Wind clawed at Kael's cloak in wild, stop-start gusts that smelled of rusted chain oil. Each new breath felt like sucking pennies. Ahead, hammered-iron steps zig-zagged up a ridge spur, plates warped from centuries of tremors. When Kael set his boot on the first tread, the metal flexed with a hollow groan. If he listened hard enough he could almost hear it mutter: Keep climbing, little weight; I've carried worse.
He kept climbing, because stopping meant giving the Gate a foothold inside his head.
Rei came next, legs tight but looser than yesterday, blue Stormbind marks faint under her skin. Thorn followed in lumbering silence, Emberguard shield slung across his back; morning sun warmed the bronze face until subtle runic threads blushed orange. Behind him, Veyra's fox and wolf masks glided like loyal shadows. Elias brought up the rear, crystal brace ticking with a new, metronome-steady heartbeat after last-night maintenance.
Halfway up the stair, Kael spotted a fist-sized crystal prism half-jammed in a fracture of shrine stone. A single glyph still pulsed on its core. He freed it and tilted the shard. Ghost letters swam into view:
ANCHOR DIRECTIVE — GATEWALK CYCLE 97
Secure six anchors.
Keep the chained monster asleep.
Harvest Veilcore data for Academy research.
Exit within twenty-four hours of the last anchor sync.
Rei squinted at the floating script. "Number three feels like bedtime rubbish."
Elias thumbed a dial on his gauntlet so the glyph wheels mirrored the display. "Data keeps professors smiling. Anchors one and two are why we breathe right now. If that beast tears free, the Veil rips straight down this latitude—spawning portals over cities that don't even know our names."
Rei swore under her breath. The fox mask mimicked her mouth silently, then winked out. Kael pictured the Ashwin estate beneath a sky split open, Essentia storms boiling through nursery gardens. The mission hardened behind his breastbone. He slid the prism into an outer pocket—truth heavy enough to carry.
The stair peaked on a plateau broad enough to stage a tournament. Yet only silence reigned— no Slagwyrms, no mirror ghosts, just a single fire crackling near loose anchor bolts. Six archers in silver-leaf cloaks patrolled the far side, bows unstrung but held like warnings.
Kael raised a hand. "We don't want your packs."
The archer captain stepped forward. She wore the measured calm of someone who calculated odds before blinking. Sun-blond hair; a recurve bow carved with leafy filigree. "Liora Vale," she said. "Silver-Leaf Order."
Rei leaned closer to Kael, voice a breath: "Rumor says her arrows punch anchor stone." Kael didn't doubt it; the bow carried a thin green Sigil line that pulsed in time with Liora's heartbeat.
"Kael Ashwin," he replied. "Nullglaive." He touched the heirloom's matte shaft, inlays a cool shimmer. "Next junction's east. Any chaos ahead?"
"Crosswinds stiffen near noon," Liora said. "One of mine misjudged a gust—dangles forty meters below a sagging link." The flatness of her voice failed to hide grief. "Wind tunnels ignore anchor pulses."
She eyed Elias's gauntlet. "Your engineer called it a gravity net?"
Elias raised the braced arm. Tiny glyph wheels—the earlier Sigil Echo—spun like silver gears above bruised crystal. "Two tools," he said quickly.Small Push—short shove, one Essentia.Gravity Net—three-meter bubble, eight Essentia, heavy strain. Two big casts left before the brace shatters.
Liora's jaw flexed: she wouldn't beg—Silver-Leaf reputation forbade—but hope glimmered anyway. Kael nodded once. "Show us."
They skirted along a slanted chain, then onto a spur where iron sagged across open sky. Crosswinds kicked gravel sideways; each stone skipped across metal and vanished into fog. Twenty meters down, a Silver-Leaf archer dangled by one arm, glove wedged deep. Legs kicked weakly. If that grip failed, the fall wouldn't kill him—rag-doll pin-balling against chain teeth would.
Thorn planted shield, venting a careful breath of Emberguard heat down into the metal. The rim glowed brighter: he'd release a flare if gusts surged. Veyra closed her eyes; the fox mask glided over the chain, claws hooking into pits as if illusion weighed nothing. It reached the archer and tugged—fingers slipped through. Illusion-solid for three seconds… not long enough.
