The first rays of dawn hit the eastern border like a hammer. Rigid engines rolled forward in tight formation, their metal frames humming with cold precision. Glass Lancers mounted on the lead vehicles swiveled, firing thin beams of light that struck the territory's roots.
Where the beams hit, everything turned to crystal—roots, soil, even the guards who tried to fight back. One man took a glancing shot to his arm. The limb froze mid-swing, perfect facets catching the light, then shattered when he stumbled.
The outpost fell in under five minutes. Survivors dragged themselves west, bleeding from crystal cuts, muttering about the Rigid officers shouting orders: "Collect the abominations. Shatter the rest."
Kael stood on a ridge overlooking the new scar in the land. The echoes—five of them now—huddled close, their forms flickering between solid and translucent. They looked like kids, but their eyes were too old. One tugged at his sleeve. "They want to make us quiet," it whispered.
