DOWN IN THE DIRT. OR WORSE. HE FLEXED HIS HAND, REMEMBERING THE MOMENT HIS BLADE STOPPED SHORT OF THE WARRIOR’S THROAT. DIDN’T NEED TO FINISH IT, HE’D SAID. TRUTH WAS—HE COULD HAVE. AND THAT SCARED HIM MORE THAN THE FIGHT ITSELF. BOOTSTEPS APPROACHED AGAIN. HE DIDN’T BOTHER TURNING THIS TIME. “YOU FIGHT LIKE SOMEONE WHO THINKS THREE MOVES AHEAD,” RAXOR SAID FROM BEHIND HIM. “BUT YOU HESITATE LIKE SOMEONE WHO REMEMBERS CONSEQUENCES.”

JIG GLANCED BACK, EYEBROW RAISED. “DIDN’T KNOW HESITATION WAS A CRIME.” “IT IS,” RAXOR REPLIED. “FOR COWARDS.” JIG STOOD, MEETING THE LEADER EYE TO EYE. “GOOD THING I’M NOT ONE.” A FEW NEARBY WARRIORS STIFFENED. RAXOR STUDIED HIM, THEN GAVE A SHORT, SHARP LAUGH. “YOU’VE GOT NERVE.” “HAD TO DEVELOP IT,” JIG SAID. “DIDN’T HAVE A CLAN WATCHING MY BACK.” SILENCE LINGERED BETWEEN THEM—HEAVY, DELIBERATE. “YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS TO UNAFFILIATED FIGHTERS WHO WANDER INTO OUR LAND,” RAXOR SAID. JIG SHRUGGED. “THEY USUALLY DON’T WALK OUT.” RAXOR’S GAZE SHARPENED. “THEN WHY DID YOU?” JIG DIDN’T ANSWER RIGHT AWAY. HE LOOKED PAST THE CAMP, TOWARD THE DARK LAND BEYOND THE BORDERS. TOWARD PLACES THAT HAD CHEWED HIM UP AND SPAT HIM BACK OUT. “BECAUSE RUNNING GETS OLD,” HE SAID FINALLY. “AND HIDING DOESN’T CHANGE ANYTHING.” RAXOR NODDED SLOWLY. “WARRIORS DON’T RUN.” “NEITHER DO I.” THAT EARNED A FEW MURMURS—AND A SPARK OF APPROVAL.

THE NEXT MORNING CAME FAST. JIG WAS THROWN STRAIGHT INTO TRAINING. NO CEREMONY. NO WELCOME. JUST STEEL, SWEAT, AND REDSTONE. HE SPARRED AGAINST TWO WARRIORS AT ONCE— LOST. ADJUSTED. LOST AGAIN. THEN STARTED WINNING. HIS COCKINESS SHOWED IN FLASHES—A GRIN MID-FIGHT, A RISKY FEINT—BUT IT WAS ALWAYS BACKED BY AWARENESS. HE WATCHED PATTERNS. LEARNED RHYTHMS. BROKE EXPECTATIONS. DURING ONE DRILL, A REDSTONE TRAP ACTIVATED TOO EARLY. JIG REACTED WITHOUT THINKING. HE GRABBED THE NEAREST WARRIOR AND ROLLED THEM BOTH OUT OF THE BLAST RADIUS JUST AS THE DEVICE DETONATED. DUST FILLED THE AIR. WHEN IT CLEARED, JIG WAS ON HIS BACK, LAUGHING UNDER HIS BREATH. “GUESS THAT ONE WAS ON ME,” HE SAID. THE WARRIOR HE’D SAVED STARED AT HIM. “YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO DO THAT.” JIG WIPED DIRT FROM HIS FACE. “YEAH,” HE SAID. “I KNOW.” RAXOR WATCHED EVERYTHING.

BY SUNSET, THE DECISION WAS MADE. THE WARRIOR CLAN GATHERED NEAR THE CENTRAL PLATFORM, REDSTONE TORCHES FLARING BRIGHTER THAN USUAL. RAXOR STEPPED FORWARD, VOICE CARRYING ACROSS THE CAMP. “THIS WORLD IS BUILT ON MATERIALS,” HE SAID. “BUT IT IS RULED BY THOSE WILLING TO FIGHT FOR MORE THAN SURVIVAL.” HIS EYES LOCKED ON JIG. “THIS ONE WALKED IN ALONE. HE FOUGHT WITH INTELLIGENCE. HE SHOWED RESTRAINT. AND WHEN CHAOS STRUCK, HE CHOSE ACTION.” RAXOR EXTENDED HIS HAND AGAIN. “JIG. JOIN THE WARRIOR CLAN. NOT AS PROPERTY. NOT AS A WEAPON.” JIG STEPPED FORWARD, HEART POUNDING—THEN SMIRKED. “SO WHAT,” HE SAID, “JUST LIKE THAT?” RAXOR’S LIPS CURLED SLIGHTLY. “NO.” HE LEANED CLOSER. “YOU’LL EARN IT. EVERY DAY.” JIG CLASPED HIS FOREARM. “WOULDN’T HAVE IT ANY OTHER WAY.” THE REDSTONE BENEATH THEIR FEET FLARED. SOMEWHERE DEEP IN THE MECHANISMS BELOW, GEARS TURNED. A NEW WARRIOR HAD ENTERED THE SYSTEM. AND THE WORLD HAD JUST GAINED A VARIABLE IT WASN’T READY FOR.

