Alastor Radio Tower Novels & Stories

The signal was originating from the highest elevation in the district. "There." I pointed past the chaotic spray of disintegrator beams. The spires of the Cathedral of the Moon rose above the black smoke. "The signal tower is disguised as a bell tower. Nergal isn't modulating their movements from the throne. He is transmitting from the altar." "The Cathedral?"

Kael leaned in a little closer, his gray eyes watching the tight line of my jaw. "What are you thinking, Calista?" Kael asked, his low voice full of a quiet, steady trust. "The shadow-cannons on the toll booths" I said, pointing my finger at the first bridge icon on the map. "How are they powered? The main grid tower is dead. I fried the server rooms myself." Jarek blinked, his eyes widening slightly as he caught my thought. "They have local backup generators, Calista. Small diesel engines hidden inside the concrete base of the toll plazas. They can run for forty-eight hours without the main tower's signal."

Added one more line, because the evidence demanded it even if I wasn't ready for what it meant: Which means they knew I was coming. Before Alastor did.

“You’re here. Not there. Listen to me.” Vivienne blinked. Once. Twice. Then gasped sharp, broken. “Did I ” she started, voice hoarse. “You’re okay,” Isolde whispered, but her throat felt raw. Dorian’s voice cut in. “Got it.” They turned. The scanner lit up. “Signal bounced to a nearby receiver. Sealed relay tower, south Lisbon coast. Technically decommissioned.” Penelope frowned. “That tower’s been offline for years.” “Not anymore,” Dorian said.

We crested the ridge, and the view opened up before us. Veyr stretched out across the valley—golden fields, white stone buildings, and in the distance, a massive temple that gleamed in the sunlight like a second sun. "The Temple of Ra," Alastor said quietly. "The heart of the Church of the Sun." It was beautiful. And terrifying. "Once we cross that border," Alastor continued, "we're all criminals. Me for my exile. You—" he nodded at Orion, "—for Kaiden's murder. And her—" his eyes flicked to me, "—for being the heretic's daughter."

When the sun dipped behind the fields, Holly appeared at the door of the field office, phone to her ear. “No new signals at Saint Roch. All media attention is still on the canister. So far, we’re clear.” “You sound like you wish we weren’t,” Nicky teased half-heartedly. “I just hope we’re not overlooking something,” Holly replied flatly. Night fell. I stood outside the technician barracks, damp wind carrying the scent of earth and turbine metal. The red light at the top of the tower pulsed slowly, an aviation beacon that meant little tonight since the rotors remained still.

Not perfect, but enough to sleep in shifts and stay hidden from drones. He didn’t say anything. Just set his bag down and started unpacking what little gear they had left. Maris crouched by a mossy patch of rock and pulled out the map. “Three kilometers west, there’s a tower. Old telecom. Maybe it’s still linked to the emergency grid. If we boost a signal, Crane might hear us.” “We go at first light,” Anaïs said. Cassian looked up, sharp. “No. I’ll go alone.”

"What is that sound? Aradaa, check the sensors—wait, there are no damn sensors." Kaelor’s voice cut through the whistling wind as they climbed the final ridge toward the northern relay station. The tower stood like a rusted skeleton against the bruised sky, its iron ribs groaning under the pressure of the salt spray. Aradaa gripped his heavy furs, his knuckles turning a bloodless white.

It would have been nicer to hear such things from her though. ‘But she's not here…’ Alastor thought dully, bitter disappointment welling in him as he watched the numbers change from 10:59 to 11:00 in his mobile phone. He had been loitering around the area, even went from the open field and up to the last place where they talked, hoping that he'll pick up her scent or her presence as he watched some of the splaying shadows since–much to his embarrassment–six in the morning to no avail.

​The skiff hammered across the Hecate Strait, the engine screaming at a pitch that set Kael’s teeth on edge. Behind them, the Seattle skyline was no longer a grey tomb; it was a beacon of sickly violet light. The "Silence Tower" Cyrus had claimed wasn't just standing—it was acting as a Transmitter. ​"The Chorus... it’s changing," Elara gasped, her hands white-knuckled on the railing.