Kael's cohort crested the wind-tunnel rise by mid-afternoon. A high ridge opened before them—a stony ledge broad enough for three chain pylons and a scattering of half-ruined shelters. Brass wind-bells hung from the pylon arms; their chiming sounded brittle, as though the air itself were thin glass. A painted board at the entry read RISER'S REST—SUPPLY NEXUS (Spark-Bound Only). Under the words somebody had carved a grinning skull and the phrase PAY OR PLUMMET.
The group paused to take stock. Veil-sun cast gold on every dented surface, glinting off the Nullglaive's silver line and off Elias's cracked lenses.
Veilcore 61 % — Status steady
Rei sniffed the air. "Smells like boiled rope and frying batter. Someone's cooking."
Veyra's wolf mask padded ahead, nose twitching. Thorn planted his shield at their back, the Emberguard face pulsing gentle red. He'd vented most of the stored heat on the climb; runes were already soaking new warmth from the sun.
Elias glanced toward the nearest stall: a table of tinkers' goods spread beneath a tarp rattling like thunderpaper. "If the shard-smith's still alive, I can trade for fresh lenses."
Kael nodded. "Find your gear. Thorn and I will secure camp frontage. Rei—scout for open water barrels; we're half dry."
He kept the Nullglaive sheathed but in easy reach as they walked into the market. Roughly forty Spark-Bound milled among rope piles, battered lanterns, jars of salve, and coils of anchor wire. Silver-Leaf archers manned a tea cauldron. Two Eastreach frost-magi bartered ice chips for dried meat. Kael spotted Daric Rhal farther down, speaking with a Malkyre officer whose cloak bore three crown points. Rival politics brewing.
First priority: Elias. They reached a stall where an elderly woman with soot-gloved hands arranged crystals on velvet. Her sign: Shard-Lenses—Unfractured—Fair Rate.
Elias held up his gauntlet, the spider-web crack obvious. "Need a right-side tri-facet lens. Grade A clarity. I can pay Essentia salts or bolt-bundles." He unhooked two of Liora's gifted arrowheads.
The shard-smith rotated a loupe over one eye. "Bolt-bundles'll do. But cracked brace needs new seat padding. Buy that or lens chips again." She produced a cotton pad soaked with flexible resin.
"Add it," Kael said, sliding a small coil of anchor wire onto the counter. "Wire sweetens the deal."
Accepted. The woman fitted a lens the hue of sunrise into Elias's brace, smoothing resin padding under the socket. She keyed the sigil screws; glyph wheels spun, fully aligned. Elias flexed wrist, Vector-sense purring. "Gravity Net back on the menu," he whispered. The relief in his face almost counted as payment.
Rei rejoined, handing Kael a half-full cask. "Only clean barrel left. Paid two ration biscuits." She jerked a thumb toward an Eastreach guard. "Apparently water's more valuable than arrows today."
Thorn arrived, shield slung at rest. "Scouted good ledge on west side. Wind shadowed, but…" He frowned toward a cluster of wrecked shelters. "Something prowls the refuse—smell of blood and hot stone."
Kael followed his gaze. The ground there shimmered as though heat haze rose from the cold rock. A half-eaten carcass—goat or climber—lay beside shattered crates. Clawed tracks curved toward a deeper cleft.
Veyra's fox sniffed the air and vanished, only to reappear mid-path, tail puffed. Veyra winced. "Fox felt fire through stone. Predator hunts by warmth."
Emberguard runes brightened on Thorn's gauntlets. "Then I'm the brightest torch."
"We'll be bait together," Kael answered, drawing the Nullglaive. He looked to Elias. "Net ready?"
"Lens pristine." Elias braced. Rei loosened lightning in her wrists—blue sparks flicked across palms. Veyra conjured the wolf mask, eyes ember-red.
They advanced along the refuse lane. Heat shimmer thickened; the air smelled of charcoal and singed copper. From the cleft a shape emerged—four-legged like a great cat, hide of obsidian plates shot through with lava veins. It exhaled a gust that scorched dirt to glass.
Veil entity tag sparked in Kael's sight:
Ferragore — Heat-Drinker class
Ferragore stalked toward Thorn, attracted to the rolling warmth in Emberguard. Thorn slammed his shield rim into the ground, venting a short pulse that flared orange. The beast roared, plates opening like vents, drinking the heat wave and growing brighter.
