The alarms had reached the walls long before they reached the inner blocks of the city.
At the southern perimeter of Varinholt, the barrier around Dawnshroud Ward shimmered, mirroring a rippling surface of a still pond as if pebbles were thrown into it.
Beyond it, the horizon seemed to move—uneven and surging, as if the land itself were crawling toward the city.
The Wave had finally arrived.
In front of these stood dozens of Weavers in formation along the terrace platforms carved into the outer wall of the city, each group marked by their factions.
Guild-Weavers in reinforced exo-weaves, plates glowing faintly with thread-conduction lines along with their faction symbol. Military-Weavers in their combatant suits, specifically designed to battle in tough situations like this. Lone and group Weavers scattered between them, with their gear more varied—cloaks, runic sashes, adaptive weaves built for specializations for their echos and survivability.
But all of their gazes were focused on the trembling horizon with the same fading stillness.
"This looks stronger than last cycle," one of the Guild-Weavers muttered, adjusting his gauntlet. "The density curves shown are off the charts."
"They always say that," another Weaver replied. "Wave comes, we push it back, and the Ward holds on. It is the same old story."
From the far end of the terrace, a Military-Weaver snorted. "Tell that to the east sector from Cycle of 708. The Ward didn't hold for them."
As all of them heard it, a quiet shiver ran through the line. They all remembered that dreaded day, fresh in their minds, though they shook it off quickly.
Just below the platforms on which they stood, anti-siege machines were attached, powered by the compact Aeon Pylons, activated one by one with a deep, metallic humming resonance that vibrated through all around it.
The bronze conduits flared as the runes activated, and the southern batteries began to rotate toward the oncoming Wave outside the Ward.
Just then heavy footsteps resounded all around; hearing it, every Weaver turned toward the origin.
Five figures approached along the upper ridge— each of different status, but commanding and unmistakably powerful. The conversations around the platform died out as the council of leading Weavers of the city of Varinholt stepped forward.
Leading them at the front was Marshal Vaerin, the commander of the city's forces. He stopped at the edge of the upper ridge, his cloak waving in the wind.
Beside him stood Guildmaster Selka of the Rune Consortium, her eyes already glowing as she examined the incoming Wave's signature.
The third was Lord Harun, head of the city's Machinery Division branch, adorned in a skeletal exosuit, seeming intimidating. On the left of the Marshal was a petite woman with green hair and a vibrant floral dress, effortlessly floating in the air, commanding awe from the people below. Her name was Siena, master of the guild named Vernic Convergence.
And lastly, a man standing far behind these figures, the fifth one— stoic, silent, leaning on a curved greatsword, was a lone independent Weaver known only as Ashhart.
"Report," Vaerin said, voice curt.
Selka answered first from her observation. "The fluctuations show a density rare for a mid-year cycle. The Wave is fragmented… no, the word will be layered, as if something is controlling its movement."
Lord Harun clicked his tongue. "Control? These things are not of 'control.' They only know to swarm."
Ashhart's eyes remained on the horizon. "Yes, but not this time."
Vaerin followed his gaze. "You also sense it, Ashhart?" the Marshal asked.
Ashhart nodded once. "Something in the Wave is… aware. And watching us."
The air thickened at those words.
"Can the Ward withstand this?" Harun asked.
Siena hesitated. "The Dawnshroud is designed to block mass and the flow of essence. Not the intent."
That sentence hung heavier than all the alarms, as it would be a dreaded time. The likes that would decide the fate of their haven city of Varinholt.
She continued again. "Though leave the back to me, I will try my best in the absence of everyone."
Her voice sounded grave yet resolute. Others nodded as they heard; it was the only thing they could do.
Far below the wall, among the ordinary Weavers closer to ground level, regular Weavers juggled through the preparation zones—rushing to armor stations, tightening straps, checking conduits of theirs as well as aligning their weapon threads.
"Keep your nerves tight, younglings," a senior called out to the newbie. "The first sight always shakes new blood."
No one argued; it was the truth everyone knew. These creatures could be nerve-wracking, as many of them had faced them at least once in the past.
Beyond the Ward, the Wave finally became visible in detail.
It looked—not as a storm, and not as a massive herd of animals—but as a crawling, shifting mass of xeno horrors.
Creatures shaped like something abandoned from reality—elongated joints bent at unnatural angles, some bodies riddled with open cavities where even light was trapped.
Some skittered, some floated—and some pulsed like plastic surgery of goblins gone wrong.
One Weaver in the forefront nearly dropped his spear. "Damn... they're worse than the records…"
His friend swallowed saliva. "Don't look at that, forget their look. Just aim for the node. All of them have one."
"Where? Inside the… holes of theirs?"
"Well… that's the problem. No two are the same. So all of them have it at different places."
The ground vibrated as the Wave pressed closer and closer, distorting the air with dust in their trail. Even some of the veteran Weavers tightened their grips in worry.
Then the world seemed to pull back— and beyond the Ward, beyond the crawling masses, into the dark stretches of lands untouched and unbothered by any human presence.
There… half-submerged in a crater of blackened soil, a creature rose. It rose with slow, deliberate movements—a towering being whose form defied clean description even compared to the horrors in the Wave.
Trumpet-like limbs stretched from its back, each lined with spiraling holes. Its main body was a twist of cylindrical segments bound together by threads of shimmering membrane.
Dozens of irregular holes dotted on its surface, each with a pulsing aperture that exhaled a sound like crackling stone.
Its gaze turned toward the city of Varinholt.
Not with eyes— as it had none or anything that would be identified as an eye, but with an unsettling and focused awareness.
Then came a guttural resonance that rolled from its body—sounding somewhere between words and sounds from forgotten time.
"…vendrua… tal-shen… varin…"
Excitement radiated from its form. It was that of anticipation and of hunger.
It leaned its towering frame forward. Then everything was still.
The creature suddenly locked onto a very specific point within the city. It leaned closer, as if sniffing the wind around, then released a clicking growl that echoed across the land.
And then it leapt.
The ground cracked under the force, sending a tremor across the outer wastelands as its monstrous shape bounded toward Varinholt with terrifying speed.
Back in the city— Ryke ran through the south block streets, passing through panicked pedestrians as the evacuation protocols of the city lit the pathways of safety. He was only a few minutes away from his apartment complex.
Almost home. Almost safe enough to gather himself and—
Then a sound rippled through the air.
It was not the alarm, nor the hum of pylons.
This was far deeper. Like something massive had struck the outer Ward with enough force to make the city's bones ring.
The ground beneath Ryke's feet shook.
Windows around rattled and broke. Cables snapped.
Ryke, who was rushing at full speed, froze mid-step.
"What… was that?"
Another tremor rolled through the street, sharper— followed by a faint, distant roar.
People screamed around him as they heard this, not from fear… but from madness, as this very roar induced madness into their psyche.
Strangely, Ryke remained fine, while the pedestrians around him suffered. He then turned instinctively toward the horizon.
There— just barely visible...something vast and twisted moved beyond the buildings, its silhouette blotting out a stretch of the red-tinged sky, as the infested light of the sun was also spreading simultaneously.
His breath caught.
"This… this wasn't in the early cycles of the game."
His mind was a mess, because everything that was going along with the path, suddenly converged with others.
This was not in any route he played nor were there mentions of it. Making him realize that if he didn't make a move sooner, let alone his planning but his life would be in danger.
As he wondered about this, he noticed something ominous. The air being warped as a sharp sound was echoing, and it was closing in on him each second.
Ryke became aware someone… or rather something was coming. And it was toward him.
As he realized it, a cold sweat ran down his spine. Whatever had noticed the city before…
…had noticed him.