END

EPISODE TWO “A NOBLE DEATH”

GOLD DID NOT RUST. IT GLEAMED EVEN IN SHADOW—POLISHED ARMOR REFLECTING TORCHLIGHT, BANNERS WOVEN WITH THREADS THAT SHIMMERED LIKE SUNLIGHT TRAPPED IN SILK. THE GOLD CLAN RULED THROUGH PRESENCE ALONE. THEY DIDN’T NEED TRAPS OR MACHINES. THEIR WEALTH WAS THEIR POWER. AND TONIGHT, ONE OF THEIR NOBLES WAS BORED. SIR AUREX LEANED AGAINST THE STONE BALCONY OF A FRONTIER OUTPOST, SWIRLING WINE IN A GOLDEN GOBLET. BELOW HIM, GOLD SOLDIERS LAUGHED, ATE, AND BRAGGED ABOUT BATTLES THEY BARELY REMEMBERED. “PATHETIC,” AUREX MUTTERED. “ALL THIS LAND, AND NOTHING WORTH CONQUERING.” THAT WAS WHEN THE TORCHES FLICKERED. NOT OUT. JUST… OFF-BEAT. AUREX FROWNED. HE SET THE GOBLET DOWN. THEN HE HEARD IT. FOOTSTEPS. MEASURED. CONTROLLED. TOO QUIET.

AUREX TURNED JUST AS A BLADE FLASHED. STEEL MET GOLD. JIG SLID BACK A STEP, BOOTS SCRAPING STONE. HIS HOOD FELL BACK, EYES SHARP AND ALERT. HE’D TRACKED AUREX FOR TWO DAYS. WATCHED HIS HABITS. LEARNED HIS ARROGANCE. MOVES LIKE A PEACOCK, JIG THOUGHT. FIGHTS LIKE ONE TOO. “YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE,” AUREX SNEERED, DRAWING HIS SWORD. “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO I AM?” JIG TILTED HIS HEAD. “YOU TALK TOO MUCH FOR SOMEONE ABOUT TO BLEED.” THE DUEL WAS FAST. AUREX FOUGHT WITH CONFIDENCE—CLEAN SWINGS, PRACTICED FOOTWORK—BUT HE UNDERESTIMATED THE HUNGER IN JIG’S MOVEMENTS. JIG FOUGHT LIKE SOMEONE WHO’D HAD TO SURVIVE WITHOUT BANNERS OR BACKUP. THEIR BLADES LOCKED. JIG LEANED IN. “WALK AWAY.” AUREX LAUGHED. “FROM YOU?” THAT WAS THE MISTAKE. JIG TWISTED, DISARMED HIM, AND IN ONE BRUTAL MOTION DROVE HIS BLADE FORWARD. SILENCE FOLLOWED. AUREX COLLAPSED, GOLD ARMOR CLATTERING AGAINST STONE. JIG STOOD FROZEN FOR HALF A SECOND, BREATHING HARD. THEN REALITY HIT. HE STEPPED BACK, STARING AT THE BODY. A NOBLE. NOT A SOLDIER. NOT A SCOUT. A GOLD NOBLE. “DAMN IT…” JIG WHISPERED.

BY DAWN, THE WORLD WAS ALREADY SHIFTING.

FAR FROM THE BATTLEFIELD, EMERALD LIGHT FLICKERED INSIDE A HIDDEN TRADING HALL. ZYREL, LEADER OF THE EMERALD TRADER CLAN, LISTENED AS A SCOUT WHISPERED THE NEWS. “A GOLD NOBLE. DEAD. KILLED BY A WARRIOR.” ZYREL SMILED SLOWLY. “OR SOMEONE WEARING THEIR COLORS.” HE LEANED BACK. “INTERESTING.” ACROSS THE WORLD, IN A HALL OF PURE GOLD, A THRONE SAT EMPTY—ITS OWNER STANDING BEFORE A WINDOW OVERLOOKING ENDLESS TERRITORY. THE GOLD KING SAID NOTHING AS THE REPORT WAS DELIVERED. HIS FINGERS TIGHTENED ON THE RAILING. “SO,” HE MURMURED, “THE WARRIORS HAVE CHOSEN FIRE.” JIG RETURNED BEFORE NIGHTFALL. RAXOR WAS ALREADY WAITING. “YOU KILLED HIM,” RAXOR SAID FLATLY. JIG DIDN’T DENY IT. “HE WOULDN’T STAND DOWN.” RAXOR STUDIED HIM, EYES UNREADABLE. “YOU DIDN’T JUST KILL A MAN. YOU CRACKED A CROWN.” THE WEIGHT OF IT SETTLED IN JIG’S CHEST.

“THIS WASN’T PART OF ANY PLAN,” JIG SAID. RAXOR STEPPED CLOSER. “NO. BUT NOW IT IS THE PLAN.” AROUND THEM, WARRIORS WHISPERED. SOME IMPRESSED. SOME AFRAID. RAXOR TURNED TO THE CLAN. “GOLD WILL RESPOND. NOT TODAY. NOT TOMORROW.” HE LOOKED BACK AT JIG. “BUT THEY WILL RESPOND.” JIG CLENCHED HIS JAW. “THEN I’LL BE READY.” RAXOR NODDED ONCE. “SEE THAT YOU ARE.” THAT NIGHT, JIG SAT AWAY FROM THE CAMPFIRE, SHARPENING HIS BLADE. FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE JOINING THE WARRIORS, HIS COCKINESS FADED. FOOTSTEPS APPROACHED—LIGHTER THIS TIME. “STILL ALIVE,” A FAMILIAR VOICE SAID. JIG LOOKED UP. CELEN STOOD THERE, QUARTZ CLOAK CATCHING THE FIRELIGHT, EYES THOUGHTFUL AS EVER. “DIDN’T EXPECT TO SEE YOU HERE,” JIG SAID. CELEN SMILED FAINTLY. “DIDN’T EXPECT YOU TO START A WAR.” THEY SAT IN SILENCE. FINALLY, CELEN SPOKE. “WHATEVER YOU JUST SET IN MOTION… IT’S BIGGER THAN YOU.” JIG STARED AT THE BLADE IN HIS HANDS. “YEAH,” HE SAID QUIETLY. “I KNOW.” THE WORLD HAD TAKEN NOTICE. AND JIG HAD JUST CROSSED A LINE THAT COULDN’T BE UNCROSSED.

