Hyperion's Note (Cause I'm not the author of this one):
Howdy folks! This side chapter was written by somebodynobody10 and posted over on the discord server. It is meant to be read after Chapter #75, though it isn't strictly necessary. That being said, there will be mentions of things happening in the background that won't make any sense if you read post Chapter #75.
With that in mind, if you're not interested, then feel free to skip this.
- - -
Side story: The Pointy Gate, Anbennar Crossover Event, Prologue
Nest-Home of the Great Zatsarya, right before the Moment of Light's Embrace
Within the chambers of the shaman-priests, a single Lizardman sits in meditation.
Dressed in ropes made of the ever-expensive white-greenish fibre harvestable only from the rare pale vines, cultivated successfully only in places where the Star of the world could bless them all with its presence.
In his left hand, he holds the ritual knife that would soon do its purpose. On his right, one of the many stone tablets carved with the words of the first leader of their people so many millennia ago, put into writing, found by the first leader of to-be Nest-Home of the Great Zatsarya, founded long ago was their people retraced the steps back to where their struggles began.
"The Zatsarya has gone silent.
Rakh has fallen."
And once more, he pondered the meaning of these words.
It was commonly understood that Zatsarya meant the great spire their arguably most important settlement was built around, and Rakh still meant 'home' in their tongue.
So they had lost their original home to something, but in no text was it specified exactly what had happened to it, only that their place of origin was likely destroyed by it.
Or at least, that is what many thought.
But the current priesthood knew the details were likely written in a color that their kind could no longer read, for the current generation's eyes were weak.
What did it mean when it claimed that the Zatsarya had gone silent?
Was it about the people distressed, staying quiet as they mourned?
Or was there a deeper meaning to it?
A purpose long lost, yet to be rediscovered?
"It is hard to breathe here… there is not enough oxygen to keep us alive.
Our mages are creating bubbles of air around us, but they cannot keep this up for long…
We are moving deeper into the tunnels. There are currents of breathable air flowing from them - there must be sources of oxygen down there."
Oxygen was a word they had lost the knowledge to understand fully.
However, by the rest of the sentence, it was easy enough to deduce it meant the 'burning air'. The part that allowed fire to exist and one to survive.
Magic is weak here. Worse yet, those of us that can cast are feeling… a malaise.
They are becoming lethargic… vulnerable.
If they had time to come to grips with the current arcane weave, maybe they would be alright.
But we don't have the time!
None of the mages disagree.
Their families are part of the refugees.
They will guarantee our survival.
Healers are doing what they can, but…
We don't expect most of them to reach safety.
The mentioned mages were of interest, for in the current day none of their kind could conjure such feats as 'bubbles of burning air'.
Yet some held that spark. Long weakened, yet still able to commit to their continued service that allows most of their current-cycle Nests to exist.
"These tunnels are endless, and we are too few to seek an exit.
Surely there is one somewhere within this gigantic underground labyrinth?"
Those beliefs had carried their people through the Paths later on, attempting to find the prophesied way out of their home, which was also their prison.
But first, they would have to find the source of 'burning air'.
Generations upon generations pushed on.
The first generation would slowly be replaced by their children, then grandchildren, and so it went.
Battles with the local wildlife stalled their advance, but equally some of the hungriest ones stalked behind them, ever attracted by the many lights their ancestors used to see, which stuck out like a Blind-Sensor crouching under a light-beam.
Sacrifices had to be made, so the beasts wouldn't overwhelm the caravan.
The elderly were the first, with their permission.
All for the survival of their families.
In the end, they required preparation and hatchings of new blood to break the great beasts under their yoke.
Homes were built during their journey. Now and then they found a point with entrances so small the great beasts couldn't follow them in, with enough resources to host a temporary settlement, forming a new Nest that would grow their chances of survival as they continued on.
No place had enough resources and safety for continuous settlement.
Sometimes they had to carry the new generation in their hands as they went out to find something new to feed their Tchoken, the well-known reptilian creatures that were the most important meat source for lizardfolk everywhere, brought here from the mythological Rakh with their ancestors.
Other times they had to run as amphibious beasts realized there was a meal trying to fish for sustenance themselves.
Until they made it to the End That Gives Life.
