The Mirror-Grave began as a sigh beneath Kael's boots—loose crystal sand hissing under tread—then widened into a valley of broken reflections. Shards lay everywhere: some no larger than fingernails, others taller than Thorn's shield, each piece tilting skyward to steal sunrise and fling it back twice as bright. The light hurt, sharp as ground glass; Kael narrowed his eyes and drew up his hood.
Behind him, Thorn shuffled his pack straps. The big retainer rarely spoke on march, but Kael could feel the man's presence the way one senses a tower at their back—weighty, dependable. Thorn had stood like this behind Kael since childhood duels in the grain yards: silent, watchful, fists ready to break any threat to the heir. A lifetime of that instinct was carved into Thorn's spine now; every step radiated guard.
Rei squatted at the edge of a frost-rimmed glass sheet. "These are thicker than yesterday's orchard. Hit one wrong, and it will bite." She tapped a leaf-wide shard with her dagger pommel. The clink rang out, echoing off distant faces. A moment later, a dull boom answered—deep within the valley, like thunder trapped under stone.
"Sound carries here," Elias murmured, gaze darting between shards. He adjusted the cracked lens on his brace, tapping one rune. A faint purple glow traced the fracture line. "These plates act like tuning forks—disturb them and they strike each other down-chain."
"Then we whisper," Kael said, keeping voice low. He sized up the easiest route: a trough between two slopes where shards lay flat, half buried by powdery grit. Veyra's fox mask padded ahead, its three-second solidity rule just enough to test footing. Where the fox stepped without slicing feet, Kael followed.
Varin walked rearmost, clipboard tucked under one arm, eyes sweeping the field with quartermaster pragmatism. "Crystal dust eats boot leather," he muttered. "We'll be barefoot by tomorrow."
"No tomorrow if we slip," Rei replied, lips tight.
They moved in slow single file. The air hung still, as though the Gate itself held breath to listen. For the first hundred meters nothing shifted. Then Kael's boot pressed a sliver half buried beneath dust. A razor-thin ping erupted, ricocheting along the shard line. Mirrors chimed one after another, a wave of resonance buckling outward.
"Hold!" Kael hissed.
Everyone froze. Sound rippled away. In the distance, a tall broken pane teetered, slid, and toppled into fog with a crash that shook the valley floor. Afterward came silence—deeper, uneasy.
Rei exhaled. "If that had been closer…"
Kael nudged the offending shard aside with the flat of the Nullglaive. "Watch footing. One mis-angle and the valley sings you to death."
They resumed, every step deliberate. Occasionally Veyra's fox leapt onto a tall fragment to survey. Each time, Kael watched her eyes glaze—Dreambinder seeing through illusion into possibility. Once, she blinked hard, brow creasing. Kael caught her arm. "Vision?"
"Only echoes," she whispered. "It shows us alive and also… not." She shrugged it off, summoning the wolf to switch. Illusions changed, dread stayed.
Mid-march they stopped for water. Thorn planted shield edge in grit, wedging it upright; its ember runes glowed faint, enough to warm chilled hands. Varin eased the mule to drink from a canteen bucket. He glanced at Kael. "If the chain twitches like last night, this glass field will cascade."
"We'll be gone before then," Kael promised.
Varin's gaze lingered on Kael's hands wrapped around the Nullglaive haft. "Storm's fuse is shorter than pride, cousin."
They moved on. Shard faces occasionally caught Kael's reflection: a tired heir, dust-streaked, eyes sharper than before the Gate. In one tall panel he noticed Thorn two steps behind, shield raised, positioning himself between Kael and every direction a shard could fall. The sight spiked warmth through Kael's chest—odd comfort in a grave of mirrors.
Wind picked up once they reached the valley's midpoint. Grit danced, scraping glass edges and peppering cheeks. The fox mask crouched low, tail lashing. Elias tilted his lens, reading airflow. "Front's shifting. Cross-breeze will shove plates into each other."
"How long?" Kael asked.
"Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes."
"We clear the valley in ten."
Rei raised a brow. "At this pace?"
"We run—quietly." Kael tapped Thorn's shield rim. "You break a path. I'll mute vibrations."
"How?" Thorn rumbled.
Kael drew a breath, feeling the Nullglaive's seam hum under his palm. He'd never tried using its interference on a field scale, but the blade's last spark still tingled. He spread Essentia into the metal, coaxing the seam brighter. Fine static arced across the edge, soft pops strumming like plucked wire.
He stepped into a jog, slicing low across the grit. Where the blade skimmed, tiny shards lifted and settled, resonance diffused. Thorn charged ahead, planting each boot like a piling, shield catching glints of morning sun. The others followed in staggered rhythm, matching his stride to avoid disharmony.
