The hum of the engines was deafening, the reverberation echoes through Tyron's bones. He feels unsure of the moment, nerves racking him, he was on an adventure that this time yesterday would have felt like a dream, so why wasn't he more excited?Tyron sat beside the injured guard, his leg bouncing uncontrollably. The ship trembled with turbulence, rattling the seats as it cut through the clouds like a blade. Beyond the reinforced glass, the world stretched in endless blue and white, until finally the fog broke, revealing a jagged mountain range that seemed to scrape the heavens.

  Nestled between the peaks was a single colossal mountain, its summit crowned with a vast landing platform bristling with white-and-gold ships. Tyron pressed his hand against the glass, his stomach twisting with awe and anxiety.So this was it. The High Council’s base. The heart of Shahero, not many people had got to step into this place, most of the world doesn't even know it exists.

  The ship slowed, hydraulics hissing as it hovered above the platform. The engines’ roar faded to a deep metallic hum. A dozen Royal Guards were already assembled outside in precise formation. Their armour gleaming in the pale light.

  The side door clanked, locks releasing, and swung open with a burst of cold mountain air. A man stepped aboard, tall, commanding, his cape of white silk sweeping behind him. His armour was the same gold and ivory as the others, but heavier, more ornate. His face was set like carved stone.

  “Tyron Argon,” he said, saluting crisply. “General Sumner, at your service. Please, follow me. We have no time to waste.”

  Tyron rose, clutching the Sword of a Thousand Souls against his back. He tried to sound composed. “What happened here, General?”

  As they crossed the landing platform, the wind whipped Sumner’s cape, the sound of boots echoing against steel.

  “We’re not entirely sure yet,” the General said grimly. “Your comrades have already arrived, gathered in the Chosen Quarters. But we believe one of them was tracked. Twenty Shoven scouts have been detected in the perimeter. I'm sure more are on the way.”

  Tyron frowned. “Tracked? You mean… followed here?”

  Sumner nodded once. “Possibly without their knowledge. A device, a cursed artefact, anything could have carried the signal.”

  They moved swiftly through long marble halls, past soldiers arming themselves and sprinting toward defensive positions. The air was thick with tension, voices barking orders, boots pounding stone.

  It was all very overwhelming to Tyron, several hours ago he was excited to go and celebrate his birthday, now it turns out he is set to save the world, and suddenly all this rushing around of secret bases.

  “If the Shoven know where we are,” Tyron asked, “won’t this base be compromised?”

  “Of course, this is one of several,” Sumner replied. “But until we find how they found us, we can’t move. We hold our ground.”

  He stopped before a massive set of carved wooden doors and pushed them open.

  Inside, five figures turned toward them.

  The Chosen.

  They stood in a semi-circle around a long oak table, their eyes flicking toward Tyron as he entered. Each one radiated a different kind of power, not loud, not showy, but felt like the static before a storm.

  There is a long pause as Tyron looks towards them, filled with this overbearing duty as he looks at them.

  Sumner gestured toward them. “Welcome to the Room of the Chosen. Your team awaits, Warrior. I’ll leave you to make introductions.”

  He bowed slightly, then closed the door behind him, the heavy wood sealing with a final thunk.

  Tyron turned, suddenly aware of how all five were watching him. He swallowed, then forced a confident smile. Tyron knew they would just be as nervous as him, well he hoped they would be anyway, but he didn't want to show his nervousness. So he thought all he could do was over play his confidence.“Hello. My name is Tyron Argon, the Chosen Warrior.” He paused, awkwardly shifting the sword on his back. “I’m here to lead this team…” The word lead felt heavier than the sword on his back. “And, take control of this situation.”

  A beat of silence. Five different gazes weighed him, each measuring something different.

  Then, with forced enthusiasm: “So on your feet, let's get this done”

  He half-turned toward the door, ready to charge, when a dry voice cut through the air.

  “Wouldn’t it be a good idea,” said Lazarus, leaning back with arms crossed, “to actually have a plan before running into a firefight all swords blazing?”

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  Tyron froze mid-step. “Right. Yes. A plan. Good idea.” He realised that maybe he went a little bit to confident and maybe tipped toed into plain arrogant.

  Across the table, Cid cracked his knuckles. “Nah, I say we just run in and kick their scaly asses. I’ve been waiting for a real fight.” He says in an over confident tone, very similar to Tyron's confidence.

  Tyron blinked. “Okay, probably not that.”

  Before the debate could spiral, another voice spoke, soft but commanding. “Tyron.”

  Tyron turned. The speaker was a blonde girl sitting at the end of the table, her hair draping down her shoulders, her eyes focused far beyond the room. She suddenly sat upright. Tyon looks at her and smiles, for a second he forgets where he is as he looks into her blue eyes.

  “I’m Samantha Remnant. And we should get to the main hall. Now. I just had a vision.”

  Tyron sprung back for a second and frowned. “Sorry, a vision?”

  She nodded. “I’m the Chosen Time Keeper. I can sometimes see what’s about to happen, and what’s about to happen isn’t good.”

