NOVEL NEXT Chapter 128: The Monolith...
Then we begin, Kaeryx said, voice like burning stone.
A knock echoed behind them.
David stepped into view, silhouetted by the doorway.
"Sorry to interrupt," he said, a little breathless. "But one of the Grosh'ka runners just brought news. There's movement in the western quadrant—something big. They're requesting your presence."
Ethan straightened immediately, his eyes sharpening.
"Another sanctum?"
David nodded. "Possibly. Or something worse."
Kaeryx spread his wings slightly, eager.
Ethan gave one last look at the stars.
"Then let's not keep the world waiting."
He turned and strode inside—Kaeryx gliding silently behind, the heat of a forgotten god trailing at his heels.
The journey to the western quadrant began before dawn.
Ethan stood atop a drake-leather skiff—an enchanted hovercraft engineered by a collaboration between orcish smiths and dragonkin rune-carvers. Smooth and swift, it glided silently across the jagged plains, skimming a few inches above the ground as it raced westward. Behind him, a small strike team followed on similar skiffs, their outlines cloaked in thin layers of spell-woven shadow fabric. David led the second unit, flanked by Nelda and two sharp-eyed scouts from Grosh'ka.
The air was colder here, tinged with sulfur and something metallic—like old blood and fresh rain. It hadn't rained, though. Not in weeks.
Ethan didn't like it.
As they moved deeper into the region, the very terrain changed. The earth grew fractured, veins of glowing orange lava etched into its surface like a dragon's pulse. Ruins of towers jutted out from the blackened ground, broken stone arches and pillars clawing at the sky.
They reached the last known coordinate sent by the Grosh'ka scouts.
Kaeryx, gliding high above in a distant spiral, let out a subtle mental nudge.
"Something is near. Old. Watching."
Ethan narrowed his gaze.
"Form up," he said quietly.
They disembarked the skiffs and approached on foot, using the jagged terrain for cover. The deeper they went, the quieter it became—unnaturally so. Not a beast. Not a bird. Not even wind.
Then… they saw it.
A deep crater, blackened at the edges, still faintly smoldering. In its center, half-buried in earth and surrounded by scorched bone, was a massive obsidian monolith, standing over twenty meters tall. Its surface shimmered faintly, as if covered in liquid glass.
Carved into it were strange glyphs—twisting, ancient symbols that looked like they had been burned into reality itself.
"What… the hell is that?" David muttered, awestruck.
"I don't know," Ethan answered honestly, stepping closer. "But it's not natural."
Kaeryx landed beside them with a low growl, his wings folding in tightly. His eyes were locked on the monolith.
"That… is not part of the Labyrinth."
"What do you mean?" Ethan asked mentally, his jaw tightening.
Kaeryx's thoughts were slow, deliberate. "This was placed. Not grown. Not formed. It was forced into existence."
The team circled the structure carefully. One of the scouts raised a mana detector, but the needle spun wildly before cracking down the middle.
"No reading. Whatever this is, it's not bound by standard mana laws," the scout whispered, alarmed.
Ethan reached out mentally to the Sanctum rune stones in his possession—Grosh'ka and the Dragonkin hold. Neither pulsed in response. He was outside their tether range.
Isolated.
Just the way they want you, he thought grimly.
"We mark it. Sketch the glyphs. And we fall back." Ethan ordered.
But the moment he turned…
A pulse erupted from the monolith.
Not a sound—but a feeling. Like a scream inside his soul.
Everyone dropped to a knee, clutching their heads. Even Kaeryx reeled back, a low snarl rumbling from his throat.
And then… something stirred within the crater.
A figure.
Tall. Slender. Wrapped in blackened rags that floated unnaturally behind it, as if underwater. Its face was hidden by a bone-white mask, etched with a single vertical line.
Ethan's eyes narrowed. "What the hell…?"
Kaeryx stepped forward, growling, but the figure raised a single finger.
The ground beneath Kaeryx cracked—a dozen black spires rising suddenly and wrapping around his limbs. Not tight enough to harm, but enough to warn.
Ethan stepped forward calmly. "You've made your point. Who are you?"
The masked figure tilted its head. Then, in a voice that felt like whispered thunder:
"We are the Forgotten Choir. And this is not your domain."