"I will leave this tablet here, in case the way to the Rakh reopens after all, and our kind arrive to find us.
If you are reading this, my kin:
You will find us, or the Mutations that come after, down in the Dark."
After a while, their kind changed.
This could be seen in studying the bones of their ancestors.
Few of the oldest skeletons remained, but the further up you went, the more divergence from the modern examples of their kind you could find.
Different skull-structure, larger sight-sensory organs. Likely even differing walking gait.
This was what 'Mutations' meant. Their kind could change within a few generations to survive in their new environments.
The first of the 'modern' Mutations, the 'Blind Sensors' were as their name implied, almost completely blind. Able only to sense bright lights, leaning fully upon their acute senses of hearing, smell, and touch.
It was at this point that perhaps they could've stopped and re-evaluated their options. Perhaps now that they had become more adept at surviving and there was ever more 'burning air', one might hold their ground.
But their people had been on this journey since the time of their ancestors.
They couldn't stop now.
And thus, they continued on.
Past Monsters out of their nightmares.
Both large, hulking monstrous things and flying terrors that were equally happy to eat a defenseless child as they were eating little bugs.
Until they made it.
The great chasm of glowing blue rock, with its reality-defying, equally blue moss.
Moss, which ate the energies of the rock, to make 'burning air'.
The beasts stayed away from it.
Their ancestors had found their haven.
For a generation, the Nest of Glow-in-the-Dark prospered.
Then, those that were considered 'quirky' and somewhat weak hatchings of their kind that had recovered vitality around the time they had found this place, realized they could hear the moss, and in some primitive ways it heard them.
Tests were done.
The Glowing Moss grew outside the touch of the Glowing Rock as long as the 'weak ones', now identified as the weakened mages of old, 'spoke with it' routinely.
And thus, their journey to conquer the tunnels truly began.
- - -
With a startle, the meditating individual realized they had lost the sense of time again.
It was always so for Irdaz Holyscale, the shaman-priest of the Prophecy of Promised Light.
Irdaz rose from his spot, smiling as the Life-Giver Moss glowed its goodbyes as his thoughts left its presence.
Having grown by some inches from his thoughts and focus as he shared his musings, it would soon be harvested of excess and spread further around the settlement, guaranteeing they would have enough 'burning air' to live up at the very top of the Paths.
He carefully laid a tablet on a nearby table, leaving the room clutching his knife.
On his way, he sees the many lesser priests and servants preparing for the ceremony.
Only he would have full priestly garments. Others would make do with what they had naturally.
Yet that didn't mean you couldn't make yourself presentable.
Scales are scrubbed and made to shine, teeth cleaned meticulously. Other priests kneel before sources of light in prayer, in their own ways working to enhance the effectiveness of their cyclic ceremony.
It had been yet another hundred Star-Cycles since the last ritual.
But more than that…
There had been so many Star-cycles since they had found their way back to the Zatsarya.
So many…
'If the Path does not open, I will surely lose my life.'
That was the reality Irdaz faced.
Once a prophecy had been made.
Whether it be in hubris or actual belief, *his ancestor* had proclaimed that on this date, the path to freedom would reveal itself.
Some interpretations claimed that the Star itself would finally have enough power and break its children out, melting the top of the tunnels to free them to touch the sky.
Others expect the mysterious Zatsarya to come to life, beginning the 'noise' that would tell them the path to their ancestor's nest was once more open, however that worked.
In fact, there was a version of the thought where these two intersected: that the Zatsarya was a great rock-digger that would burrow its way through to reach for the star.
But that was more of an out-there take.
Generally, these groups were at odds.
This isn't the only place within the Paths that has Star's Light. Few other spots have similar small holes up in the ceiling.
Too high to build a tower, too small to allow even a hatchling through even if they could reach it.
There have been attempts to dig out an escape. But no tool can breach the Final Walls - the material they're made of being too tough for any to chip down, no matter how many generations tried so, one after another, thinking they could tire the cursed stone like how water slowly erodes some boulders found in the depths.
As such, each point of Star's Light was holy for their kind, the Seeing Ones.
Their Mutation was of not only the ability to once more see but also their lessened need for 'burning air', allowing them to exist so close to the holes that evermore had the very air escape to the outside world, as well as a body seemingly more able to create and store heat to fight off the current that also sapped the warmth if you weren't prepared.