Wind shrieked. Shards vibrated, but the Nullglaive's hum spread, shearing waveforms out of sync. Kael's arm numbed from feedback yet he pressed on. Dust whirled; crystals trembled; none shattered. When his lungs burned, they reached the valley's far edge—a basalt apron free of mirrors.
Wind slammed the valley behind them. Shards clanged together, a choir of breaking bells. The noise rolled like thunder, echo feeding echo until the entire Mirror-Grave collapsed into a crashing roar. Glass cascaded down slopes, filling basins with gleaming rubble. Kael stood on solid basalt, blade vibrating in his grip, chest heaving.
Elias stared back at the ruin. "If we'd been halfway…"
Rei sheathed daggers with shaking hands. "We'd have been confetti."
Kael checked his palm—skin raw where the seam's static had cracked callus. Worth the pain. He flicked the blade once; the hum subsided, seam dimming to its ordinary silver pulse.
Varin whistled low. "That buys you a line of credit and a barrel of House reputation."
"Spend it later," Kael said, voice rough. He turned toward the western ridge where Anchor Six's crimson pulse lit low clouds. Several kilometers still, the glow steady but angry.
A sloping shelf led up from the basalt to a ridge shoulder where tents dotted the path—Malkyre colors. Daric Rhal's squad had pitched a supply camp at the ridge pinch, narrow enough to choke traffic. Their slicing cord lay coiled beside a brazier. Cold breakfast smells drifted—grain cakes and coffee.
The cohort approached, Thorn first. Daric spotted them, waved a cordial hand. "Impressive noise behind you. Ashwin performance?"
"Gate's performance," Kael said. "Your tents block the trail."
Daric gestured lazily. "Anchor's not going anywhere. My people rest."
"We don't have your clock," Rei said.
Daric's eyes flicked to her, amused. "Time is a House that collects rent."
Kael let silence hang before replying. "Then lower your rates."
A pause. Daric assessed Thorn's stance, Veyra's fox mask bristling, Elias's cracked lens sparking, and the Nullglaive's faint charge still dancing in Kael's grip. He exhaled. "Half squad is on fatigue fines. We break down in one hour. Trail clears then."
Kael nodded once. "One hour." He led his team to a flat slab beyond tent stakes, dropping packs. If negotiations failed, Thorn could clear tents with shield—messy but quick. Still, Kael preferred his strength for Anchor Six, not petty squabbles.
They ate ration bars and sipped lukewarm tea. Wind cut across the ridge, carrying first whiffs of ozone—a storm building around the chain array. Veyra leaned back against a stone, fox mask settled in her lap. "I saw something in the mirrors—us, older. My masks were different. Thorn's shield glowed white."
Rei smirked. "Mirrors lie."
"Maybe," Veyra said, voice small.
Kael studied the distant anchor pulse reflecting on cloud bellies: red strobe in a slate sky. He felt the Gate's heartbeat quicken. Two anchors left, Varin had said. Five stabilised gave them roughly two days of slack. Yet the air around Anchor Six looked ready to tear.
Varin crouched beside Kael. "We can skirt Malkyre's camp via a goat track, but it burns an extra hour."
"We'll wait the hour here," Kael said. "No sense risking another valley collapse."
Varin nodded but didn't rise. "Your team still trusts you after that stunt," he said quietly. "But static backlash like that? Use it twice more and you'll fry nerves."
"Price worth paying."
Varin's gaze softened with something between pride and worry. "Try not to make grandmother collect on your medical bills."
Kael smiled faintly. "Tell her they're tax-deductible."
Wind tugged Varin's coat; he rose to check his mule's hoof wrappings. Thorn set about re-oiling shield rivets, tiny sparks dancing along his gauntlet runes. Rei napped with dagger balanced on her knee. Elias jotted vector adjustments on brown paper, muttering about lens tolerance. Veyra plucked at an invisible harp string; the fox mask hummed in response.
Kael finally allowed himself a long drink of water. He tipped his head back, watching the sky. Chains overhead sagged almost lazily, but he could tell the slack was deceptive—muscles of a giant shifting before waking.
After Anchor Six we run, he thought. One day to win or vanish.
He wiped a stray fleck of glass dust from his brow. The shard sparkled crimson in sunlight, echoing the far pulse. He flicked it away, and it twirled off the ridge to join the broken mirrors below.
Time ticked—one hour to clear. Somewhere behind Malkyre tents, a bell rang to mark the start of tear-down. Kael stood, rolling shoulders.
"Pack up," he told the cohort, voice calm. "Trail opens soon. Then we finish what we came for."
They rose as one unit—Spark-Bound, dust-scarred, but unbroken—and readied themselves to march toward the anchor that waited like a heart ready to burst.