For twenty years, Valeria's morning routine had been a flawless, unyielding military sequence. She would wake at dawn, inspect the perimeter wards, calculate the daily caloric burn of the valley, and review the continental intelligence briefings before the sun even breached the eastern ridges.
Today, the sun was already high in the sky, and Valeria was drinking tea in the gardens.
In the primary study, the living, organic-digital tactical table was pulsing with a harsh, neon-orange warning light.
Zenith stood at the head of the table, his celestial steel Logic Rod humming with rapid calculations. Orion and Elara stood on either side of the Architect. The seventeen-year-old Vanguard was fully armored, the heavy obsidian hilt of the Solar Anvil resting over his shoulder.
