Clouds rolled in at mid-morning, carrying a breath of clean cold that tasted like iron filings. Kael's cohort reached a natural shelf where three chains met a jutting spur of rock and fanned outward again, forming a kind of suspension hub. Someone long ago had braced the chains with thick hemp ropes and lashed together planks to build a swaying platform. A half-collapsed sign called it Tether-Bridge Outpost—a waypoint for climbers who preferred negotiation to ambush.
It bustled now. Silver-Leaf archers, Eastreach frost-mages, and half a dozen independents bartered over flasks, rations, or scrap Veilstone. Two Malkyre scouts lounged at a corner table, polishing their spears and pretending not to listen to every deal.
Kael glanced at his team. "No threats, no charity—straight swaps."
Rei's calves still twitched but the new blue hex marks on her wrists had faded to faint tattoos. "I could trade a knife for coffee," she muttered. Thorn only grunted; the Emberguard shield carried a warm glow—spare heat he could sell for quick cooking if someone had raw food.
Elias studied the rope geometry. "Platform's tension is good. I'll find more bracing wire." Veyra's fox-mask sat on her shoulder again, tiny paws drumming impatience.
They stepped onto the bridge; planks creaked but held. Liora Vale waved them over to a central table, gesturing to a kettle steaming atop a rune stove. "Cinnamon tea," she offered. "Cheap comfort."
Rei arched a brow. "Trade?"
"Conversation," Liora said. "We could all use friendlier voices."
Kael accepted the worn tin mug. The steam smelled of a festival bakery from home—almost enough to conjure his younger self sneaking pastries with Dorian. The memory pinched then passed.
Around the table sat Liora's lieutenants: Carro with string-calloused fingers and half a violin Sigil carved into his bow; Nessa, a short woman whose quiver glowed faint green; and Myron, the wounded archer they had hauled up yesterday, now splinted but alive.
Liora nodded toward the Nullglaive on Kael's back. "Your weapon sings. Any chance I could see how it handles in a light spar?"
Kael weighed the request. Curiosity glinted behind her calm; she wanted data, not blood. He set the mug aside. "First ring, blunt flats only."
They moved to a chalk circle painted on plank boards. Wind whipped Liora's hair as she drew an unstrung practice bow, Sigil line dull to show no Essentia. Kael unsheathed the heirloom. He hadn't tried its new silver line yet; no better test than controlled steel.
On the count of three they engaged. Liora slid inside bow range, staff-striking with smooth parries. Kael answered with measured cuts, letting the Nullglaive's balance carry momentum. Halfway through the first exchange the silver line along the blade vibrated— a soft thrumming. Where the edge met Liora's staff, tiny sparks skipped across the wood. Not lightning—something subtler: the glaive disrupted Essentia flow, scrambling the Sigil charge along her staff. The wood hummed off-note, forcing her to reset stance.
She stepped back, eyes widening. "Your edge fuzzes signal."
"New quirk," Kael acknowledged, breathing even. "Short-range interference, maybe." He didn't push; sparring concluded with respectful bows. Observers murmured—the glaive had earned reputation unusual for a tier-one climb.
They returned to the table. Liora poured more tea. "Tomorrow we'll attempt the eastern wind-tunnel chain. If the Leviathan shakes hard, our ropes will pop. Your gravity net could keep us from pinwheeling into space."
Elias rubbed his gauntlet, glyph wheels spinning like clock hands. "I'm down to one heavy cast. But a Small Push or two I can promise."
She accepted. "We'll trade bolt-bundles—lightweight arrowheads that store Essentia until impact. Might help against anchor sparks."
Kael agreed. Deals sealed with clasped wrists, no oaths. Rivalry survived better when respect tempered greed.
Toward midday, Eastreach captain Abronissa brought fresh frost charms for trade. Thorn swapped a slow-bleed Emberguard flare—heat stored in shield metal—to thaw their rations tonight. Abronissa's mages looked almost cheerful at the prospect of steaming food.
Veyra lingered by a stall where an independent climber sold dream-glow beads. The vendor—a wiry man with eyes rimmed red—claimed the beads stabilized illusions. Veyra tested one; her fox-mask flickered brighter, tail thickening for several seconds before fading. She offered a story fragment instead of coins: three sentences of a nightmare where she wore thirty masks at once. The vendor, drawn by narrative like a starving thing, accepted. Rei muttered, "Bartering with story shards? Bad habit," but Veyra only smiled.
As afternoon shadows lengthened, alarm bells clanged. A runner—Eastreach—stumbled onto the planks shouting, "Anchor flare! West wedge! Ghost surge!"
People scrambled. Kael's cohort closed ranks; Liora's archers notched arrows. Far across the saddle, crimson light burst skyward where a set of slack chains dipped too low; semi-solid wraiths streamed out, bodies scribbled in ink, faces blank parchments.
"Vector Net won't reach," Elias warned. "But Push can knock the first row back."
Kael nodded. "Thorn, brace front. Rei, hold Stormbind for targets that slip. Veyra, masks disrupt the wave crest."
He sprinted over planks toward the breach. The Nullglaive's new silver groove thrummed, ready. Thorn anchored shield; helmless wraiths slammed the metal, leaving smears of ash. Emberguard absorbed contact, runes flashing orange. Thorn released a controlled flare—heat wave tore the lead wraiths apart like paper in fire.
Elias planted feet, sent three quick Small Pushes—shoves invisible but palpable, staggering the second line. Each cost one Essentia; the glyph wheels spun, stable.
Veyra's masks raced ahead—fox weaving between ghosts, wolf leaping through chests. Wherever mask-claws struck, illusions stole cohesion; wraiths unspooled into letters that blew away.
A single ghost dodged right, skating behind Thorn. Rei snapped her wrist; a Stormbind tether lanced outward, chaining lightning through empty parchment. It burst in a tiny thunderclap, leaving only ash snow.
Within minutes the surge dissipated. The anchor's red glow dimmed, returning to sullen yellow. System text scrolled:
Minor breach sealed — Veilcore +2
Not much, but enough to remind them they were still scoring—still being watched.
As adrenaline eased, Kael caught Veyra swaying. Two masks flickered badly. He steadied her elbow. "How long have they been active?"
"Five minutes," she whispered. "Paid two Essentia each. Worth it."
He nodded, but silently added her drain to calculations.
Across the bridge Liora signaled a thumbs-up. Rivals, yes, but today the Gate demanded alliances.
Sunset painted the chains bronze. Kael found a quiet corner overlooking a sea of cloud. He unfolded the Ashwin letter at last. The open script spoke in his father's crisp hand:
"Honor binds the name; strength binds the chain. Come home with both intact."
A simple line. Yet the weight pressed heavier than chain links overhead. He thought of the Nullglaive humming interference; of House strategists dreaming of vault upgrades; of his own secret hope that the blade would listen only to him.
Rei came to stand beside him. "Your family?" she asked.
"Obligations," he said. "Everyone's got them. Even a thief who bets tuition."
Her laugh fluttered the dusk. "Thieves like simple terms. We survive. We climb. We carve our own page in the ledger."
He folded the letter carefully, set it back in oilcloth. The horizon bled orange into violet. Somewhere beyond the glow, the Chain-Crowned Leviathan stirred, testing its shackles.
Kael's stomach clenched—not fear, exactly; an ache of anticipation. Tomorrow would be harder. But the Nullglaive answered with a faint harmonic he could almost name: ready.
He breathed in cold air that smelled of iron and spice tea and distant storms. "We climb," he agreed.
And in the fading light the blade's silver groove mirrored the sky's last ember, hinting at fires yet to be stoked.