The days following Mireia's cremation were heavy with grief and simmering tension. Her absence was keenly felt, her quiet pragmatism that had often mediated between the more volatile personalities in the group. Her murder, sudden and brutal, served as a stark reminder of their vulnerability, even within their fortified camp.
The simmering resentment between Flareon and Boltar regarding how to handle the increasingly hostile environment outside boiled over.
"This is untenable!"
Boltar declared one evening, pacing restlessly across the main hall, the air around him faintly crackling.
"We're trapped here, surrounded by starving, desperate Versari who see us as targets! Mireia's death proves it! We wait here, we die here, picked off one by one!"
Flareon, who had been brooding silently near the cold hearth, nodded grimly in agreement.
"He's right. Starbreach is falling apart. There's nothing left for us here but risk."
He stood up, facing the others, his expression hard.
"Spectrahold. It's the closest nation still functioning, relatively intact according to the news Grok intercepted. Mountain fortress, defensible. We should make for it. Now. While we still have the strength."
Boltar nodded vigorously.
"Exactly! Farseer territory might not be welcoming, but it's organized! Better than this crumbling deathtrap!"
But Fujina, who had been quietly observing the exchange from her usual shadowed corner, spoke up, her soft voice cutting through their urgency.
"Spectrahold?"
She tilted her head, her swirling grey eyes filled with caution.
"You propose we cross hundreds of kilometers of potentially hostile territory, low on supplies, with no knowledge of what threats lie between here and there?"
She rose gracefully, moving towards the center of the room.
"Mireia was killed within the relative safety of this city. What makes you think the wilderness, potentially prowled by Voidwalkers, Dravokh raiding parties, or desperate Versari bandits, will be any safer?"
Her quiet logic dampened their fiery certainty.
"Travelling now, weakened as we are, revealing ourselves... It might be suicide."
Seren, who had been listening intently, nodded in agreement with Fujina, her Farseer practicality surfacing.
"Fujina is right about the risks."
She added, addressing Flareon and Boltar directly.
"And even if we reached the Spectrahold borders... the news reports mentioned structural instability, tremors in the mountains."
She took a breath, her expression troubled.
"Knowing my people... they would prioritize security above all else after such events. They'll have sealed the mountain passes, restricted access points. The Republic will likely be under strict internal lockdown, focusing on securing their own infrastructure and assessing the damage. They wouldn't risk allowing potentially destabilizing refugees, even allies, through weakened mountain routes until they're certain it's safe."
She met Flareon's gaze, her own reflecting the grim reality.
"Spectrahold might be standing, Flareon, but getting inside... it might be impossible right now. We could travel all that way only to find ourselves trapped outside sealed gates, exposed and exhausted."
Flareon bristled at the immediate dismissal of their plan, the memory of their arduous journey south surging to the forefront.
"Suicide?"
He countered, turning to face Seren.
"We survived the Frostfang!"
He gestured emphatically between himself and Seren.
"We crossed territory far harsher than the hills between here and Spectrahold! And you know what we found out there? Nothing! Absolute emptiness! Once you get beyond the immediate vicinity of these ruined settlements, there are no bandits, no mobs, because there's nothing to sustain them!"
He paced, fueled by frustration and the conviction born of experience.
"As for the Voidwalkers..."
He scoffed, remembering the creature's silent passage, its seeming indifference.
"They seem oblivious! The one over the Landliner wreckage... it just passed by! They're not hunting us. If we see one, we hide, we wait, we move on. It's a calculated risk, far better than waiting here to be stabbed in the back by some starving Versari!"
He stopped, facing them squarely.
"Staying here is the real suicide!"
As if to punctuate his words, a fresh wave of shouting erupted from outside the camp, closer this time, laced with screams of panic and the unmistakable, guttural roars of enraged conflict. Sounds of heavy objects crashing, metal screeching against stone, the chaotic symphony of a riot escalating violently.
Boltar flinched, moving instinctively towards the entrance, peering through a reinforced slit.
"Fighting's spreading."
He reported grimly, lightning flickering nervously around his knuckles.
"Sounds like one of the larger scavenging gangs trying to force their way into a defended residential block."
He turned back to the group, his face tight with urgency, his eyes locking with Fujina's and Seren's.
"See? This is what waiting gets us! The chaos is closing in. Staying here might be slower, but it's suicide all the same! We sit here, the walls eventually fall, and we get torn apart by the mob!"
Boltar's restless energy couldn't accept the grim logic of being trapped. His gaze darted around the room, settling on Ferran, who was meticulously examining the structural integrity of a salvaged metal beam. An idea sparked in Boltar's eyes, bright and sudden like a lightning strike.
"Trapped? No!"
He declared, whirling to face Ferran.
"We're not trapped if we can move faster than the chaos!"
He strode over to the Metal Sorcerai, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Ferran! You and I! We have the power! We need to go back to Grok, the Morphai technician!"
Ferran looked up, intrigued but cautious.
"Grok? Why?"
"A vehicle!"
Boltar announced, gesturing emphatically.
"Something ours! Think, Ferran! Your metal shaping, my power source! Grok and his Morphai kin have the mechanical expertise, the optimization knowledge!"
His enthusiasm was infectious, chasing away some of the gloom in the room.
"We gather the best components, reinforced plating, efficient power conduits, maybe even scavenge some decent axles and suspension! We build something tough, something reliable, something powered by harnessed lightning!"
He turned to the others, his eyes gleaming with renewed purpose.
"With a vehicle like that... we wouldn't be limited to crawling towards Spectrahold! We could bypass the worst of the dangers! We could cover ground quickly! We could even..."
His voice lowered slightly, filled with a sudden, fierce longing.
"...make it back to the Citadel."
The idea hung in the air, audacious, ambitious, bordering on reckless. But it offered something the other options lacked: agency. Control. A way to fight back against their predicament not just with static defense, but with movement, power, and Sorcerai ingenuity combined with Morphai practicality.
Ferran slowly nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face.
"The concept... is sound. Difficult, sourcing the parts would be a nightmare... but possible. With Grok's help..."
Gravus grunted, considering the logistics.
"A stable power source would be the key. Your lightning is potent, Boltar, but requires constant control. Can you sustain it for long-distance travel?"
"We'll design regulators! Capacitors!"
Boltar shot back, already caught up in the technical challenge.
"Optimize the energy flow! That's where the Morphai excel!"
Even Flareon found himself drawn to the bold plan. It was proactive, ambitious. Returning to the Citadel... the thought resonated deeply. The risks were enormous, but the potential reward, reaching home, felt worth almost any danger. The fragile hope, almost extinguished by Mireia's death, flickered anew.