The next morning, I hunched over the workbench, hands deep in the intricate wiring of another Tireless worker. The chassis lay open before me, its internal mechanisms exposed like mechanical viscera. My movements were sluggish, lacking their usual precision.

I couldn't focus. My mind kept returning to the caravan, to the sudden, violent severing of the Brace connection with my scout spiders. The phantom pain lingered, three simultaneous deaths echoing through my consciousness. Worse was the uncertainty; what had happened to Arctur and Barkatus? To the freed slaves who had just begun to taste hope?

A series of annoyed chirps interrupted my brooding. Rolly, my most willful wheeled construct, was circling agitatedly near the workshop entrance. The round machine repeatedly bumped against something… no, someone.

One of the Voiceless stood motionless in the doorway, its crimson carapace gleaming in the workshop's light. The crab-like being made no move to avoid Rolly's persistent collisions.

I set down my tools and approached, wiping grease from my mechanical fingers.

Does the Prophet wish to speak with me? I asked.

The Voiceless slowly shook its head, its eyestalks swiveling independently. It raised one massive claw, beckoning me to follow, then turned and began walking away.

Wait, I called, hurriedly securing the workshop. I issued quick commands to my constructs through our Brace link, instructing them to continue their tasks in my absence.

Outside, the streets bustled with the usual activity: goblins hauling goods, lizardfolk patrolling, orcs and minotaurs going about their business. None paid us much attention as the Voiceless led me through winding passages, away from the central districts.

We headed north, toward a part of the enclave I'd never visited. The buildings here were older, less maintained. The crowds thinned until we walked alone through empty streets.

The northern entrance came into view. It was a small, unassuming gate barely wide enough for a wagon. Unlike the grand eastern portal with its constant traffic and guards, this entrance stood neglected, its mechanisms showing signs of disuse.

Five more Voiceless waited there, forming a protective circle around something on the ground. As we approached, they parted silently, revealing a bloodied form.

Barkatus!

I rushed forward, dropping to kneel beside him. Blood matted his hair from a deep gash across his forehead. His left arm bent at an unnatural angle, clearly broken. His armor, the fine plate I'd crafted for him, was punctured in multiple places, each hole surrounded by a dark stain of blood.

What happened? I demanded, looking from Barkatus to the impassive Voiceless surrounding us. Who did this to you?

The Voiceless offered no response, their eyestalks fixed on us with inscrutable attention.

Barkatus coughed, a wet sound that ended in a pained laugh. "Not exactly... how I planned to return," he managed, grimacing.

We need a healer, I said, rising. He needs-

"No!" Barkatus grabbed my tendril with surprising strength. "No healers. No one... from the enclave."

What are you talking about? You're bleeding out.

"Can't trust them," he hissed, eyes darting toward the silent Voiceless. "Any of them."

The caravan was attacked, I said. I felt my scout spiders die.

"Yeah," he nodded weakly. "But it wasn't monsters or bandits." His eyes met mine, burning with rage despite his weakened state. "It was them. The enclave."

What?

"Sathrak's men," he spat. "Working with Morrg's thugs. They planned it from the start."

I processed his words, mechanical parts whirring as tension built in my frame. That's impossible. The Council voted-

"The Council's fractured," Barkatus interrupted. "Morrg and Sathrak never intended to let those slaves go."

Tell me everything, I demanded.

Barkatus shifted, wincing as he tried to find a less painful position. "We were a day out when I noticed your spiders had stopped reporting. Thought it was strange, but figured maybe they were conserving energy." He coughed again, flecks of blood appearing on his lips. "Then Morrg showed up with about twenty of his gang, surrounding the caravan."

And Sathrak's militia?

"That's when I knew we were fucked," Barkatus said bitterly. "Sathrak's men turned on us. They must have destroyed your spiders first; the little machines wouldn't have been suspicious of our own escorts."

My tendrils coiled tightly. Where was Arctur during this?

"Right beside me," Barkatus said. "Morrg told us to surrender. Said he was taking the slaves to sell to traders from the Southern Kingdoms." His face darkened. "Claimed it was 'unacceptable' to let humans go free. That they'd bring armies back to destroy the enclave."

And Arctur?

"Morrg tried to recruit him. Said it was his 'responsibility as a member of the enclave' to protect their secret." Barkatus's expression softened slightly. "The lizard refused. Told Morrg his loyalty was to the Prophet, not to him."

Pride and fear mingled within me. Then what happened?

"Morrg just sneered and ordered the attack." Barkatus's eyes clouded with the memory. "It was a slaughter. The freed slaves had no weapons, no armor. Arctur and I tried to protect them, but we were outnumbered five to one."

How did you escape?

"I didn't," Barkatus said grimly. "I fell. Last thing I remember was watching Arctur fighting off three lizardmen. Then waking up here." He gestured weakly at the Voiceless. "These red bastards brought me in. Don't know how they found me."