Elias steadied his stance. Purple light swelled around the brace, wheels locking. Gravity Net blossomed like glassy amber, wrapping the archer in soft radiance. Wind buffeted the orb but Thorn's rope lashed shield to iron, anchor firm. Rei Blinked—two Essentia—appearing beside the sphere to guide rope loops. Each heartbeat drained Elias; his jaw clenched as glyph wheels jittered. Thorn surged a minor heat-flare, countering crosswind bob. Inch by inch, the archer floated up. Rope tension slackened. Kael tugged from above, Nullglaive wedged as a lever. At top, Elias released the Net; the bubble popped like soap, brace hissing smoke but holding.
Liora knelt, pressing fingers to her comrade's jugular, relief flashing bright. She touched forehead to Kael's glaive in swift salute. "Silver-Leaf owes you."
"Pay it later," Kael said. "Chain's not done flexing."
Rei smirked. "Making friends?"
"Renting tomorrow," he murmured.
Past the rescue site, the ridge narrowed into a lattice catwalk. At its center brooded a block of iron plates studded with six runes pulsing warning yellow. Kael studied the pattern: lightning arcs spiraled outward, sparing no approach.
"Stormbind grounds left," he told Rei. "Thorn flares heat to bait discharge, Elias shoves the spiral off course. Veyra secures the keystone."
Rei slammed a dagger; a crackling rope of blue linked left corner to core. Thorn angled shield, venting a flare—heat blossomed like a slow sunrise, arcs leaping to chase it. Elias pumped two tiny Pushes, offsetting the spiral path. Veyra's wolf mask dove across the final glyph; paws touched for exactly one heartbeat, illusions thinning but holding long enough. Lightning fizzled; runes cooled green. A low chime tickled nerves—System satisfaction.
"Better than a fistful of points," Rei breathed.
Kael allowed muscle tension to bleed away. Not every advance needed fireworks; sometimes the quiet click of a puzzle solved was reward.
Late afternoon shadows merged into steel-gray lines by the time they located a fissure wide enough for bivouac. Thorn wedged his shield into an overhang; Emberguard heat made a pocket of ember warmth. Rei stripped boots to rub calves with salve. Elias poured water over the brace; steam hissed, glyph wheels steadying. Veyra dismissed fox and wolf; new mask limit reached, mind throbbing behind eyes.
Kael distributed half-ration bars—dried pulsebread laced with Essentia salts. He chewed slowly, watching low clouds scrape the Leviathan's distant chains: every drag along metal showered faint blue sparks into the fog. Beautiful and terrifying.
From his pack he withdrew a sealed letter. Ashwin crest: golden gryphon on violet wax. He thumbed the seal but didn't break it. Inside waited a political contract disguised as parental pride—Bring anchor footage, House funds your next expedition, but the Nullglaive's next evolution belongs to Ashwin vaults. Weight heavier than steel.
Footsteps scuffed rock grit. Rei settled opposite, dagger turning by its tip. "Reading mail?"
Kael shrugged. "Still deciding if obligation outweighs opportunity."
"World shrinks when we're on the chain," she said. "Bigger once we step off—but only if we've bargained well."
He gave a small nod. She flicked the dagger; it spun, caught, stilled. "Courtyard brawl feels like another lifetime."
"It was," Kael answered. "But the grit under nails is the same."
She grinned, accepting the truth as enough. They sat a while in ember hush.
Cold night deepened. Thorn's shield glowed pumpkin orange; Rei pressed palms near it for warmth. Veyra slept—one mask guarding, eyes ember-bright. Elias dozed lightly; each time wind rattled the fissure he whispered vector formulas in his sleep.
Kael took first watch, Nullglaive across knees. The glaive's new silver seam hummed faintly—like a tuning fork finding note. He wondered what threshold would unlock the next change. Hard to climb a ladder while the rungs kept mutating.
Below, on the plateau, Liora's camp signaled with slow torch-flashes: three long, one short—unknown code. Either "all secure" or "aid requested." Kael didn't speak their lamp language, but he recognized need shaped into light. Tomorrow—crosswinds or not— they would ascend the wind-tunnel chain, and he suspected Silver-Leaf would be near.
He gazed at the black silhouette of the Chain-Crowned Leviathan above. Each shift sounded like a landslide held at bay by spider silk. The crystal's directive rang again: six anchors, chained monster, twenty-four hours to escape. Simple math, brutal weight.
Kael allowed one slow breath. I will not fail first. It felt less promise than engine: a thought to push blood and bone another step when metal groaned in protest.
The chain overhead sighed like an elder falling back to sleep. Kael matched his pulse to its rhythm until the moon slid west and dawn whispered lavender across the horizon.