Ethan met its gaze head-on, his mana pulsing dangerously beneath his skin. "This entire Labyrinth is my domain. You're the one trespassing."
A pause.
Then… a laugh. Soft. Cold.
"Claim your sanctums, Fatebreaker. Carve your little empire. But the Choir will sing. And when we do… your name will be the first note."
With that, the figure began to fade—its form dissolving into ash.
Kaeryx broke free from the black spires with a roar, but it was too late.
They were gone.
Only the monolith remained—silent, pulsing once… then going still.
The air returned to normal.
But Ethan's instincts were screaming.
"What now?" David asked, rising shakily, brushing dust off his armor.
Ethan stared at the monolith for a long moment.
"Now…" he said darkly, "we prepare. We double the patrols. We reinforce both sanctums. And we send word to the others."
David frowned. "Others?"
"There's no way we're the only ones trying to claim the Labyrinth," Ethan said. "It's time we find out who else is out there. Allies or enemies—everyone needs to be ready."
He turned, walking back toward the skiff.
Kaeryx remained by the monolith for a second longer, his golden eyes narrowing as if trying to remember something long lost.
Then he followed.
By the time Ethan and the strike team returned to the Dragonkin Sanctum, the sun-like glow of the rune torches was already dimming—signaling the arrival of the Labyrinth's "night," though no stars lit the sky. Shadows twisted over the obsidian towers, and the very air hummed with tension.
The moment Ethan crossed the sanctum gate, scouts scrambled to meet him, and Kaeryx soared above, circling once before landing on the central terrace with a ground-shaking thud. His wings folded in, but his posture remained tense—watchful.
David's voice was sharp as he called out to the guards, "Double the patrols. Bring the forge heads and ward masters to the council chamber. Now."
Ethan didn't say a word as he strode inside, eyes straight ahead.
The monolith.
The Choir.
Those names lingered in his thoughts like smoke that refused to disperse.
He walked with purpose, every footstep echoing along the Sanctum's glassy corridors. By the time he entered the war chamber—an oval room with a crystal-etched table and runic lines crawling across the floor—nearly every key figure was present.
Thraaz, the former dragonkin Warlord turned blacksmith, stood near the eastern wall in his soot-streaked forge robe, arms crossed but respectful. Nelda and a few other warriors of mixed race stood near the map board. A new orcish sentinel, tall and tusked with war paint still fresh on his face, stood ramrod straight beside the scouts.
Ethan looked around. His voice was low—but every word landed like a hammer.
"We were watched."
Silence fell. The room stiffened.
"Some kind of figure. Wore a mask. Called themselves the Forgotten Choir. Claimed the monolith was theirs… and warned me to stop expanding."
Thraaz grunted. "A threat?"
"A warning," Ethan said. "But that's a threat all the same."
David stepped up beside him. "They incapacitated Kaeryx for a few seconds. It was… more than intimidation."
The room stirred with uneasy murmurs.
"Is the monolith still there?" Nelda asked, frowning.
Ethan nodded. "Yes. We marked it. But I want scouts watching it from afar. Rotate them every six hours. No contact, no close approaches."
"What are we dealing with?" one of the lead workers asked.
Ethan folded his arms. "I don't know yet. But I intend to find out."
He moved to the large table, its surface enchanted with an illusionary map of the local Labyrinth territory. Two sanctums—Grosh'ka and the Dragonkin Hold—glowed in emerald green.
He pointed to an empty patch between both and the monolith's rough location. "This is where it appeared. Which means… we're being observed more closely than we realized."
"And if they're watching, they may not be alone," David added.
Ethan glanced across the room. "I want a communication relay rune set up to Grosh'ka. If anything happens there, we'll know in real time. I also want both sanctums fortified. Layered defenses. Runes. Watch towers. I don't care if we have to mine out more crystals—get it done."
Thraaz rumbled. "I'll need more hands at the forge."
"You'll get them," Ethan said. "Pull from the dragonkin ranks. The ones still loyal. Give them purpose."
Then he looked to the scouts. "And I want our messengers heading out to find signs of other sanctums. I won't sit here and wait for this 'Choir' to come to us. We move first."
A few heads nodded.
"We'll start spreading our network. Slowly. Careful expansion. If we find another race or sanctum, we reach out. If they're hostile—we prepare for war."
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