END

EPISODE THREE “DEAL IS A DEAL”

JIG STOPPED SLEEPING. NOT FULLY, ANYWAY. HE WOULD CLOSE HIS EYES, DRIFT FOR A FEW MINUTES, THEN SNAP AWAKE AT THE SMALLEST SOUND—THE CLICK OF REDSTONE, A FOOTSTEP THAT DIDN’T BELONG, THE WIND BRUSHING TOO HARD AGAINST CANVAS. EVERY SHADOW LOOKED LIKE A BLADE WAITING TO BE DRAWN. GOLD DIDN’T FORGIVE. GOLD COLLECTED. HE SAT UP IN HIS QUARTERS, STARING AT THE CEILING, REPLAYING THE MOMENT OVER AND OVER. THE RESISTANCE OF ARMOR. THE SOUND AUREX MADE WHEN HE FELL. THE WAY THE WORLD SEEMED TO PAUSE FOR HALF A HEARTBEAT AFTERWARD. I DIDN’T HESITATE, JIG TOLD HIMSELF. THAT DIDN’T MAKE IT EASIER.

TRAINING BECAME SHARPER. WARRIORS WATCHED HIM DIFFERENTLY NOW—NOT JUST AS THE NEW FIGHTER, BUT AS THE ONE WHO’D STRUCK FIRST BLOOD AGAINST THE GOLD CLAN. SOME RESPECTED HIM. OTHERS FEARED THE ATTENTION HE BROUGHT. DURING A SPARRING MATCH, A WARRIOR LUNGED TOO HARD. JIG COUNTERED AND STOPPED HIS BLADE AN INCH FROM THE MAN’S THROAT. THE CAMP WENT SILENT. JIG LOWERED THE SWORD. “YOU’RE OPEN WHEN YOU OVERCOMMIT.” THE WARRIOR NODDED, SHAKEN. RAXOR SAID NOTHING, BUT HIS EYES LINGERED ON JIG LONG AFTER THE MATCH ENDED. THAT NIGHT, RAXOR FINALLY SPOKE. “YOU’RE THINKING LIKE PREY,” HE SAID. JIG GLANCED UP. “I’M THINKING LIKE SOMEONE WHO KNOWS WHAT’S COMING.” “GOOD,” RAXOR REPLIED. “THEN YOU KNOW STRENGTH ALONE WON’T SAVE YOU.” JIG ALREADY KNEW THE ANSWER FORMING IN HIS HEAD. “I NEED LEVERAGE.”

THE EMERALD TRADER TERRITORY DIDN’T LOOK LIKE A BATTLEFIELD. IT LOOKED LIKE OPPORTUNITY. MARKET LIGHTS GLOWED GREEN AGAINST STONE WALLS. VOICES OVERLAPPED IN DOZENS OF QUIET NEGOTIATIONS. EVERY SMILE HID A CALCULATION. ZYREL WELCOMED JIG PERSONALLY. “PRINCE OF THE WARRIORS,” ZYREL SAID SMOOTHLY, THOUGH JIG WASN’T ONE—YET. “TO WHAT DO I OWE THE RISK OF HOSTING YOU?” JIG DIDN’T SIT. “PROTECTION.” ZYREL RAISED AN EYEBROW. “FROM GOLD?” JIG MET HIS GAZE. “FROM EVERYONE.” THAT EARNED A GENUINE CHUCKLE. THEY TALKED NUMBERS. ROUTES. SUPPLIES. ZYREL LEANED FORWARD. “POTIONS AREN’T CHEAP. NEITHER IS LOYALTY.” JIG SLID A SMALL POUCH ACROSS THE TABLE. INSIDE: RARE REDSTONE COMPONENTS AND COORDINATES TO WARRIOR OUTPOSTS. ZYREL’S SMILE SHARPENED. “YOU’RE PLAYING A DANGEROUS GAME.” JIG STOOD. “THAT’S WHY I NEED INSURANCE.” A DEAL WAS STRUCK. EMERALD POTIONS. REINFORCED GEAR. QUIET SUPPORT. NO BANNERS. NO PROMISES. JUST SURVIVAL. AS JIG LEFT, ZYREL WATCHED HIM GO. “HE’LL EITHER RULE,” ZYREL MURMURED, “OR DIE SPECTACULARLY.”

BACK AT CAMP, CELEN FOUND JIG REINFORCING HIS ARMOR LATE INTO THE NIGHT. “YOU’RE OVERBUILDING,” CELEN SAID. JIG DIDN’T LOOK UP. “GOLD DOESN’T CARE ABOUT EFFICIENCY.” CELEN STUDIED HIM. “YOU’RE AFRAID.” THAT GOT JIG’S ATTENTION. HE EXHALED SLOWLY. “I’M AWARE.” CELEN SAT BESIDE HIM. “THEN DON’T FACE IT ALONE.” FOR A MOMENT, JIG ALMOST LAUGHED IT OFF. ALMOST. INSTEAD, HE NODDED. ELSEWHERE… IN A CHAMBER LINED WITH GOLD AND FIRELIGHT, THE KING LISTENED AS HIS ADVISORS ARGUED. “A WARRIOR KILLED A NOBLE.” “AN UNAFFILIATED ONE TURNED WARRIOR.” THE KING RAISED A HAND. “NOT YET,” HE SAID CALMLY. “LET THE WORLD TIGHTEN AROUND HIM FIRST.” HIS EYES GLEAMED. “THEN WE STRIKE.” JIG RETURNED TO HIS QUARTERS THAT NIGHT STOCKED WITH POTIONS, GEAR, AND PLANS. BUT NO MATTER HOW PREPARED HE FELT— THE FEELING FOLLOWED HIM. THE SENSE THAT HE’D STEPPED ONTO A PATH WHERE SURVIVAL MEANT BECOMING SOMETHING DARKER. AND THERE WAS NO TURNING BACK.