"Feeds on temperature," Elias warned. "Cool it or kill it."
Kael dashed left, Nullglaive humming. The silver seam dealt interference again; proximity fizzed the Ferragore's lava veins, making heat flow erratic. It snarled, turned to swat him instead.
Rei used the distraction, blinking beside Thorn to plant a Stormbind dagger into Ferragore's flank. Lightning snapped across plates; heat leaked out in jagged arcs. The beast twisted, whipping a tail of molten stone. The lash missed Thorn by inches, slammed a shelter wall to rubble.
Wolf mask leapt onto Ferragore's spine, claws sinking three-second-solid into the hottest seam. It pulled Essentia heat upward like drawing poison. Beast shrieked, plates dimmer.
Elias pivoted bracer forward. "Net!" Eight Essentia flared; the fresh lens bent gravity into a shimmering bubble that clenched Ferragore mid-roar. Lava lines froze, hardening into cooling rock. Thorn stepped in, shield uppercut powered by stored Emberguard. The impact shattered chest plates. Kael followed, Nullglaive plunging through the weakened gap, silver seam sparking—Grounded Cut drained residual fire. Ferragore collapsed, stone cooling to slate.
System shimmer:
Heat-Drinker slain — Essentia +4Thorn's Emberguard Sigil advanced: Residual Blast unlocked(Excess heat can be expelled as a directional beam once per rest.)
Thorn rolled his shoulders, testing rune glow. "Feels… stronger." He flexed gauntlet; faint ember wisps trailed. "Beam can weld anchor cracks maybe."
Rei stooped over crystallised slag. "Too bad it doesn't drop steaks."
Kael wiped blade clean on scorched tarp. The carcass reminded him that warmth could be weapon or lure; Emberguard's glow needed careful budgeting.
Nearby Malkyre voices shouted. Daric Rhal approached with three soldiers. He eyed Ferragore remains, then Thorn's new rune brightness. "Ashwin cohort draws talent like iron." His gaze drifted to Elias's restored lens. "Buying edge after edge."
Kael sheathed Nullglaive. "Edges dull if unused."
"Some edges pierce hearts before dulling," Daric said softly. Behind his smile lurked House rivalry. Yet his men hauled a wounded mage on a litter—face blistered, legs trembling. Wind-bite or rogue current.
Kael crossed arms. "Need shield heat to thaw frost-shock?"
Daric's jaw tightened. Pride warred with necessity. Finally: "Yes."
Thorn stepped forward, lifted shield. A low beam of ember warmth—new Sigil gift—rolled over the mage's limbs, thawing numb tissue. Malkyre soldiers watched, wary; debt collected quietly.
Daric inclined head. "Rhal owes Ashwin one." The words tasted bitter even to him. Alliances layered like shale—pressure would crush them or make stone.
Evening purple glazed the ridge. Riser's Rest settled into quieter trades, sparks from cook-fires dimming as climbers conserved Essentia. Kael found a ledge leaning into sunset and read the Ashwin letter at last. The seal cracked with a brittle snap.
Honor binds the name; strength binds the chain. Bring the Nullglaive's next awakening home. No threats—only expectation.
He folded parchment, slid it into jacket lining. He would return the blade home—after it answered him first, not vault clerks.
Rei joined, handing half-filled mug. "Final tea ration."
They drank while watching Liora's Silver-Leaf cohort repack their supply crates. The archer captain raised a palm in thanks for the earlier medicinal salvage; Kael answered with two fingers to brow.
"Storm-Wrought feels closer," Rei murmured. "Like smelling rain before clouds gather."
"Smell or mirage," Kael said, resting the glaive across knees. "Either way we climb."
Below, night fog rose around the Ferragore's cooling husk, swallowing proof of the fight. Veilstars winked on overhead, mirrored by dim runes on far-off anchors still waiting to be calmed.
Kael counted how many: two more before the final splice. Then a twenty-four-hour race to exit. Spark-Bound timetable, storm-scale stakes. He breathed out, letting ambition settle like an ember in the dark.
One day soon the spark would demand more oxygen— and he would give it, gladly.