ECHO 4-1

War does not begin on the battlefield. It begins here — where the vaults roar and the air tastes of iron flame, where the

The forge makes more than weapons. It makes warriors — not born but built. In the sanctum beneath the Anvil Spires, the air is

From the vaults below the Anvil Spires, they emerged in ordered lines — each one a testament to the union of steel and sanctity.

The forge had never known silence. Its rhythms were the pulse of the world — hammers falling in perfect cadence, gears locking and releasing

There is no thought in the function. No dream, no hesitation. The directives are clear, immutable: weld the plate, lift the load, carry the

In the silence that followed the stillness, most hammers lay idle, their weight settled into dust. The gears stood locked, the great pistons cold.

From altitude, the forge plains stretch beyond the horizon — a continent of iron bones. Once, every vault, every spire, every vein of pipe

Beneath the Assembly Plains lies a network older than the surface forges — a labyrinth of sealed transit lines, maintenance vaults, and forgotten reactor

Official records show no life signs beneath the surface sectors of Forge Sector ███████. No authorised troop movements, no registered conflict. And yet… there

Ten standard years without a trace. No movement. No signal. No whisper of the shadow war rumoured to burn beneath the hollows. Then —

This period has lasted longer than the last era of stagnation. The silence has deepened, drawn out into years beyond count, until even the

We have no numbers left. No safe halls. No time. The forge is gone. What remains belongs to rust, filth, and the things that

We know why no aid came. The Universe is vast, and its wars are without number. There are worlds closer to the frontlines, worlds