END

EPISODE FOUR “QUARTZ” QUARTZ TERRITORY FELT DIFFERENT THE MOMENT JIG CROSSED ITS BORDERS. THE GROUND WAS CLEANER. STRAIGHTER. PATHS WERE CARVED WITH INTENTION, NOT NECESSITY. TOWERS OF WHITE STONE ROSE LIKE UNFINISHED THOUGHTS, SHARP EDGES CATCHING THE LIGHT OF THE SKY. EVERYTHING HERE WAS DESIGNED— MEASURED, BALANCED, PLANNED. IT WAS THE OPPOSITE OF THE WARRIOR CAMP. JIG ROLLED HIS SHOULDERS, SCANNING ROOFTOPS OUT OF HABIT. “IF YOU’RE WATCHING,” HE MUTTERED, “YOU MIGHT AS WELL COME DOWN.” A PAUSE. THEN A FAMILIAR VOICE ECHOED FROM ABOVE. “STILL PARANOID.” A FIGURE DROPPED LIGHTLY FROM A LEDGE, BOOTS TOUCHING STONE WITHOUT A SOUND. CELEN STRAIGHTENED, QUARTZ CLOAK SETTLING AROUND HIS SHOULDERS, EYES CALM AND CALCULATING IN THE WAY JIG REMEMBERED TOO WELL. “STILL JUDGING FROM HIGH PLACES?” JIG SMIRKED. “SOMEONE HAS TO,” CELEN REPLIED. “YOU NEVER LOOK UP.” THEY STOOD THERE FOR A MOMENT, JUST STARING —MEASURING HOW MUCH THE OTHER HAD CHANGED. “YOU LOOK HEAVIER,” CELEN SAID FINALLY. “ARMOR,” JIG REPLIED. “AND PROBLEMS.”

CELEN LED HIM THROUGH THE CITY. JIG NOTICED EVERYTHING: THE REINFORCED ARCHES, THE ANGLED WALLS MEANT TO DEFLECT EXPLOSIONS, THE HIDDEN REDSTONE DAMPENERS EMBEDDED INTO THE QUARTZ. THIS PLACE WASN’T BUILT FOR WAR—BUT IT WAS BUILT TO SURVIVE ONE. “YOU ALWAYS DID THINK AHEAD,” JIG SAID. “SOMEONE HAD TO PLAN WHILE YOU SWUNG A SWORD,” CELEN REPLIED. THEY STOPPED AT A BALCONY OVERLOOKING THE LOWER DISTRICT. BUILDERS MOVED IN COORDINATED LINES BELOW, RAISING WALLS WITHOUT A SINGLE SHOUTED COMMAND. “YOU COULD STAY,” CELEN SAID QUIETLY. “QUARTZ DOESN’T CARE WHAT GOLD THINKS.” JIG SHOOK HIS HEAD. “THEY WILL.” CELEN STUDIED HIM. “YOU KILLED A NOBLE.” “YEAH,” JIG SAID. “I KNOW.” “AND YOU’RE STILL STANDING.” “FOR NOW.”

THEY SAT LATER THAT NIGHT INSIDE ONE OF CELEN’S UNFINISHED STRUCTURES. HALF-BUILT PILLARS SURROUNDED THEM, MOONLIGHT SPILLING THROUGH GAPS IN THE CEILING. CELEN BROKE THE SILENCE. “IF THE WARRIORS FALL… WHAT HAPPENS TO YOU?” JIG DIDN’T ANSWER RIGHT AWAY. “I DON’T PLAN ON THEM FALLING,” HE SAID. “THAT’S NOT AN ANSWER.” JIG EXHALED. “THEN I FIGHT. OR I RUN. OR I DIE.” CELEN FROWNED. “THAT’S NOT A PLAN. THAT’S INSTINCT.” JIG MET HIS GAZE. “INSTINCT’S KEPT ME ALIVE.” CELEN STOOD. “AND PLANNING KEEPS OTHERS ALIVE.” HE TURNED BACK, VOICE STEADY BUT FIRM. “IF THINGS GO SIDEWAYS—IF GOLD COMES, OR EMERALD TURNS, OR RAXOR DECIDES YOU’RE EXPENDABLE—YOU’LL NEED SOMEWHERE TO STAND.” JIG FELT SOMETHING TIGHTEN IN HIS CHEST. “YOU’RE ASKING ME TO PICK SIDES,” JIG SAID. CELEN NODDED. “I ALREADY DID.”

BEFORE JIG LEFT, CELEN PRESSED A SMALL QUARTZ TOKEN INTO HIS PALM. “A SIGNAL,” CELEN SAID. “IF YOU’RE IN TROUBLE. REAL TROUBLE.” JIG CLOSED HIS FIST AROUND IT. “YOU’RE RISKING A LOT.” CELEN SHRUGGED. “SO DID YOU, WHEN YOU SAVED THAT WARRIOR IN TRAINING.” JIG PAUSED, SURPRISED. CELEN SMILED FAINTLY. “I HEAR THINGS.” THEY CLASPED FOREARMS—STRONGER THAN FRIENDSHIP, QUIETER THAN LOYALTY. AS JIG RODE BACK TOWARD WARRIOR LAND, HE DIDN’T NOTICE THE FIGURE WATCHING FROM A DISTANT RIDGE. GOLD ARMOR. NO BANNER. JUST OBSERVATION. THE WORLD WAS ALIGNING. NOT THROUGH TREATIES. BUT THROUGH PEOPLE.

