Prologue 1: Sennenhunde

For the Tylaki, commotion was rare.

Nestled into snowy mountains, and constantly awash in a contemplative silence, the villages of the Tylaki seemed invariably calm. It was a heavy contrast to the mechanical jungles they constructed on some worlds, without any Tylaki presence beyond one or two supervisors. It was no different today.

Warm torchlight dotted the paths winding up around the mountain, a chain of small settlements arranged at its base. The snow was light and the winds were gentle, barely felt against the heavy pelts of the inhabitants of this village. They were more active beneath the moonlight, with many gathering in the central colony to talk and share art. Stalls had been set up around a primarily decorative well, with paintings, pottery, metalwork and more on display from eager salespeople. Of course, it was easier to hawk one's wares over networks nowadays—but there was something wonderfully personal about little hand-crafted stalls lit by torches. Performative as it all was, the Tylaki preferred rustic styling over the smooth, refined and cold metals and glass of their vigilant neighbors, or the glimmering opulence of their avian counterparts.

The night was proceeding as any other. The crackling of flame, quiet talk, and the patter of feet against the smooth stone pathways, the plaza wasn't densely packed, but it was still busy. Still, even all the beauty on display couldn't keep some of the more tech-savvy Tylaki from getting lost in their Oracles, vacantly standing about and staring into space. Hints of technology poked through the rustic and faintly technophobic ways of the Tylaki aesthetic constantly, and it was the Oracles that were the most consistent offenders.

"Sennenhunde! Come now, you're not all wrapped up in the networks again, are you?! There's such brilliant work on display!" exclaimed Vetlau, the town's de-facto leader. There was no election process and no legal precedent for that title, but for Vetlau those who knocked on his door seeking his guidance and assistance lent more than enough legitimacy to his position.

"Yes, yes, of course! I was just. . . there's some interesting things going on in other places too, you know. Something has the Vigil bristling."

"Something always has the Vigil bristling! Don't worry about it. Go, go. Look at Unaik's work! That fellow knows his way around metal, yes?"

"Mm. . . of course." Bearing in mind that defying Vetlau was a difficult prospect, if only because of his fatherly cadre, Sennenhunde pried himself away from the enrapturing—and somewhat portentous—whirlwind of data to admire some of the works of his fellow villagers.

Of course, it didn't last long. It was something much more than the usual strife of the Vigil. A warning appeared to those with Oracles to confirm this.

Quiet and confused murmurs filled the cold air, which suddenly felt much thinner. Tense and paranoid glances shifted on to the TGC surrogate drones; Tylaki-like robots, mostly faceless, sent to enforce the TGC's general law. Most were unarmed, but had a cache of weaponry designated for the warding off of pirates and other potential invaders. It was this that brought concern to most of the townspeople.

The hours ticked on after the alert. Business in the plaza had continued, but an air of impending doom hung heavy on the crowd that dampened any enthusiasm for the artistry on display. More had gathered there, perhaps seeking the safety and comfort in numbers, even if they simply sidelined themselves while they monitored the networks for information on the tragedy occurring beyond their skies. The clouds had long cleared, giving way to starlight that almost seemed baleful.

It was a while before anyone noticed the TGC bots had cleared out, and were nowhere to be seen. As a few went to scout the rest of the town, the disappearance of all of the bots seemed to arouse enough paranoia that, using weapons taken from the few blacksmiths in town, a defensive perimeter was beginning to form around the plaza. Artfully crafted as they were, the blades and polearms they clutched offered little comfort against the threat of firearms wielded by possessed metal shells.

The scouts returned and more individuals eventually gathered in the plaza, most seeking shelter in the cluster of homes and businesses centered around it. The atmosphere had become strangling despite the thin, cold mountain air—the fear had caught and spread quickly among the populace, and within the hour it had become what felt like the last stand of a beleaguered town even though no one had yet been hurt.

"Leave it to those damned bots to be our downfall," Unaik muttered. "I always thought they were sinister. Must they have heads if you're not even going to give them a face?"