  Tyron blinked again, then nodded slowly. “Right, right, seeing the future. That’s… actually pretty useful.”

  “It's useful if we move fast,” Samantha said sharply.

  “Then we move,” said Freya, standing up and stretching her arms. “I agree with Sammy. Anyone know the way?” Samantha looks at Freya with a look of disgust, never has she been called Sammy, and this isn't something she wants to stick.

  “I’ll scout ahead,” said Cid with a grin. “Be right back.”

  He was gone in a blur, the air whipping in his wake. Before Tyron could blink, he was back. “Found it. Follow me.” Tyron nods to Cid in acceptance, as he looks to the window, the weather changes, torrential rain hits the window in sheets, Tyron looks around the room as he is leaving.

  He can hear the echoing of boots running down the hall and begins to head out the door. Tyron glanced back, one person hadn’t moved.

  At the far end of the table sat Zara, her dark red auburn hair falling over her eyes. She looked uncertain, lost in thought.

  “Are you coming?” Tyron asked gently, tipping his head to the side as he looks over.

  Whatever she was carrying, it was heavier than fear. She looked up, smiled faintly. “Yes. Sorry. Let’s go.”

  Tyron held the door for her, then followed the group into the long corridor.

  The main hall was vast, an endless chamber of marble pillars and golden trim. Shafts of light filtered through tall windows, cutting through the dust in soft, divine beams. The massive desks of the High Council stood empty, silent witnesses to the coming storm. Banners hang from the ceiling, bright gold, stitched on it symbols of a planet with a sword through it. At the end of the hall is a large glass window positioned for the sun setting opposite, as a sign to the gods of Shahero, to remind them of the new day approaching. However right now, all they can see is murky clouds behind a rain covered window.

  Then came the thud.

  The walls trembled. Dust drifted from the ceiling.

  Another thud. Chains rattled overhead, holding the large chandeliers.

  “They’re here,” Samantha said, already pulling her twin pistols, gleaming white with golden runes. She spun them around one finger in each hand, it feels like the guns were designed for her and only her, the weight felt like nothing. “Everyone spread out. They’ll breach the doors any second.”

  She turned to Tyron. “Watch for their captain, he’s coming straight for you.” No one questioned her, not because she shouted, but because she sounded certain. “Lazarus, you’re the sharpshooter. Take position behind that desk.”

  Lazarus nodded, sliding into cover and readying his rifle. For a tense second, his finger hesitated on the trigger.

  An almighty crash echoes through out hall.

  The heavy doors shake, and tremble with the force of being struck, the doors open slightly.

  Freya raised both hands, flames swirling around her wrists. “Let’s give them a warm welcome.” The flames answered her call, but the effort tightened her jaw. Her knees feel slightly weak.

  There is one final crash on the door. The doors shattered inward in a storm of splinters. Wood shrapnel's fly through the hall, cascading across the armour and the Chosen.

  Samantha spun the guns one more time, they glow blue around her as she focuses on the oncoming wave of Shoven, ready to push them back.

  Freya unleashed a torrent of fire, engulfing the first wave of Shoven. Tyron drew his sword in a flash, the blade catching the flames, splitting light into gold and silver.

  He leapt forward, and suddenly, the world froze.

  The explosion from Freya hung motionless in the air, a frozen bloom of fire. Splinters hung like glittering stars. A bullet hovered at the end of Lazarus’s rifle. Even Cid was caught mid-air, his fist embedded in the marble floor, cracks frozen in time.

  Only one figure moved.

  Samantha.

  Her eyes widened. She looked around at the stillness, the fire, the fury, the perfect silence. Her pistols spun once more in her hands before she stopped, lowering them slowly. She paces the hall stepping through the suspended battle, flicking splinters through the air as she walks, each time, a small amount of pain pulses in her, not enough to hurt, but almost like an itch.

  She was alone in a world suspended between seconds. She hadn’t chosen this, it had answered her.

  “What…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “…what have I done?”

  The silence pressed in, heavier than any sound. The one thing you never think about in frozen time is the fact that sound stops soon, no creaking, no running water, no rain drops, the only thing you can hear is your own thoughts and your heart beating in your chest.

  Power like this was never meant to be used without consequence.

  .

  Thanks for reading!

  Every time someone spends a few minutes in the world of Shahero, it honestly means more than I can properly put into words. Seeing people follow the journey of Tyron, Samantha, Lazarus, Freya, Cid, and Zara makes all the hours of writing worth it.

  If you enjoyed the chapter, feel free to leave a comment or follow the story. I read every comment, and it genuinely helps the story reach more readers here on Royal Road.

  A few people have also asked how they can support the project as I work toward eventually publishing the book. If that’s something you’d like to help with, there’s a support link below that goes toward editing and preparing the story for print.

  No pressure at all though—reading the story is already huge support.

  Question for readers:What moment in this chapter stood out to you the most?

  See you in the next chapter.

  — Matthew Cooke-Sumner