Between each settlement, which were few and far between, the differing interpretations of the prophecy abounded, with a few even calling it a hoax and a heresy most vile, simply choosing to worship the Star's Light for its own, not for some prophecy.
The Blind Sensors were less interested in the whole subject. They didn't see light as they did, so couldn't understand its brilliance.
Thus, they instead worshiped one of two things:
Their ancestors and their journey and the many lessons and sacrifices they paid for the survival of their kind and the great rocky crystals down below, still there, still glowing blue, that gave them all a chance to prosper...
Or the wilds, believing they were in some kind of bizarre pact with the many creatures that were still hunting lizardfolk across the Paths. Thinking they were equally stealing vitality from one another, a type of warrior's promise that the strongest survive.
These two belief systems were…
Extremely hostile to one another.
Not that Irdaz could blame the Ancestrals.
In fact, everyone else considered the Wilders insane.
Even when conflict between the tribes of the Blind Sensors and the City-Nests of the Seeing Ones isn't unknown, only those worshiping the Wilds have ever gone and burned a Seeing One city to the ground.
Irdaz almost growled before he realized his thoughts were once more jumping from topic to topic.
This isn't a time for this.
Thus, he calmed his mind as he entered the meeting room where the rest of the higher echelons of their faith, at least within this city, waited.
"I confirm this is the date." Irdaz Holyscale stands, showing none of his doubts. "It is time. Ring the bells."
"The final ritual begins at the zenith."
– – –
The bells ring, the sound competing with the constant noise of the flowing winds even as the citizenry drop nearly everything they are doing.
It is a festive mood at first glance.
But beneath the smiles and camaraderie, there is tension.
For many cycles, the populace has sacrificed their time and resources to a priesthood that has promised them freedom from the Paths.
There have been cycles where this belief was tested by questioning.
Asking *how sure* the priesthood is about what will happen on the promised day and how giving the priesthood so much power is supposed to help the matters forward.
Soon, they will know the answer to whether they should continue bowing before the priests, or make the priests bow before their execution.
Sure, none of them wanted to believe it was all a hoax.
It would mean that every ounce of resources, piety, and time was wasted on a lie.
But the question was always there, and now the answer is around the corner.
The many smaller rituals pass most of them by as if almost in a trance.
Some priests ritually sacrificed Tchoken.
Others prayed in silent choirs, hissing and chanting to hopefully direct the attention of Those Beyond to this moment.
But Irdaz Holyscale didn't have that luxury.
He focuses on each ritual, noting each step of the process.
If he falters, if his mind loses focus like it normally has a habit to do, it will be all over.
Not only would he have failed, he would have died not knowing if the issue was his own incompetence or falsehoods told by his ancestor.
He starts his rise.
Step by step, he walks up the stairs before the eyes of everyone else.
The chanting grows louder.
The ritual site had been built specifically for this moment, expanded slightly before each ceremony, until this true monstrous-sized monument was ready for this day.
Unprompted, many of his subjects, from warriors to the simplest of craftsmen, stomp their feet to a rhythm that none of them had trained for.
A sacrificial altar built for this express purpose for hundreds and hundreds of Star-Cycles.
There was hope in those stomps, but also a plea. A plea that we had spoken true, and the hoped-promised land would be theirs.
Each time, his bloodline had sacrificed to make it real.
And today wouldn't be any different.
He finally made it to the top.
Silence.
Before him stood the one thing that made this ritual have any hope of success.
A piece of the great blue crystal, harvested after the greatest supplication to its guardians, pleading for it each time for each ritual.
But this time, it was dozens of times larger.
This was the end.
Irdaz Holyscale took a deep breath.
Before his time, all other Holyscale High Priests had made a sacrifice of their own lives, spilling their life upon this spot, to connect it from the very base to their bloodline.
They would end themselves on the altar of their Age, christening it with their sacrificial blood, willingly bled.
All of them, hoping against hope that the first Holyscale wasn't a madlizard or a charlatan.
At the same time, shamans had sacrificed the rare piece of Damestear, hopefully infusing its power to the ritual site itself, with the blood of the Holyscale acting as the binding agent.