END

EPISODE FIVE “GREAT DISCUSSION” THE HALL WAS CARVED FROM AMETHYST AND SILENCE. CRYSTALS GREW FROM THE WALLS LIKE FROZEN LIGHTNING, GLOWING SOFTLY WITH EVERY SHIFT OF LIGHT. THE AIR ITSELF FELT CALM—TOO CALM. VOICES ECHOED LONGER HERE, AS IF THE STONE DEMANDED HONESTY. THAT WAS THE LIE OF THE PEACEMAKERS. RAXOR ENTERED FIRST, ARMORED AND UNASHAMED, REDSTONE PULSING FAINTLY ALONG HIS GAUNTLETS. JIG FOLLOWED A STEP BEHIND— NOT A SERVANT, NOT A GUEST. A STATEMENT. ACROSS THE CHAMBER WAITED VIRELLA, LEADER OF THE AMETHYST CLAN, HER PRESENCE COMPOSED, HER EYES UNREADABLE. TO HER SIDE STOOD ENVOYS OF THE COPPER ENGINEERS, COPPER PLATING POLISHED, HANDS STAINED WITH OIL AND INVENTION. “THIS PLACE SMELLS LIKE RESTRAINT,” RAXOR MUTTERED. JIG KEPT HIS FACE NEUTRAL. THIS IS WHERE WARS PRETEND THEY DON’T EXIST.

VIRELLA RAISED A HAND. “WE ARE HERE TO PREVENT BLOODSHED.” RAXOR DIDN’T SIT. “THEN SPEAK QUICKLY.” THE PROPOSAL WAS SIMPLE ON THE SURFACE. WARRIORS WOULD COMBINE FORCES WITH THE COPPER ENGINEERS. REDSTONE AND COPPER TOGETHER—POWER AND INNOVATION. IN RETURN, THE PEACEMAKERS WOULD ENSURE NEUTRALITY, KEEPING GOLD AT BAY. JIG LISTENED CLOSELY. THE COPPER ENVOYS EXCHANGED LOOKS. ONE OF THEM SPOKE. “AND IF GOLD IGNORES YOUR PEACE?” VIRELLA’S TONE NEVER SHIFTED. “THEY WON’T.” RAXOR SMILED—SLOW, DANGEROUS. “THEY ALWAYS DO.” THE DISCUSSION DRAGGED ON. TERMS TWISTED. PROMISES SOFTENED. EVERY SENTENCE FELT LIKE IT HAD A HIDDEN COST. JIG FINALLY SPOKE. “YOU’RE ASKING US TO TRUST CALM IN A WORLD THAT REWARDS STRENGTH.” VIRELLA’S GAZE SLID TO HIM. “YOU ARE THE ONE WHO KILLED THE NOBLE.” JIG DIDN’T FLINCH. “AND GOLD HASN’T KNOCKED YET.” “THAT DOESN’T MEAN THEY WON’T.” “IT MEANS THEY’RE WATCHING.” THE ROOM COOLED.

THE COPPER LEADER CLEARED HIS THROAT. “WE WILL NOT MERGE UNDER THREAT. WE CHOOSE INDEPENDENCE.” RAXOR’S PATIENCE SNAPPED. “INDEPENDENCE DIES FIRST,” HE SAID. VIRELLA’S EYES HARDENED. “IF YOU ATTACK COPPER, YOU BREAK PEACE. AND WE WILL NOT STOP THE CONSEQUENCES.” RAXOR TURNED AWAY FROM THE TABLE. “THERE IS NO PEACE,” HE SAID. “ONLY TIME BEFORE WAR.” HE STOPPED BESIDE JIG. “YOU STARTED THIS,” RAXOR SAID QUIETLY. “AND YOU WILL HELP FINISH IT.” JIG FELT THE WEIGHT SETTLE. HE NODDED. AFTER THE HALL OUTSIDE, THE AMETHYST GLOW FADED BEHIND THEM. JIG FINALLY SPOKE. “YOU’RE GOING TO TAKE COPPER.” RAXOR’S JAW TIGHTENED. “I’M GOING TO SECURE IT.” “IN BLOOD.” RAXOR LOOKED AT HIM. “DO YOU REGRET IT?” JIG THOUGHT OF AUREX. OF GOLD. OF THE QUIET SALUTE HE HADN’T SEEN YET—BUT FELT COMING. “NO,” JIG SAID. “BUT I’M NOT BLIND TO THE COST.” RAXOR PLACED A HEAVY HAND ON HIS SHOULDER. “THEN PREPARE.”

ELSEWHERE

DEEP WITHIN COPPER TERRITORY, MACHINES HUMMED LATE INTO THE NIGHT. AND FAR BEYOND THAT, GOLD BANNERS SHIFTED IN THE WIND. DEALS WERE FAILING. AND WAR WAS LEARNING HOW TO BREATHE.

END

EPISODE SIX “COOPERS & ENGINEERS”

COPPER LAND RANG WITH SOUND. HAMMERS STRUCK METAL IN STEADY RHYTHM. GEARS TURNED. STEAM HISSED THROUGH VENTS CARVED INTO THE EARTH. UNLIKE THE RIGID DISCIPLINE OF THE WARRIORS OR THE ELEGANCE OF QUARTZ, THE COPPER ENGINEER CLAN LIVED IN MOTION—ALWAYS BUILDING, ALWAYS ADJUSTING. JIG WATCHED FROM A RIDGE ABOVE ONE OF THEIR OUTER SETTLEMENTS. “THEY DON’T LOOK LIKE SOLDIERS,” HE SAID. RAXOR STOOD BESIDE HIM, ARMS CROSSED. “THAT’S WHY THEY’RE DANGEROUS.” BELOW, COPPER ENGINEERS REINFORCED WALLS WITH ROTATING PLATES, REDSTONE-ADJACENT MECHANISMS CLICKING INTO PLACE. DEFENSIVE TOWERS UNFOLDED LIKE BLOOMING FLOWERS OF METAL. “THEY PREPARE FOR WAR,” JIG MUTTERED, “BY PRETENDING IT WON’T COME.” RAXOR’S VOICE DROPPED. “AND THAT ILLUSION ENDS TONIGHT.”

