Date: February 12, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The passage through the Gate's silvery veil was no less harsh for the Rakesh Dynasty's detachment than it was for the Order's knights, but the discipline of the "Imperial Falcons" allowed them to regroup faster. When the spatial distortion collapsed, Baron Kaelen—the detachment's commander and one of the Dynasty's outstanding Heralds—was already on his feet, leaning on his heavy gilded blade.
Kaelen was a man whose appearance exuded authority and cold calculation. His armor, covered in the finest engraving, seemed untouched by dust, and his gaze, with its golden eyes, instantly scanned the surroundings. As a Herald, he possessed a considerable inner reserve, allowing him to maintain mental clarity even in the aggressively hostile environment of the Pyramid of Entropy.
Unlike Grak's group, the Baron's detachment was numerous. Fifteen Rakesh knights, among them promising Initiates and hardened Warriors, gradually rose from the cold floor, looking around in the thick grey fog.
"Everyone, assemble! Hold formation!" Kaelen's voice rang out hollowly, echoing off the cracked walls.
He raised his hand, and a "Golden Dome" began to form around the detachment. This was a manifestation of his Spirit—a powerful barrier that literally pushed the pyramid's destructive influence outward. But Kaelen immediately felt the task wouldn't be easy. Fifteen people required a wide radius of protection, and the larger the dome's area, the stronger the surrounding entropy pressed upon it. The Baron's energy within his Vessel pulsed, working to maintain this vital sphere.
"Here, time itself is trying to digest us," one of the officers remarked, watching as, beyond the golden glow, a drop of water falling from the ceiling turned to grey dust in an instant. "Commander, can your shield hold us all?"
"It will hold as long as necessary," Kaelen answered coldly. "But if any of you is too slow or foolish to stay within the line, I won't waste power saving them. Move towards the center."
The group of "Imperial Falcons" began moving along the corridor. Due to the large number of people, they had to walk in a tight formation, almost shoulder to shoulder. This created certain difficulties: the floor in the pyramid was uneven, and temporal anomalies would sometimes emerge directly from the walls, causing the fighters on the edges to instinctively shy away, risking crossing the Herald's protective boundary.
Kaelen walked at the head, his face remaining impassive, but he felt each step costing him an increasing amount of inner power. The pyramid seemed to have its own appetite, greedily absorbing any organized power that tried to oppose it.
"Faster," the Baron commanded as they entered a hall filled with destroyed pedestals.
At that moment, one of the young Initiates named Julius, carrying supplies, stumbled. The stone slab under his foot suddenly crumbled, turning into loose dust. The young man lost his balance and, trying to steady himself, inadvertently stuck his left arm and shoulder outside Kaelen's golden dome.
Out there, just a couple of inches from safety, lay an invisible vortex of entropy.
Julius cried out, but his cry was instantly choked off. Before the entire detachment's eyes, the young man's arm shriveled and became covered in a network of age spots in a second. The decay process, multiplied by the anomaly, spread to his shoulder and chest. The steel of his pauldron darkened in mid-air, became covered in deep, rusty sores, and crumbled to dust.
"Help..." Julius rasped hoarsely, his voice becoming cracked and weak, like a very old man's.
His body rapidly lost volume, his skin tightened over his bones, and his hair turned white and fell out, turning into grey smoke. The density of his life essence was too low to resist such concentrated destruction. Within three seconds, what had been a young warrior finally lost its human form. Armor, weapons, and flesh itself disintegrated into fine grey suspension, which settled silently on the floor.
Kaelen didn't even turn around. He only gripped his sword's hilt a little tighter, feeling the load on his dome momentarily lighten—he now had one less person to protect.
"Don't look at the floor," the Baron ordered. "Julius's death is but a reminder that there is no place for the weak here. We continue the march. I sense the presence of the Order of Order ahead."
In Kaelen's eyes flashed a cold excitement. He wasn't going to yield the Relic to the northern knights, even if it meant sacrificing his entire detachment.
The golden haze of the "Imperial Falcons'" dome disappeared into the depths of the tunnel, leaving behind only silence and the dead dust that was once a living man. The battle for the legacy of Zantra the Dishonored demanded payment, and the Rakesh Dynasty had just made its first contribution.