Many of them stayed silent afterwards. Few openly wondered whether there was actually any effect from it.
But it had been the first Holyscale to dictate the sacrifice and its steps, placing it all upon his prophetic visions.
Here and now, the sacrifice would be different.
Not since Redaz 'Rakh-Seeker' Holyscale had any of his family given birth to a Shaman, the user of the little magic their people could cast..
The First and the Last.
And the First hadn't bled upon the rocks of the Foundation.
He had burned himself on the first piece of the resonant crystal.
And so would he — but with a simple truth promised by that ancient vision.
IF Rakh-Seeker spoke the truth, Irdaz would survive.
The ritual will complete, and the Path to Light will open for his people.
IF Rakh-Seeker was insane...
If all of this was for nothing…
Irdaz, and all the priesthood close by, will die in the ensuing blast.
The rest would die by the will of the populace.
Irdaz says nothing as the Great Star reaches the point directly above, shining its clearest Light upon him.
He simply takes his knife.
Cuts open his palm.
As his blood drips upon stone and magic made material.
He begins to channel.
– – –
A final burst.
From beyond, a delicate touch.
A nudge there,
A nudge here.
– – –
He burned, but his mind still sang.
He bled, but his heart still beat.
His eyes hurt, but he could still see.
And the rock that was known as 'Damestear' in other worlds, crumbled to dust.
He stared, mind in stupor as Irdaz Holyscale realized he still lived. That he still existed.
And behind him came noise.
He didn't note the rest of the priesthood as he turned his head.
Uncaring that all of them have crashed to their knees in jubilation and the release from potential death.
What he, Irdaz, cares about is the sign of the Great Zatsarya rumbling, the very ground shaking as the great tower gained an ethereal quality. Sigils on its surface glow as it comes to life after eons upon eons of dormancy.
The prophecy was real.
The prophecy was real.
The prophecy-!
And then, even as the Zatsarya seemed to calm, its surface still glowing but stopping its ethereal nature, the ceiling over the city rumbled.
And at that moment everyone realized it hadn't been the Zatsarya that was making the noise.
Everyone stares in ever-increasing awe as seemingly the outlier belief of Zatsarya's purpose becomes real in some bizarre way, as the hole in their prison that has kept them contained widened as some kind of giant metallic creature carved the hole wider like one might crack an eggshell.
– – –
The pilot of the Dig King Industrial Mech stared in stupor at the unexpected damn lizard town that was having a blast, all of them in some kind of fervor.
".. Shit."
He really should have chosen a different place to start.
But it had been a literal coin toss on which hill they would begin with.
– – – – – –
Meanwhile…
– – – – – –
-- The Bizarre, worrying Zatsarya --
As the colonial expedition continued our studies of the many Zatsaryas now available for us and ways to use them safely, a new, separate Zatsarya was found in a far-away room clearly not made for general traffic, which pulled their interest.
Separate from the main hub of the First Empire's regular Zatsaryas, this particular Zatsarya has some alternative architecture. Parts of the great machine are different for seemingly no reason we can yet decipher.
What was more worrying was the many signs and markings around the chamber specifically made for it.
As our understanding of the ancient script is still incomplete, we couldn't fully understand what was said. However, what we could identify were two words, and a sentence sprinkled in every cluster of texts:
'malfunction',
'magic'
and 'A way out'.
We do not yet know what it all means.
Before we could decide on a course of action, however, our men were shocked as the Zatsarya burst to life without warning, in a clear malfunctioning state!
It is extremely lucky we arrived at this exact moment.
With the researchers already on the spot, they could rush in and counter-balance the surge of uncontrolled energy. After just a few moments in an active state, its internal mechanisms would have burned to the ground. Instead, we now have a fully functional Zatsarya.
The energy must've come from the other side.
Someone else is trying to arrive upon Rakh.
This could be anything from Precursors to fellow Lizardfolk returning home.
This would be the first Zatsarya we travel through that doesn't have its other connecting point at Halann. We must prepare a response force on this side of the Zatsarya before we proceed through.
But we surely have nothing truly to fear. We have already gone through tribulations and struggles which would've felled all others.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
We are *still* the Eternal Empire!
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –