A month and a half. Forty-five days of relentless pressure, the constant, low thrum of Elias Thorne’s impatience a palpable force in Kaelus’s workshop. Now, the master mechanist, perpetually smudged with grease and reeking of ozone, lies sprawled across a workbench, exhausted but triumphant. Not only has Kaelus delivered the promised batch of Aetherium Bolt-Casters two weeks ahead of Elias’s already ambitious schedule, but he’s also produced a hundred additional units, a silent testament to his grudging respect for Elias’s vision. Kaelus declares a temporary strike, his voice hoarse, his pride battling his utter depletion. Elias, observing Kaelus’s defeat-turned-victory, feels a grim satisfaction settle in his chest. The first piece of his grim tapestry is complete. The next morning, Elias moves with quiet purpose through the bustling, steam-hissing thoroughfares of Veridia, heading directly for the Aether-Guard encampment. Commander Valerius, the gruff, battle-hardened leader of Elias’s personal mercenary contingent, eyes the compact Aetherium Bolt-Casters with open skepticism. These elegant, almost delicate weapons seem ill-suited for the brutish realities of the Veridian outlands. But skepticism turns to stunned silence as Elias initiates a demonstration. The crack of compressed Aetherium, the whir of internal gears, and bolts of raw energy lance across the training yard, shattering targets with unexpected force and precision. “By the Cogwheel, that’s… astonishing,” Valerius mutters, a rare tremor in his voice. “The range is exceptional.” “And the rapidity of fire,” another Aether-Guard adds, fingers twitching as if already grasping the weapon. “An intriguing piece of engineering.” The general sentiment among the rank and file is one of casual, almost detached appreciation – a novelty, perhaps. But Valerius, his mind a steel trap of tactical analysis, instantly grasps the weapon’s true, terrifying potential. A shudder runs down his spine. Three hundred Aether-Guard, mounted on their rugged Aether-Chargers, armed with these rapid-fire Bolt-Casters – the image flashes in his mind, a vision of devastation. Such a weapon, deployed en masse, could overwhelm even the heavily armored Veridian Protectors, catching them unprepared. Valerius claps his hands, the sound sharp in the sudden silence. “Impressive, Lord Thorne. This must be the crossbow-armed cavalry unit you spoke of. The incongruity… it vanishes now.” The memory of Elias’s previous, seemingly absurd demand for rigorous, unspecific training for his cavalry unit, a unit that appeared to lack a truly efficient purpose, suddenly makes chilling sense. “And mark my words,” Elias instructs, his gaze hard, “do not attempt to pry open the Aetherium cell or the bolt feeder. They are designed to rupture if forced. Explosive decompression.” He ensures their internal workings remain a closely guarded secret. The Aether-Guard nod, accepting the complexity of such a potent device. Elias knows the irony; the mechanism is surprisingly simple, its elegance a greater danger than any intricate design. Hence, the added security. He thinks: *Sooner or later, the blueprint will fall into the wrong hands. But not yet. Not before Veridia’s claim wars are settled, not before our power is consolidated.* To that end, even the subsidiary mechanists enlisted to assist Kaelus only produced specific components in their isolated workshops. There are no plans to produce Bolt-Casters beyond the immediate reserve for the Aether-Guard. *The Aether-Guard alone will be enough to turn the tide in the coming conflicts,* Elias reflects. Even if more weapons were to be supplied, it would only extend to a select few elite Protector detachments. *Whether the Protectors will deign to abandon their traditional blades for these, that is another matter.* Elias’s lips curl into a faint, grim smile as he mentally delineates the strict limitations on who will receive these tools of war. Equipping Veridia’s entire regular militia is impractical, constrained by both time and the enormous cost of raw Aetherium. But above all, the risk of information leakage, of rival houses reverse-engineering his advantage, remains paramount. Once the Aether-Guard’s training is complete, Elias’s material preparations for the coming conflicts will be all but finished. Only the final phase remains. “We must verify their effectiveness,” Elias states, his voice cutting through the humid air of the encampment. “Prepare the Aether-Guard. Arm them with the Bolt-Casters. We march out to the southern Fallow Wastes. We will scour every chitter-claw nest we encounter, all the way to the foot of the Shardpeak Range.” Valerius’s brow furrows. “Lord Thorne, even after what we’ve witnessed, such a sweep… It seems improbable.” The creatures lurking beneath the Shardpeak foothills are, for the most part, low-tier aberrations, barely worth mentioning in a Protector’s ledger, yet their sheer numbers often rendered such an endeavor a protracted, costly affair. Elias fixes him with a cold stare. “It is not a matter of probability, Commander. We must do it. Otherwise, this… this entire endeavor, it holds no purpose.” He offers no further explanation for the depth of his intent. A short time later, the Aether-Guard, newly armed, ride out through Veridia’s gates, their Aether-Chargers rumbling a deep counterpoint to the city’s industrial hum, ready to unleash their devastating firepower. *** Doo-doo-doo-doo. The deep, percussive thrum of Aether-Charger hooves reverberates across the Fallow Wastes. A horde of nearly a hundred chitter-claws, their chitinous forms scuttling over the scarred ground, spots the approaching Aether-Guard and scatters in primal fear. Just a few months prior, clearing such a swarm would have taken an entire day, a grinding, brutal skirmish. Valerius, a glint of excitement in his eyes, raises a gauntleted fist, then spreads his palm wide in a precise command. Instantly, the Aether-Guard, previously arrayed in three compact rows, peel outwards, dispersing into a broad, two-line formation. The Aetherium bolts, launched from the Bolt-Casters, descend upon the fleeing chitter-claws with a sharp, hissing crack, far less noisy than the crude, older pulse-cannons. *Keeeeeack!* With just one volley, the vast majority of the hundred-strong horde is decimated. The few lucky survivors, those not instantly vaporized or impaled, fall like twitching porcupines under the ensuing second barrage. In barely ten seconds, a force a third of their number has annihilated a monster swarm that would have given a Protector squadron pause. Even an encounter with a full Veridian Protector detachment would have taken longer to resolve. At the rear, Elias Thorne feels a flicker of grim satisfaction. His internal register clicks, the projections of his 'temporal echo' aligning with this stark reality. Yet, it is the Aether-Guard themselves, those wielding the weapons, who are most astounded. “The range is farther than I imagined!” one yells, his face smeared with grime and awe. “Mine ripped through one, and lodged in the head of a second!” another exclaims, cradling his Bolt-Caster like a sacred relic. Their achievement, however, is far from over. Under the persistent, unrelenting command of Elias, the Aether-Guard sweep through every subsequent chitter-claw nest they encounter, galloping relentlessly southward. The panicked cries of monsters echo across the fields, eventually receding like a tide, as the creatures instinctively learn to avoid the lethal approach of the Aether-Guard. The three hundred riders create a reverse monster wave, shaking the very wilderness of Veridia’s south. “The Thorne heir’s Aether-Guard! Open the gates!” “What in the name of the Cogwheel are they doing at this hour?” “Right. The south is barren, cursed by those chitter-claws; there’s not even an Aetherium mining outpost left.” “Shh, the heir himself rides with them.” As the pale light of day gives way to the flickering gas-lamps of twilight, the militia soldiers at Veridia’s Glimmerwall Perimeter hurry to open the massive gates for the returning Aether-Guard. Their muttered complaints about the late hour and the desolate south are quickly silenced when they spot the grim, unyielding figure of Elias Thorne at the forefront. The Aether-Guard, however, pay no mind to the soldiers’ hushed reactions. They are lost in their own dazed bliss. “From now on, you’re my prized possession,” a veteran mutters, running a reverent hand over his Bolt-Caster’s smooth casing. “If you break it, the Commander will break us. Handle with care!” another warns, his voice laced with genuine fear and pride. “As if I would treat it any differently!” They fondle their Bolt-Casters, faces dazed with a savage joy. Though the hunt was only half a day’s work, primarily against low-tier chitter-claws with no valuable Aetherium by-products, these three hundred riders have returned from a one-sided massacre of over a thousand monsters. For ordinary C-rank Aether-Guard, to wield such devastating power is unfathomable. Their excitement, their newfound swagger, is entirely justified. “So the heir created this?” one asks, awed. “Idiot, it was Master Kaelus.” “But Kaelus is the heir’s contracted mechanist. Who holds the design, then?” “I heard Lord Thorne designed the core mechanism himself.” “Come now, that can’t be right.” Thanks to the sheer, undeniable effectiveness of the Bolt-Casters, Elias Thorne, who had largely been regarded as a peculiar, infamously wealthy scion with a penchant for strange projects, sees his reputation among the Aether-Guard soar, solidifying from a distant enigma into a formidable, almost legendary figure. At the forefront, Commander Valerius, thoroughly content with the day’s display, turns to his employer, a proud smile on his face. Elias’s response, however, is far from enthusiastic. “Pardon?” Valerius’s smile falters, replaced by a puzzled frown. “You’re still operating on outdated tactics, Commander. Why replace the rank after every discharge? We need to improve reload speed. Find a way.” Elias presents a new, even more demanding list of expectations. Valerius’s face tightens, a shadow of reluctance passing over him. *Such firepower, and he’s still not satisfied? What precisely does he plan to achieve?* The thought that Elias was merely indulging in a gilded scion’s eccentric hobby has long vanished, replaced by a deep, grudging respect. Yet, Valerius’s skepticism now surges anew, spurred by his employer’s seemingly excessive, almost insatiable ambition. Nonetheless, he does not voice his doubts. “…I shall readjust the training, Lord Thorne. To match the new weapons, and to meet these new parameters.” “Good. I will check again soon.” Despite the litany of new demands to Valerius, Elias is, in fact, profoundly pleased. The Bolt-Casters, engineered by Master Kaelus, have exceeded his bleakest expectations, their demonstrated firepower far surpassing his initial estimates. More weapons, for now, are unnecessary. Calling Veridia’s regular militia to train with this dangerous new technology amidst the looming threat of Aetherium claim wars is beyond consideration. His focus, Elias reminds himself, must be on his own growth. *The temporal echo, the raw Aetherium channeling, that is where the true power lies.* If, in the process, he can win over the core Protectors of his house, then all the better. Even amidst this wave of positive progress, Elias cannot completely shake off the profound guilt that shadows him, nor the vivid, haunting memories of future tragedy that drive him. He refocuses his grim resolve. *** As the raw, biting chill of Veridia’s deep winter finally recedes, warm Aetherium-infused breezes herald the arrival of a new cycle. The tales of the 'mad Thorne heir' and his 'brilliant brother, Lord Damien,' which had stirred controversy throughout the family and the city, have quieted. Elias, having ceased his more public, unconventional projects, no longer fuels the rumors directly. However, the opinion that Lord Damien, the second son, would eventually take control of Veridia’s Aetherium industries and its Protector legions begins to circulate publicly, its origins murky but persistent. Yet, there is an exception to this prevailing sentiment. Within the exclusive, steel-hardened circles of the Veridian Protectors, a different story unfolds. “By the Motherlode, his stamina is unreal.” “No kidding. Such a monstrous constitution… it must be an inheritance from the old lines.” “It’s a pity that with such prodigious physical capabilities, he isn’t more proficient with the blade.” “Then again, considering Master Ignis’s case… his Aetherium mastery eclipses his sword work, and look what he achieved.” “That’s hardly a reference; the old man’s skills… they were legendary.” “Ser Kaelen, even you lost to his brute force in the last spar.” The Protectors’ voices, usually so formal, hold a mix of awe and bewilderment when they speak of Elias Thorne, a man who defies all their established metrics of strength and skill. He is an anomaly, a force of nature, yet one they cannot fully comprehend or categorize. His raw power is undeniable, even if his methods remain unorthodox.

The First Glimmer of Annihilation