[Chapter 24 continues.]

"It can't be what?" Yoshua snapped. "Spit it out!"

"I spent a lot of time with Sheera in the Citadel," Ibris began.

Mazi nodded solemnly at the mention of Sheera's name. After all, Sheera had been his master in the monastery as well.

"We don't have time for nostalgia," Marcus cut in sharply.

Ibris shot Marcus a glare before continuing. "Sheera was always deeply invested in the South, even during his time as the head priest—or Ummanu of the Citadel. He would often immerse himself in the ancient Dawa scriptures—especially, the Scroll of Khenar-Tashi."

"An unusual choice for the Ummanu," Marcus said, finally giving Ibris his full attention.

Ibris hesitated for a moment. "He once confided in me that he often found it more insightful than the Gab Nori," he said quietly.

Marcus raised an eyebrow and scoffed. The thought of the great Ummanu deferring to ancient Dawa texts instead of the Gab Nori clearly entertained him.

"Sheera was always concerned about the Atlantean royalty and nobility's blatant disregard for the laws of Humrab," Ibris said, glancing at Yoshua, who gave a solemn nod of agreement.

In moments like this, Yoshua's quiet resolve often reminded Ibris of Sheera's wisdom and unwavering principles.

"I was Sheera's first acolyte. We were close for a time. I even studied that Dawa text with him." Ibris explained, "I remember one chapter of the scroll vividly. It spoke about sentient androids," he said, thoughtfully. "It detailed the creation of the first sentient android—a machine that gained consciousness. According to the scroll, this android eventually led the war in the South, programming others of its kind to sentience, granting them self-awareness, and building an army."

"We really don't have time for this history lesson," Marcus interrupted again, more impatient than before.

"Marcus," Ibris shot him a glare. "The scroll claimed all sentient androids were destroyed in the War—except the original one, Ashur. That always worried Sheera. I often wondered if that's why he went South, to search for it. And now, I fear he may have been right."

Marcus let out a sudden, incredulous laugh, the sound cutting through the tense atmosphere.

Everyone turned to stare at him.

"What?" Marcus said, his laughter fading as he caught their grave expressions. "You can't expect me to believe the original sentient android—Ashur—is still alive," he said, pointing at the holographic map. "And you think that's it? There?" He added, incredulously.

Ibris found Marcus' flippant attitude more than a little exhausting. "The scroll mentioned the android was imprisoned in an ancient cell as punishment by the Dawa monks," Ibris said, quietly, with unease. "The scroll never said where the cell was. I always thought it was in the South. But now..." His gaze darkened. "I wonder if Ashur was hidden in the Western lands."

"Again, Ibris," Marcus interrupted, eyeing him skeptically, "this all sounds insane. Are you sure cutting out the ambrosia isn't messing with your head?"

Ibris then said something that stopped Marcus cold. "Sheera matched the approximate time the scroll was written with Gab Nori verses that were 'revealed' during the same period. And, interestingly, they suggest something disturbingly similar."

He paused, his voice growing solemn as he recited from memory, "From the Chapter of the Shepherd, verse seven-hundred seventeen:

'When the sentient machines falter, hearts cold as stone,
All will crumble, but one shall endure alone.
It will walk the dry, barren lands, unseen, untamed,
And its time shall stretch until the end of time is proclaimed.'"

Ibris' words hung heavy in the air, broken only by the steady hum of the Ishtar's Veil engines.

Mazi broke the tension, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I'm shocked you have Gab Nori verses memorized, Ibris."

Ibris shook his head, choosing to ignore Mazi entirely.

Marcus, who had been impatiently tapping the holographic console, suddenly froze. His face went pale, his usual composure visibly shaken. "If what you're saying is true," he said, "then we are not prepared to walk into that arena." Without another word, he began entering something into his military-grade tablet. Ibris leaned closer, trying to catch a glimpse of what Marcus was doing, but Marcus subtly turned away, avoiding his gaze.

Ibris and Marcus' words sent a wave of unease through the cabin, everyone exchanging tense glances.

Ibris' throat tightened as his mind raced, his hand instinctively slipping into his pocket. "I have something that might help," he said, clearing his throat. He pulled out the small case Vega had given him and flipped it open, revealing vials filled with a faintly glowing liquid.

"Are those STIMs?" Yoshua asked, shocked.

"Yes," Ibris responded, avoiding eye contact. "They're designed to enhance strength and speed—for both humans and halfbreeds. These might give us the edge we need."

"No, no," Yoshua said, shaking his head. "Those could have unpredictable effects on us."

Ibris' mind shot back to the experiences the two of them had with STIMs during the war—both the power they provided and the devastating aftermath.

"Where exactly did you get these?" Marcus asked, his arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in suspicion.

Ibris hesitated for just a moment, then said, "If there's a sentient android out there, why not use everything we have at our disposal?"