"It's nothing to do with the bots themselves," Sennenhunde contended. "It's something about the... I don't know. I don't really get it. Something to do with the Argent, but. . . I thought they were allies?"

"You trust a bunch of machines to run your life, this is what you get. Machines don't feel the way we do. They don't care if they have to trample us for their survival."

"Pah. Hindsight, eh, Unaik?!" Vetlau laughed. Wielding the only firearm they had, Vetlau was stationed in the center of the plaza with Sennenhunde and Unaik, the former having taken a hammer and the latter wielding a greatsword. Vaelau had tried to remain calm, but the way his fingers shifted on the grip of his shotgun and his eyes kept darting back and forth betrayed something that Sennenhunde had never seen in him, and deeply unsettled him. Weakness was alien to the towering, perpetually optimistic man.

Still, he was standing as stoic as he could manage, ready to valiantly defend his town from the sinister presence of the Old Enclave.

As the torches burnt out one by one, they were replaced in short order by cold morning light. The suns began to crest over the trees, but nobody felt much safer in the light of day. Most had fallen asleep inside the barricaded buildings; a commitment had been made, in light of that heavy warning. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that the TGC bots would turn on them.

And they did.

The commotion began with the crack of a crude rifle, heard ringing from the top of a belltower that presided over the town. The shot struck Vetlau in the throat as he waited in the entrenchment, sending him down quickly and without the glory of battle. Everyone scattered after that, seeking cover; Unaik decisively swept up the firearm Vetlau had and Sennenhunde, panicked, dragged his body to safety, even though it seemed much too late already. He settled at the base of the building facing directly towards the tower, knelt over Vetlau.

"C-come on, come on. . ." he choked out, trembling claws tearing away strips of his clothing to tie taut around Vetlau's neck. It seemed a vain effort as the man seized in Sennenhunde's grip, but one that had to be taken nonetheless. As Sennenhunde finished tending to the wound to the best of his ability, a ramshackle attempt noble as it was, he shakily pulled him between the buildings and left him where the bots would hopefully not discover him immediately.

Slinging his hammer into his grip, hesitantly he marched off the others who waited to ambush the bots, hiding in alleyways and near the biggest entrances to the plaza while still trying to avoid the sniper's line of sight. Yet they waited, and waited, pinned down and barely able to move, but nothing stumbled or charged into their trap.

Instead, something came from above. The blocky, dark visage of a TGC frigate. Descending slowly and steadily, it came as a relief to those holding the line; so far, the only casualty had been Vetlau, and rescue had already arrived. They signaled to the ship, waving and trying to connect to its pilot via their Oracles to no apparent effect. As it came to a halt, hanging over the village, a horrifying realization set in—although perhaps too late.

The buzz of autocannon fire broke the silence once again. The death toll went up from one to dozens in a matter of moments, and those who did survive took off into the tight alleys and sought whatever means they could to break the line of sight. Bleary-eyed Sennenhunde, fortunately, was one of them; he had been sent sprinting into the tightest and most elaborate corridors of the village, heading into its heart.

There, the plan of the bots became a bit more clear. One of them ambushed Sennenhunde as he tried to escape the besieged plaza, its metal form stepping out in front of him and shortly followed by a blitz of gunfire. Even as a bullet struck his arm, however, he stayed the course, instead bringing the hammer down onto the bot's arms and throwing it downward at the height of what transitioned from a sprint into a charge. It scrambled back from him in a way that seemed strange for the robots, like it was. . . afraid.

His hesitation was short but potent. Afraid or not, though, it crumpled readily under the balanced weight of the hammer and the desperation of his swing, and Sennenhunde took off, choosing to push it out of his mind. One less bot on cleanup duty, right?

Soon, he found a dark and obscure corner of the pathways through the densest part of the village, and stopped. Tying off the wound in his arm and peeking up at the sky, the looming form of the ship above cast a shadow on him. He covered his face, hiding in his hands and taking just a moment to collect himself, drawing a trembling breath through his teeth. The gunfire had ended, and the village was quiet. It felt as if the world had stopped spinning, and it was only him and the herald of an end come so soon.

Maybe Unaik was right about technology after all.