Three days passed in a blur of repairs.
We buried the dead—the Jensen boy, Ben, the guards who had fallen at the wall. We cremated the zombies, piling them into massive pyres that burned day and night.
Claire didn't come back. Her tank had retreated during the chaos. I assumed she was licking her wounds, or maybe planning her next move. It didn't matter. We had survived her, too.
On the third day, as I was helping Liang patch the northern wall, a portal shimmered into existence in the main yard.
It wasn't the System's portal. It was gold.
I grabbed my weapon, my heart racing. Had the Iron Dogs returned?
A man stepped out. He wore white robes, trimmed with gold. He looked human, but his eyes were entirely gold, with no whites.
He looked around the ruined valley, his expression unreadable.
"Founder Shen," he said. His voice was smooth, like honey. "I am Elyon, Envoy of the Celestial Directorate."
"The what?" I asked, not lowering my guard.
"We monitor the Multiverse," he said. "We watch for... disturbances. The death of a Stage Five Necromancer is a significant disturbance."
I stiffened. "Are you here to arrest me?"
He smiled. It was cold. "No. We are here to assess. You have been deemed... dangerous. And useful."
He produced a scroll—actual parchment—and handed it to me.
"An invitation," he said. "To the Summit of Worlds. Your survival here has earned you a seat at the table. But be warned, Founder. The enemies you face now will not be zombies or petty warlords."
He looked at the sky.
"There are things in the dark between worlds that make your Lord look like a child. Prepare yourself."
He stepped back into the golden portal and vanished.
I looked at the scroll. It was written in a language I didn't know, but the System translated it instantly.
Summit of Worlds. Host: The Celestial Directorate. Attendance: Mandatory.
I rolled it up and stuck it in my pocket.
"More trouble?" Alex asked, walking up behind me.
"Always," I said. "But we'll handle it."