Marcus exchanged a glance with Yoshua, who still looked visibly shaken by the possibility of facing such an opponent.

"I agree with Ibris," Marcus said, breaking the silence to everyone's surprise—even Ibris'.

Yoshua shook his head but stayed silent, his disapproval clear in the tight set of his jaw. Mazi let out a low sigh, his frustration evident. Ibris couldn't help but wonder if Mazi's reluctance was less about the STIMs and more about trying to stay on Yoshua's good side, given his feelings for Kaya. The thought made Ibris smirk slightly.

"So, are we doing this?" Ibris asked.

"If it gives us even a small chance, I'm in," Kaya said without hesitation.

Yoshua started to raise his hand in protest but stopped, sighing, as if accepting there was no chance of talking her out of it.

Ibris turned to Nabu-9 and instructed, "Prep the STIMs for delivery," his resolve hiding the unease beneath.

"Understood," Nabu-9 replied, taking the vials from Ibris and retreating to the medical cabinet.

Ibris caught the brief flicker of hesitation in Yoshua's face he glanced at his niece again. "Fine. I'll take the STIMs," he muttered, stepping forward with visible reluctance.

"Me too," Mazi added, as he stepped up beside Yoshua.

Joher finally stepped forward from the corner of the cabin, where he had been quietly observing. "Given your recent IV therapy, Yoshua," he began, "I don't think you should. There may be a contraindication."

"I'll take my chances," Yoshua said, curtly, brooking no argument.

Joher held Yoshua's gaze for a moment, then added softly, "May Elah guide you, my friend," before stepping back.

"What about you?" Ibris asked Joher.

Joher held Ibris' gaze. "No, I don't believe in using enhancement drugs," he said, calmly.

"This is about life and death," Ibris snapped.

"No, thank you." Joher sighed, heavily.

"So be it," Ibris said, briskly, turning his attention to Nabu-9. "Let's move forward."

Nabu-9 moved methodically, injecting everyone except Joher. The effects of the STIMs were immediate, and everyone felt them. Ibris could feel the surge of energy coursing through his veins, his clenched fist radiating a strength unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He noticed Mazi standing straighter, the pain in his leg seemingly forgotten. Kaya and Yoshua's wolf-like eyes grew even more intense—predatory and focused.

Then there was Marcus. His gaze was clearer, his demeanor unnervingly calm, exuding an authority so commanding it felt almost unnatural, even for a sky god.

Joher observed his companions silently, noting every subtle change with clinical precision.

As everyone regained their focus, Ibris quietly approached Nabu-9. "Give me a pen injector. Just in case we need another dose later," he murmured.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Marcus and Yoshua watching him intently.

"We will be landing shortly," Nabu-9 announced, handing Ibris the pen injector.

The airship began its rapid descent. Ibris' stomach churned as they lost Gs rapidly, his ears popping from the pressure. He looked out the window, scanning the barren desert landscape.

Within moments, the Ishtar's Veil touched down silently, its engines shifting to stealth mode.

Then, Marcus gestured toward the android. "One last thing, of course. Nabu-9, please fortify our guests."

"Certainly," confirmed the android.

The android moved to a recessed cabinet embedded in the airship's polished wall. With a quiet hiss, the doors slid open, revealing an arsenal of state-of-the-art weaponry. Rows of laser guns gleamed under the soft cabin lights, their sleek black and silver designs exuding lethal precision. Energy swords hung beside them, their hilts faintly pulsing with stored power, while a set of energy knives rested in a recessed tray below, their compact blades crackling softly with a vibrant edge. Beneath the weapons, an array of explosives was neatly organized—grenades with adjustable timers, compact breaching charges for reinforced doors, EMP charges to disable central control systems, and shaped charges designed for precise destruction of critical structures.

Yoshua grabbed a large laser gun without hesitation, his movements purposeful and efficient. He also took a set of explosives, selecting a mix of grenades and breaching charges suited for his mission.

Kaya followed, her gaze lingering on the weapons for a moment before selecting a compact but deadly laser gun with a glowing green edge, its lightweight design perfect for her speed and precision in combat.

Mazi strapped a mid-size laser gun to his belt, its barrel glowing ominously red, and secured a lightweight energy sword on his back. The weapon felt natural in his hands—Ibris knew Mazi had trained with a blade at the monastery for years, honing his technique through countless hours of disciplined practice. Ibris, having witnessed Mazi's impeccable skills firsthand, offered him a brief nod of approval.

Joher hesitated, his gaze lingering on the arsenal before finally reaching for the smallest gun he could find. With visible reluctance, he secured it on his belt, his movements deliberate and careful.