THEY MOVED DEEPER INTO WARRIOR TERRITORY AFTER NIGHTFALL. MAPS WERE LAID OUT. ROUTES MARKED. WEAK POINTS CIRCLED IN RED. RAXOR DIDN’T SPEAK AT FIRST. THEN HE DID. “YOU WILL LEAD THE STRIKE.” JIG LOOKED UP. “I THOUGHT THIS WAS A JOINT OPERATION.” “IT IS,” RAXOR SAID. “YOU ARE THE JOINT.” THE ROOM WENT QUIET. “YOU KILLED THE NOBLE,” RAXOR CONTINUED. “GOLD WATCHES YOU. COPPER FEARS US. IF YOU FAIL, YOU FALL. IF YOU SUCCEED—” “I TAKE THE BLAME,” JIG FINISHED. RAXOR MET HIS EYES. “YOU TAKE RESPONSIBILITY.” JIG CLENCHED HIS JAW. “YOU’RE MAKING ME THE SPEAR.” RAXOR NODDED. “AND SPEARS ARE MEANT TO BE THROWN.” THE WORDS CUT DEEPER THAN STEEL. BUT JIG DIDN’T BACK DOWN. “THEN GIVE ME WHAT I NEED,” HE SAID. “AND DON’T LIE TO ME AGAIN.” FOR THE FIRST TIME, RAXOR HESITATED. THEN HE SMILED.

THE OUTER COPPER OUTPOST FELL FAST. NOT BECAUSE OF BRUTE FORCE—BUT PRECISION. JIG LED A SMALL UNIT THROUGH A BLIND CANYON, TIMING THEIR APPROACH WITH THE SHIFT OF COPPER MACHINERY. EMERALD POTIONS SHIMMERED GREEN AS WARRIORS MOVED FASTER, QUIETER. A COPPER SENTRY SPOTTED THEM TOO LATE. JIG DISARMED HIM, KNOCKING HIM UNCONSCIOUS INSTEAD OF KILLING HIM. ONE WARRIOR FROWNED. “ORDERS?” JIG SHOOK HIS HEAD. “NOT YET.” THEY DISABLED TOWERS. JAMMED GEARS. CUT SUPPLY LINES. COPPER ALARMS RANG—BUT BY THEN, IT WAS ALREADY DONE.

INSIDE THE MAIN WORKSHOP, RESISTANCE STIFFENED. A COPPER CAPTAIN STEPPED FORWARD, WEAPON HUMMING. “YOU DON’T BELONG HERE.” JIG DREW HIS BLADE. “NEITHER DOES WAR.” THEY CLASHED. THE DUEL WAS BRUTAL—RAW STRENGTH VERSUS ADAPTIVE MACHINERY. SPARKS FLEW. METAL SCREAMED. JIG WON—BUT NOT CLEANLY. THE CAPTAIN COLLAPSED, BLEEDING HEAVILY. JIG HESITATED. THE CAPTAIN LOOKED UP. “YOU THINK MERCY FIXES THIS?” JIG DIDN’T ANSWER. A WARRIOR BEHIND HIM STRUCK. THE BODY WENT STILL. JIG TURNED SLOWLY. “NEXT TIME,” JIG SAID COLDLY, “YOU WAIT.” THE WARRIOR LOOKED AWAY.

WHEN THEY RETURNED, RAXOR WAS WAITING. “IT’S BEGUN,” RAXOR SAID. JIG REMOVED HIS HELMET. HIS HANDS WERE SHAKING. “YOU PLANNED THIS FROM THE MOMENT I KILLED AUREX.” RAXOR DIDN’T DENY IT. “I PREPARED FOR IT.” “YOU’RE USING ME.” “YES.” JIG STEPPED CLOSER. “THEN DON’T PRETEND I’M STILL JUST A WARRIOR.” RAXOR STUDIED HIM FOR A LONG MOMENT. “NO,” HE SAID QUIETLY. “YOU’RE BECOMING SOMETHING ELSE.” DEEP WITHIN COPPER TERRITORY, THE ENGINEER LEADER STOOD BEFORE A MAP OF BLINKING DEFENSES. “THEY’VE BREACHED THE OUTER RING,” HE SAID. “AND THE ONE LEADING THEM?” A PAUSE. “A WARRIOR NAMED JIG.” THE LEADER’S EYES NARROWED. “THEN WE PREPARE TO MEET HIM.”

END

EPISODE SEVEN “CROWNED IN BLOOD”

THE RAIN CAME DOWN IN SHEETS, TURNING THE WARRIOR CAMP INTO MUD AND REFLECTION. JIG STOOD ALONE NEAR THE EDGE OF THE TRAINING GROUNDS, RAIN SLIDING DOWN HIS ARMOR, POOLING AT HIS FEET. HE HADN’T REMOVED IT SINCE THE COPPER RAID. SLEEP CAME IN FRAGMENTS NOW—SHORT, SHALLOW, HAUNTED

BY GEARS GRINDING AND BODIES FALLING THE WRONG WAY. BEHIND HIM, THE CAMP STIRRED. RAXOR WATCHED FROM THE ELEVATED PLATFORM, HIS SILHOUETTE CARVED AGAINST FLICKERING REDSTONE LIGHT. HE WAITED UNTIL JIG SENSED HIM—BECAUSE JIG ALWAYS DID. “YOU FOUGHT WELL,” RAXOR SAID. JIG DIDN’T TURN. “YOU SENT ME TO BE BLAMED.” RAXOR STEPPED CLOSER. “I SENT YOU TO BE SEEN.”

JIG FINALLY FACED HIM. RAIN STREAKED ACROSS HIS FACE, BUT HIS EYES WERE CLEAR. “THEN SAY IT.” RAXOR DIDN’T HESITATE THIS TIME. “IF YOU SUCCEED IN THE COMING ASSAULT,” HE SAID, VOICE CARRYING JUST ENOUGH TO REACH NEARBY WARRIORS, “YOU WILL BE CROWNED PRINCE OF THE WARRIOR CLAN.” THE CAMP WENT SILENT. JIG’S BREATH CAUGHT—NOT IN SURPRISE, BUT IN UNDERSTANDING. SO THIS IS THE SHAPE OF THE TRAP. “AND IF I FAIL?” JIG ASKED. RAXOR’S GAZE HARDENED. “THEN THE WORLD FORGETS YOUR NAME.”

