Date: February 12, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The Central Node of the Temple of True Equilibrium opened before the survivors suddenly, as if space itself had decided to reward them for the circles of hell they had traversed. Grak the Axe's group and Baron Kaelen's passed the final meters of the decaying Pyramid of Entropy and emerged onto a wide circular platform encircling the colossal basin of the hall.
A different reality reigned here. There was no more grey dust or temporal jumps. The space was geometrically flawless: walls of matte obsidian rose upwards, converging in a dome where artificial constellations flickered. In the very center of the basin, precisely at the geometric focus of the Temple, floated a huge crystalline octahedron. Bridges of solidified light stretched from it to the five pyramid entrances.
Grak the Axe stopped, feeling his protective sphere, maintained by the Herald's power, slowly fade, no longer meeting resistance. The Commander of the Order of Order looked tired, but his gaze remained sharp. He looked at Baron Kaelen, who walked beside him, maintaining impeccable posture despite his Vessel's exhaustion.
"We made it," Grak boomed, his voice in this silence sounding like a hammer blow. "But where are the others? I feel only emptiness where my knights should be."
"Don't count on miracles, Grak," Kaelen replied coldly, his hand still resting on his sword's hilt. "This place does not forgive weakness. Your truce with me is the only thing that saved your people in my sector."
Their dialogue was interrupted by the rustle of footsteps from the opposite side of the platform. From the portal of the Pyramid of Reflections, a group of knights staggered out. Grak immediately recognized them, and his heart clenched painfully. It was Elwin. But only shadows remained of his detachment: Mark and Brand were barely on their feet, and Ulf walked clutching a bloodied bandage where his right arm used to be.
"Elwin!" Liana shouted, breaking formation and rushing towards her comrades.
Elwin raised his head. His eyes, still holding the blue glow of his Spirit, were full of unspeakable fatigue. He saw Grak, Liana, and... the Rakesh men standing nearby.
"Commander..." Elwin exhaled, as Liana supported his arm. "We encountered a Pillar. He... he crushed us."
"Rest," Grak approached them, his Herald power momentarily enveloping the wounded, granting them a crumb of stability. "The important thing is you're alive. Where are Bernard? Where is Thorn?"
Elwin only shook his head, looking towards the passage they had just exited. He remembered the shadows in the mirrors, but didn't know that his comrades had already turned to dust under Arannis's blows.
At that moment, the hall's silence was broken by a measured, heavy clang of metal. From the northern passage, marching in perfect step, entered a detachment in black armor with gold chasing. Alvost. Twelve legionaries moved in an impeccable formation, their shields raised, spears pointed at the center of the hall.
At the front walked a Legate. His presence was felt as an endless, oppressive ring. This was the third Herald to appear in the Central Node. He stopped, surveying the hall with a contemptuous gaze, lingering on the Order's wounded knights.
"Seems there's too much rubbish here for Zanra's sanctuary," the Legate said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Baron Kaelen, I'm surprised the Rakesh Dynasty shares the air with these northern beggars."
"Circumstances dictate the rules, Legate," Kaelen replied, inclining his head slightly. "But now, circumstances have changed."
In the center of the hall, three great forces hung in fragile anticipation. The Order of Order, the Rakesh Dynasty, and the Legions of Alvost. The tension was such that the Temple's energy itself seemed to spark at the points where their auras met.
Grak the Axe shifted his grip on his axe, using both hands. He understood that three Heralds in one hall was the limit of stability. But he also knew that two more pyramids were silent. And when their inhabitants emerged into the light, this silence would explode. Kaedan and Iskon were out there, in the darkness, and Grak prayed only that they would have the will to reach this threshold.
The air smelled of ozone and impending blood. The first part of the great convergence was over, leaving the heroes on the threshold of a battle that would rewrite the history of their lives.