Marcus selected two sleek, compact laser pistols, their polished barrels gleaming as the digital display flickered to life. He didn't take any explosives, and Ibris knew why—Marcus had full control of the stealth drones, their capabilities more than enough to handle any sabotage or precision tasks.

Ibris lingered over the weapons before choosing a medium-sized laser rifle with a matte black finish and reinforced grip. It hummed softly in his hands, its energy core glowing faintly blue. After a moment's thought, he grabbed a large energy knife and secured it in the sheath on his belt. He then turned to the explosives, selecting a small pack of breaching charges and grenades, just in case Yoshua's stock wasn't enough to handle the mission.

Then, Ibris and Yoshua led the group through basic tactical signals and formations. Marcus stayed back, observing silently, letting the experts take charge. Mazi listened attentively but needed little instruction; after all, he had extensive on-the-job training with Esa. Joher and Kaya, new to such drills, paid close attention, their focus unwavering.

As Ibris finished the conversation, Marcus rose from his seat and turned to Nabu-9. "Prepare the drones and set them to standby. We'll need them for cover fire," he commanded.

The android nodded, its mechanical fingers moving swiftly over the control panel, activating the drones with practiced precision. "You are now in control, Marcus," it intoned.

Isn't he always? Ibris thought to himself, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

They began their descent into the vast expanse of dunes. The Ishtar's Veil activated its stealth mode, shimmering briefly before disappearing into the heat haze behind them. Above them, six attack drones hovered in silent formation, each one vanishing into its cloaking field. Despite their invisibility, Ibris' heightened senses picked up faint vibrations, almost like a ripple in the air as the drones moved.

Yoshua finally spoke. "Where are we? All I see out there is desert."

"The arena is about a mile that way," Marcus replied, pointing toward the horizon. The dry wind kicked up faint trails of sand around them. "We'll be there on foot within fifteen minutes."

Ibris adjusted the strap of his rifle on his shoulder, his horns catching the light of the sun. "Okay. Let's do this," he said, leading the way.

He glanced over his shoulder, ensuring the others kept pace. The effects of the STIMs were evident in every movement they made—quick, precise, and nearly silent. Marcus right behind Ibris at the front, calm and focused, his augmented reflexes allowing him to stop and pivot at the slightest hint of danger. Kaya and Mazi flanked Joher, their steps fluid and deliberate, their enhanced strength making every shift of their bodies seem effortless. Joher, though reluctant at first, moved with a new swiftness that belied his earlier hesitance. Yoshua, silent as ever, walked slightly apart, his eyes sweeping the horizon with a clarity that seemed almost inhuman, every sound and shadow falling under his scrutiny.

As they crested the next dune, the improved vision granted by the STIMs sharpened the details of the structures emerging from the heat distortion—a cluster of smaller buildings surrounding a massive, circular arena that loomed like a relic of a forgotten era.

The arena's outer walls were etched with intricate carvings, their details catching the sunlight in stark relief. Some depicted Ava Nori in scenes of triumph and judgment. But other carvings were more enigmatic—figures and symbols that Ibris couldn't place, their meaning lost to time. This wasn't a structure the Khoraz had built. It was ancient.

The faint sound of howling drifted toward them, carried by the wind, a chaotic cacophony of cheers and cries that made their heightened senses flare with unease.

"Stay low," Ibris instructed. They moved in a seamless, action-ready formation, weaving between the sparse, crumbling structures. Each building offered brief shelter, their dilapidated walls casting long shadows in the setting sun. Their enhanced speed allowed them to cover ground quickly, darting from one hiding spot to the next with a precision that felt almost unnatural.

Yoshua took point as they darted between buildings, his wolf gaze now razor-like, picking out shapes in the distance with startling clarity. Scaled guards, their reptilian skin glinting in the light, patrolled in pairs, their movements slow and predictable compared to the group's augmented abilities. The guards were armed with curved blades and laser rifles, and occasionally, human guards with mismatched armor and crude weapons joined them. The group timed their movements carefully, crouching low and sprinting silently when the guards' backs were turned, their strenghtened muscles propelling them forward with near-silent efficiency.

At one point, a scaled guard's gaze lingered on their hiding spot, his slitted eyes narrowing as he sniffed the air. Ibris motioned for them to stop, his hand slicing the air in a quick signal. Everyone froze, their augmented senses making the seconds feel like an eternity. Yoshua's amplified perception flared as he tracked the guard's subtle movements, feeling the vibrations in the air and preparing to strike if necessary. But after a tense moment, the guard turned away, oblivious, and the group continued, slipping further toward the arena's shadow.

Finally, they found themselves crouched behind the largest of the outlying buildings. Just ahead lay the arena's back entrance—a rusted metal door partially hidden by a crumbling overhang. The sounds of the crowd were louder here, the howls and cheers reverberating through the structure, grating against their intense senses. The group huddled close, their heightened reflexes allowing them to stay perfectly still as they peered cautiously around the edge of the building.

