he Champion of The Great Divide looks over the terrace at the vast city itself. In the light of the Waking Eye the people of The Great Divide dot the landscape, going about their business, tending to their responsibilities, and serving their functions.
To the northwest, the lower-territories remain hidden, shadowed, and ugly. A dark cloud hangs over the area in a strange contrast of nature to the metropolis of the divide. Lightning rumbles in the vast clouds and reaches towards the lower territories itself.
The Sixth Conscience watches, mesmerized by this show of nature. In defiance the cloud spreads even wider and looks to cross into the light of The Great Divide. He closes his eyes tight and reopens them. Focusing on the darkness, he can see the shadow spreading.
A wave of dark battling the cities shores of light. The lightning strikes again. The sea of darkness spills onto the shores of light as if urged by the clouds themselves.
And then he sees them.
Hundreds of robed, dark clad figures advancing with the quick step past the outer banks. His eyes narrow as they focus even more. Lightning courses throughout the wave and in the rumble, a name begins to tickle his ear.
They are screaming. Yelling.
For a moment his stomach tightens. He recognizes the war-cry as the acolytes advance on the cityscape.
“ZULU!”