I turned to the nearest Voiceless, its eyestalks regarding me impassively. What about Arctur? The slaves?

The creature remained silent, offering no clues.

"We have to assume the worst," Barkatus whispered. "Morrg will have taken the survivors to sell. Arctur..." He trailed off.

Arctur may still be alive, I insisted, though uncertainty gnawed at me. The Voiceless would have brought him here too if they'd found him.

"Maybe," Barkatus conceded. "Or maybe he's already dead."

I stood, tendrils writhing with barely contained fury. I need to speak with the Prophet. Then I'm going to find Morrg and Sathrak.

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"And do what?" Barkatus asked, his voice weak but challenging.

I looked down at him, my mechanical body tensing with purpose. First, I'm going to get you somewhere safe. Then I'm going to make them regret ever conceiving this betrayal.

The Voiceless around us shifted slightly, the first movement they'd made since our arrival. Whether in approval or warning, I couldn't tell.

All I knew was that blood had been spilled, trust had been broken, and someone would answer for it.

My war frame moved with purpose through the enclave streets, mechanical legs propelling me forward with unnatural speed. Residents scattered from my path, perhaps sensing the fury radiating from my form. My tendrils writhed like agitated serpents, their dragon heads opening and closing reflexively.

The administration building loomed ahead, its black brick facade suddenly appearing ominous rather than impressive. I didn't bother with the usual formalities, sending a scout spider ahead to announce my arrival as I burst through the doors.

"The Council is in session," a kobold attendant stammered, scurrying backward as I approached.

Good. That saves me the trouble of gathering them.

The doors to the council chamber swung open at my approach. Inside sat four of the five elders: Yudron, Akassi, Fargill, and Sathrak. My eyeless gaze locked onto Sathrak immediately, the lizardman lounging in his chair, casually drawing from a long-stemmed pipe as though he hadn't just orchestrated a massacre.

I entered the elder council's meeting room, my pneumatic systems hissing with barely contained fury. The smell of Sathrak's pipe smoke filled the air, sweet and cloying; a jarring contrast to the stench of betrayal that hung over him.

Morrg's seat remained conspicuously empty. Of course he wouldn't be here. He was too busy selling innocent lives to Southern Kingdom traders.

"Another meeting, Vardiel?" Akassi grumped, her goblin features creasing with annoyance. "You've been calling a lot of elder council meetings lately."

For good reason, I replied, my mental voice deliberately calm despite the rage surging through my body.

Fargill leaned forward, his kobold eyes gleaming with entrepreneurial interest. "Is this about the water project? Or perhaps to inform us that the next batch of Tireless are complete?"

I shook my head, tendrils swaying with the motion. This is much more serious than infrastructure or constructs.

My gaze fixed on Sathrak, who met it without flinching. We have been betrayed. A traitor sits among us at this very table.

Yudron's aged face creased with concern. "What are you talking about, Vardiel?"

Sathrak took another long draw from his pipe, exhaling a plume of fragrant smoke. "If you have something to say, mechanical one, spit it out." His reptilian eyes narrowed, showing neither fear nor remorse.

Barkatus has returned, I announced, watching Sathrak's expression closely. A flicker of surprise, nothing more. He was grievously wounded, but alive enough to tell me everything.

The tendrils below me stiffened as I recounted the betrayal in cold, precise detail. Morrg and Sathrak ambushed the caravan. They slaughtered the escorts who wouldn't join them and recaptured the freed slaves. Their plan was to sell them to Southern Kingdom traders, against the explicit decision of this council.

Silence fell over the chamber when I finished. The only sound was the soft bubbling of Sathrak's pipe.

Akassi finally broke the silence. "These are serious accusations, Vardiel." She turned to Sathrak, her expression hardening. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Sathrak removed the pipe from his mouth, examining it as though it were more interesting than the charges leveled against him. "Morrg is an idiot," he muttered. "He was supposed to kill that human mercenary, and he couldn't even do that right."

The admission stunned the room. Yudron's mouth fell open, while Fargill's scales paled visibly.

"You're not even going to deny it?" Akassi asked, incredulous.

Sathrak shrugged, replacing the pipe between his teeth. "Why deny what I feel no shame for? Letting those humans go was monumentally foolish. What I did, I did for the good of the enclave."

Fargill slammed his fist on the table, his usually calculating demeanor shattered by rage. "Against the will of the council! We voted, Sathrak. We decided!"

"The council is weak," Sathrak spat, smoke curling from his nostrils. "Swayed by an outsider who uses his connection to the Prophet, his fancy contraptions, and his naive ideals to make you dance to his tune." He slammed his scaled hand on the table. "I'm the only one thinking about our future!"

Akassi shook her head, fury evident in her tightly controlled movements. Fargill continued to seethe, clawed hands flexing as though imagining them around Sathrak's throat.

