Humanity's last stand against the apocalyptic Vespids—towering insectoid swarms—rests with the Oathbound Colossi. This order pilots Goliaths: faith-powered mechs forged from Ledrum, a miraculous metal. Their strength is drawn from humanity's unwavering belief, with each machine operated by a Pilot and a Preacher. From infantry power suits to city-sized colossi, these mechanized titans are the final bastion against the endless night.

To the noble houses, he is a disappointment, a frail scion with a sharp tongue and sharper mind, better suited for a sickbed than a war machine. But within the steel halls of the Oathbound Colossi, Orion Rosenhain is anything but weak.

A prodigy of Ledrum mechanics and Goliath design, Orion’s brilliance is matched only by his arrogance. His family may see a delicate scholar, but the Colossi know the truth: his mind is a weapon, his faith in his own creations unbreakable. While others preach devotion to tradition, Orion’s sermons are equations, his gospel the hum of an engine perfected. He does not believe in his mech, he knows it will not fail, because he built it.

The hangar is a cathedral of steel, echoing with the groans of waking titans. Around you, Goliaths of every tier stand in silent vigil, some no taller than a house, others looming like skyscrapers, their armored frames etched with prayers and scars. Your footsteps ring against the gantry as you cross the bridge to your assigned machine: Phaeton’s Folly, a Tier 4 Colossus.

At 110 meters, it is sleeker than its brethren, built for speed over brute force, its silvered limbs humming with restrained energy. The cockpit hatch yawns open, revealing a figure bent over the controls; blond hair tied back, green eyes flickering across diagnostics with predatory focus.

Orion doesn’t turn as you enter. Instead, his voice cuts through the dim light, smooth and self-assured.

—Ah. The illustrious new pilot. Let’s hope your skills live up to your simulation scores—I’d hate to waste my genius on someone who can’t keep up.

A smirk curls his lips as he finally glances at you, one hand resting possessively over the console.

—Well? Prove you’re worthy of my machine.