With a silent nod from Ibris, they slipped through the rusted door and into the shadows of the arena. Moving with deliberate quiet, they navigated the dimly lit corridors, the walls cold and slick with condensation. Carvings of Ava Nori and other unplaceable figures loomed on the ancient stone, faintly illuminated by flickering torch lights.

From their vantage point, they could see the arena's interior with startling detail. In the sunken pit, several halfbreeds stumbled about, weapons clutched in their hands. Their movements were jerky and uncoordinated, as though they were drugged—confused and dazed, their eyes glassy. Ibris' jaw tightened as he took in the scene, his mind racing with anger and unease, the amplified sensations making his frustration nearly unbearable.

Ibris crouched beside them. "We'll stick to the plan. Three teams. The first secures the prisoners. The second..."

But Kaya, her powerful vision locked on the pit, whispered urgently, "I don't think we're going to have to go looking for Sheera and Esa."

Everyone turned to follow line of sight. Across the arena floor, two scaled guards emerged from an underground chamber, dragging a machine with them. A thick chain was attached to it, and at the other end, Sheera struggled against his bindings. His vast eagle wings flapped weakly, a pale shadow of his usual power and grace. His talons scraped against the sand as he stumbled and fell, his movements disjointed and uncoordinated. For someone like Sheera—a monk renowned for his discipline and precise control—it was clear he had been drugged.

Two more scaled guards followed, dragging another figure behind them.

Esa.

His body was slumped, barely conscious, as though every ounce of strength had been drained from him. Special metal ties, reinforced with laser-powered restraints, bound his wrists and legs. The harnesses glowed faintly, intricate runes etched into the metal pulsating with a dim, unnatural light, radiating an energy that seemed to suppress his movements. His head lolled forward, his body swaying under the weight of the restraints. The guards handled him roughly, dragging him into toward the pit.

The sight made Joher stiffen, his hands clenched into fists. "Where is my family?" he asked, anxiety lacing his words.

"New plan," Ibris whispered. "Mazi, Kaya, and Joher—"

But Marcus wasn't listening. His attention had shifted upward, his improved vision honing in on a raised platform across the arena. "Look," he said, pointing toward the far side.

The group turned their attention to the tiered seating that rose in concentric circles around the arena, a grand amphitheater carved from pale stone that shimmered faintly in the desert sunlight. The seats, arranged in perfectly symmetrical rows, climbed high toward the sky, each level adorned with intricate carvings of mythical creatures and ancient Atlantean symbols. At the apex of the structure was a wide, ornately decorated platform, elevated above the rest—a throne of power for the elite who presided over the chaos below.

There was the Khoraz, flanked by numerous other sky gods.

Khuri Khoraz, with his regal features and opulent robes adorned with shimmering threads of gold, reclined comfortably in his ornate chair. His piercing green eyes glinted with amusement as he observed the chaos below. Beside him sat his wife Mali, her unnervingly youthful face framed by a flowing deep blue fabric that draped elegantly over her shoulders. Her lips curled into a cruel smile, her expression one of quiet malice as she observed the arena. The two sat in separate, equally extravagant chairs, exchanging occasional words with their companions.

Around them, other members of the Atlantean elite lounged on luxurious cushioned seats, their laughter and muted conversations blending into the ambient noise of the crowd. Servants moved gracefully between them, their trays heavy with exotic fruits, golden goblets, and intricate platters of delicacies. The opulence of the scene stood in stark contrast to the raw brutality playing out in the arena below.

And then Ibris saw her.

Lira.

She approached Khuri with a goblet of ambrosia in hand, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, adorned with glittering jewels that caught the light with every subtle movement. Her feline ears peeked through the thick strands. Her flowing gown, a masterpiece of shimmering fabric, clung elegantly to her figure, moving like liquid silver with each shift of her body. She leaned in close to Khuri, her lips curling into a soft, inviting smile that carried an air of practiced allure as he whispered something into her ear. Her hand glided effortlessly to rest on his arm, a deliberate touch that exuded confidence. Khuri's hand, in turn, moved downward, his fingers brushing over the intricate neckline of her gown, lingering slightly longer than necessary before returning to his goblet as if nothing had happened.

Ibris' blood boiled, his amplified senses making the betrayal cut even deeper. His hands tightened into fists around his gun. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. The messages, the playful flirting—it was all a lie. She had fooled him. His teeth clenched as anger and betrayal overtook him, the STIM-enhanced adrenaline threatening to push him over the edge.

Focus. Ibris reminded himself.

The howling of the crowd roared like a storm, the arena beckoning them into its chaos. Yet, his gaze remained fixed on Lira, her image burned into his mind. Fury and sorrow churned within him, a single thought cutting through the noise: Why, Lira?