LATER, INSIDE HIS QUARTERS, JIG STARED AT THE QUARTZ TOKEN CELEN HAD GIVEN HIM. PRINCE. THE WORD TASTED DANGEROUS. HE WANTED IT—NOT FOR POWER, BUT FOR CONTROL. FOR THE ABILITY TO STOP BEING THROWN. A KNOCK SOUNDED. CELEN ENTERED QUIETLY, RAIN DRIPPING FROM HIS CLOAK. HE TOOK ONE LOOK AT JIG’S EXPRESSION AND KNEW. “THEY’RE USING YOU,” CELEN SAID. JIG LAUGHED SOFTLY. “YEAH. I KNOW.” “AND YOU’RE STILL GOING TO DO IT.” JIG MET HIS EYES. “BECAUSE IF I DON’T, SOMEONE WORSE WILL.” THEY SPOKE LONG INTO THE NIGHT—OF FALLBACK ROUTES, OF SAFE SIGNALS, OF WHAT HAPPENS IF JIG DOESN’T COME BACK. NEITHER SAID THE WORD GOODBYE.

WHILE WARRIORS PLANNED OPENLY, OTHERS MOVED UNSEEN. IN AN EMERALD-LIT CHAMBER, ZYREL POURED WINE INTO TWO GLASSES. OPPOSITE HIM SAT A GOLD ENVOY—ARMOR DULLED, CREST HIDDEN. “THE WARRIORS THINK COPPER IS THE PRIZE,” ZYREL SAID. THE ENVOY NODDED. “AND JIG?” “A DISTRACTION,” ZYREL REPLIED SMOOTHLY. GOLD SMILED. “THEN WE ARE ALIGNED.” THE GLASSES CLINKED. JIG MOVED BEFORE DAWN. THIS TIME, THERE WAS NO MERCY IN THE PLAN— ONLY SPEED. COPPER OUTPOSTS FELL IN SEQUENCE. SUPPLY LINES BURNED. COMMUNICATION TOWERS COLLAPSED. JIG FOUGHT LIKE SOMETHING SHARPENED BY PURPOSE. CLEANER. COLDER. BUT EVERY VICTORY WEIGHED HEAVIER THAN THE LAST. AS NIGHT FELL, JIG STOOD ON A RIDGE OVERLOOKING COPPER’S CENTRAL STRONGHOLD. THIS WAS IT. BEHIND HIM, WARRIORS WAITED. AHEAD, COPPER PREPARED. AND SOMEWHERE BEYOND ALL OF IT— GOLD WATCHED.

END

EPISODE EIGHT “THE PRINCE” THE NIGHT BEFORE THE ASSAULT WAS TOO QUIET. COPPER TERRITORY LAY AHEAD LIKE A LIVING MACHINE AT REST—WALLS FOLDED INWARD, TOWERS DIMMED, GEARS IDLING BENEATH LAYERS OF STONE AND METAL. STEAM ROSE FROM VENTS IN SLOW BREATHS, AS IF THE LAND ITSELF WERE SLEEPING. JIG CROUCHED ON THE RIDGE OVERLOOKING IT ALL. BELOW HIM, HUNDREDS OF COPPER LIGHTS FLICKERED IN PATTERNED SEQUENCES—SIGNALS, CHECKS, RECALIBRATIONS. THEY WERE READY. NOT FOR CONQUEST, BUT FOR SURVIVAL. BEHIND HIM, THE WARRIOR CLAN ASSEMBLED IN SILENCE. NO CHANTS. NO SPEECHES. JUST REDSTONE PULSING SOFTLY LIKE A SHARED HEARTBEAT. RAXOR APPROACHED, CLOAK SNAPPING IN THE WIND. HE STOPPED BESIDE JIG AND FOLLOWED HIS GAZE. “COPPER THINKS DEFENSE WILL SAVE THEM,” RAXOR SAID. JIG’S VOICE WAS LOW. “DEFENSE ONLY WORKS IF YOU’RE NOT BEING HUNTED.” RAXOR STUDIED HIM—NOT AS A WEAPON, NOT AS A PAWN—BUT AS SOMETHING NEWLY FORGED. “WHEN THIS IS OVER,” RAXOR SAID, “THERE’S NO STEPPING BACK.” JIG NODDED. “I ALREADY CROSSED THAT LINE.” RAXOR PLACED A HAND ON HIS SHOULDER. “THEN LEAD.”

THE ATTACK DIDN’T START WITH A ROAR. IT STARTED WITH ABSENCE. COPPER SENTRIES REPORTED EMPTY SUPPLY TUNNELS. SILENT WATCHTOWERS. SIGNALS THAT SHOULD HAVE ECHOED—DIDN’T. THEN THE REDSTONE FLARED. WARRIORS SURGED FORWARD AS TRAPS DETONATED BEHIND THEM, SEALING ESCAPE ROUTES. COPPER DEFENSES UNFOLDED TOO LATE —ROTATING PLATES LOCKING INTO PLACE AS BLADES WERE ALREADY AMONG THEM. JIG MOVED LIKE A SHADOW SHARPENED INTO STEEL. HE DIDN’T WASTE MOTION. DIDN’T OVEREXTEND. EACH STRIKE HAD PURPOSE—DISABLE, DISARM, MOVE. WARRIORS FOLLOWED HIS RHYTHM INSTINCTIVELY, THE WAY SOLDIERS FOLLOW A BANNER WITHOUT REALIZING IT. COPPER TROOPS FOUGHT BACK HARD. AUTOMATED TURRETS FIRED. GOLEM CONSTRUCTS SLAMMED INTO WARRIOR LINES. EXPLOSIONS TORE CHUNKS FROM THE GROUND. JIG WAS THROWN ONCE—HARD—ROLLING ACROSS COPPER PLATING AS DEBRIS RAINED AROUND HIM. HE ROSE IMMEDIATELY, BLOOD RUNNING FROM HIS BROW, EYES LOCKED FORWARD. KEEP MOVING. HE DRANK AN EMERALD POTION MID-SPRINT, SPEED SURGING THROUGH HIS VEINS AS HE LEAPT A COLLAPSING BRIDGE AND LANDED INSIDE THE INNER DISTRICT. THE HEART OF COPPER.