Yudron's expression was grimmer than I had ever seen it, the usual kindness in his eyes replaced by stern judgment. "By violating the council's decision, you risk exile, Sathrak."

The lizardman threw back his head and laughed, a harsh sound that echoed off the chamber walls. "Try it, old one. I command over two hundred lizardmen and orcs loyal to me. The militia follows my orders, not yours. And I have Morrg's thugs to back me up." His smile was all teeth and menace. "I am this council's teeth. No decree passes without my say-so."

I stepped forward, the floor trembling slightly under my war frame's weight. You're wrong.

At my words, the chamber doors swung open. Two Voiceless entered, their red forms moving with eerie grace. The council members recoiled in shock; never before had the Prophet's servants entered this chamber unbidden.

You've forgotten something critical, Sathrak, I continued, my Mind Speech resonating with cold certainty. This enclave exists because the Prophet allows it to exist. Without him and his army of Voiceless, the monsters of the Hellzone would have overrun this place long ago.

The lizardman's composure finally cracked, his pipe forgotten in his hand.

Before coming here, I spoke with the Prophet. He agrees you've overstepped your role. I gestured to the Voiceless flanking me. The Prophet and his servants will assume the militia's duties until a suitable replacement can be found for you and your betrayers.

Sathrak stood abruptly, his chair toppling backward. "You can't do this!"

I leaned forward, the dragon heads of my tendrils opening to reveal gleaming metal teeth. I already have.

The Voiceless were nothing if not efficient. Within hours of the council meeting, the red humanoids had spread throughout the enclave like a crimson tide. I watched from the administration building's steps as they systematically disarmed Sathrak's men, moving with uncanny coordination that suggested a hive mind rather than individual thought.

A squad of lizardmen attempted resistance near the mushroom farms, drawing weapons against the Prophet's servants. The battle, if it could be called that, lasted less than thirty seconds. The Voiceless moved with impossible speed, their chitin weapons slicing through conventional armor as though it were parchment. Not a single one of the Prophet's servants fell.

"They're magnificent," Yudron murmured beside me, his ancient eyes wide with a mixture of awe and fear. "I've never seen them mobilize like this before."

How many are there? I asked, tracking the red forms as they secured another district.

"The Prophet has created over a thousand, though most remain within the caldera. We typically see only a few dozen at any given time." Yudron shook his head. "I never imagined they could take control so... completely."

By midday, reports reached us that most of Sathrak's forces had surrendered without resistance after witnessing the fate of those who fought back. Morrg remained unaccounted for, likely fled with the caravan of recaptured slaves.

I couldn't wait for the Voiceless to finish securing the enclave. Each passing hour meant the caravan moved further away, taking Arctur and the freed humans with them.

I'm going after them, I announced to Yudron.

The old orc nodded, unsurprised. "I thought you might. The council has authorized whatever resources you need."

In my workshop, I checked my war frame's systems one final time. The pneumatics hissed smoothly, and all nine dragon-headed tendrils responded with perfect synchronization. I took my sword-lance from its rack, the runes along its shaft glowing faintly with stored power.

Three scout spiders scurried into position around me, their legs clicking against the stone floor. Through our Brace link, I sensed their eagerness for the mission ahead.

At the eastern gate, a familiar figure waited, fully armored and gripping his auric steel sword.

Barkatus, what are you doing here? I asked, though I already knew the answer.

He grinned, the expression tight with pain he was trying to hide. "What does it look like? I'm coming with you."

No, you're not. You need to recover.

"I'm fine." He straightened, wincing slightly. "Just a scratch."

The council arranged for their best healer to tend to you, I countered. Your most severe injuries have been addressed, but you need days, perhaps weeks of proper rest.

Barkatus scoffed. "I've fought with worse. Remember that Land Lobster that nearly took my arm off? Back in battle the next day."

The answer is still no.

"You can't go out there alone," he insisted, his knuckles whitening around his sword hilt. "It's suicide."

I won't be alone.

As if summoned by my thoughts, six Voiceless materialized from the shadows of the gate, each bearing weapons of the same red chitin that formed the Prophet's body. Their blank faces turned toward me in perfect unison, awaiting command.

The Prophet has arranged an escort, I explained.

Barkatus stared at the Voiceless, then back at me. For a moment, I detected something like jealousy flash across his features.

"So you're replacing me with some crabs now?" he growled, gesturing at the red humanoids.

I sighed, the sound emerging like a flute's melody through my lips. Go back to the healer's quarters and rest, Barkatus. That's an order.

He glared at me for several long seconds before finally sheathing his sword with unnecessary force. "Fine. But when you get back, we're going to have a conversation about what friends do and don't do to each other."

As he limped away, I turned toward the vast expanse of the Hellzone stretching before us. Somewhere out there, Arctur and over a hundred innocent people needed help. And I intended to find them.

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