COPPER’S CENTRAL BASE WAS A CATHEDRAL OF MACHINERY. MASSIVE GEARS ROTATED OVERHEAD. ELEVATORS HISSED AND CLANGED. WALLS SHIFTED TO CREATE NEW PATHS AND KILL ZONES. JIG FOUGHT THROUGH IT ALL. AT ONE POINT, A COPPER SQUAD CORNERED HIM NEAR A FURNACE CHAMBER. FLAMES ROARED. METAL GROANED. “PRINCE OR NOT,” THEIR CAPTAIN SHOUTED, “YOU BLEED LIKE THE REST OF US!” THEY RUSHED HIM. JIG DIDN’T RETREAT. HE MET THEM HEAD-ON. THE FIGHT WAS BRUTAL—CLOSE, UGLY, DESPERATE. SPARKS FLEW AS BLADES MET METAL. ONE WARRIOR FELL. ANOTHER WAS DRAGGED BACK BY JIG HIMSELF, SHIELD RAISED AS EXPLOSIONS ROCKED THE CHAMBER. WHEN IT WAS OVER, JIG STOOD ALONE AMONG BROKEN MACHINES AND STILL BODIES. HIS BREATHING SLOWED. HIS HANDS STOPPED SHAKING. SOMETHING INSIDE HIM SETTLED.

AT THE HIGHEST PLATFORM OF THE STRONGHOLD, THE LEADER OF THE COPPER ENGINEERS WAITED. FORGEON’S SUCCESSOR—OLDER, HEAVIER, ARMORED IN LAYERED COPPER PLATES ETCHED WITH GLOWING SCHEMATICS. A CROWN OF INTERLOCKING METAL RESTED ON HIS HELM. “SO,” THE LEADER SAID, VOICE AMPLIFIED BY THE CHAMBER, “THEY SENT YOU.” JIG STEPPED FORWARD, BLADE LOWERED BUT READY. “I DIDN’T COME TO BURN YOUR PEOPLE.” THE LEADER LAUGHED BITTERLY. “YOU ALREADY HAVE.” THEY CIRCLED. “NO MACHINES,” THE LEADER SAID. “NO SOLDIERS.” JIG NODDED. “JUST US.” THE DUEL WAS THUNDER. FORGEON’S SUCCESSOR FOUGHT LIKE A FORTRESS —SLOW, CRUSHING BLOWS BACKED BY STRENGTH AND PRECISION. JIG FOUGHT LIKE PRESSURE— CONSTANT, ADAPTIVE, UNRELENTING. JIG WAS STRUCK ONCE—HARD—SENT SKIDDING ACROSS THE PLATFORM. HIS ARMOR CRACKED. PAIN FLARED. HE PUSHED UP ANYWAY. THE FINAL EXCHANGE CAME FAST. A FEINT. A COUNTER. A MOMENT WHERE BOTH BLADES LOCKED. THE COPPER LEADER FALTERED. JIG DIDN’T. STEEL DROVE FORWARD. THE LEADER COLLAPSED, CROWN CLATTERING ACROSS THE STONE. SILENCE FOLLOWED. JIG STOOD THERE FOR A LONG MOMENT, STARING DOWN AT WHAT HE’D DONE. THEN HE BENT, LIFTED THE CROWN, AND TURNED.

WITH THEIR LEADER DEAD, COPPER RESISTANCE SHATTERED. WARRIORS FLOODED THE REMAINING DISTRICTS. SOME COPPER TROOPS SURRENDERED. OTHERS FLED. A FEW FOUGHT UNTIL THEY COULDN’T ANYMORE. RAXOR ENTERED THE STRONGHOLD AS THE FINAL BANNERS FELL. HE LOOKED AT THE CROWN IN JIG’S HAND. “WELL DONE,” RAXOR SAID. JIG DIDN’T SMILE. “IT’S OVER.” RAXOR SHOOK HIS HEAD. “NO. IT’S CLAIMED.” THE WARRIOR CLAN GATHERED AT DAWN. COPPER TERRITORY BURNED QUIETLY BEHIND THEM—SMOKE RISING INTO A SKY STAINED ORANGE AND RED. RAXOR STOOD BEFORE THE CLAN, VOICE CARRYING OVER THE RUINS. “THIS WARRIOR STOOD WHERE NONE OF US COULD,” HE DECLARED. “HE BROKE COPPER NOT WITH CHAOS—BUT WITH COMMAND.” RAXOR TURNED TO JIG. “KNEEL.” JIG DID. RAXOR PLACED THE COPPER CROWN AT JIG’S FEET —THEN SET A REDSTONE-FORGED CIRCLET UPON HIS HEAD. “RISE,” RAXOR SAID, “PRINCE OF THE WARRIOR CLAN.” THE CLAN SALUTED AS ONE. JIG ROSE SLOWLY, THE WEIGHT OF THE TITLE HEAVIER THAN ANY ARMOR. JIG, RAISES HIS SWORD ABOVE HIS HEAD. YELLING WITH PRIDE. “WE SHALL RULE, AND WE SHALL TAKE OVER!”

FAR AWAY—BEYOND SMOKE, BEYOND RUINS— GOLD BANNERS FLUTTERED ATOP A PRISTINE TOWER. THE GOLD KING STOOD ALONE, WATCHING THROUGH ENCHANTED GLASS AS COPPER FELL. HE RAISED A HAND. NOT IN ANGER. IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT. A SILENT SALUTE. THE WAR HAD FINALLY BEGUN.

END