The ridge rose like a black spine out of the Mirror-Grave, each vertebra a slab of frost-scoured basalt jutting just wide enough for two people to stand shoulder-to-shoulder. Kael checked the sky: the sun sat higher now, bright but cold, and Anchor Six's crimson pulse stained a patch of cloud on the western horizon like blood seeping through gauze. They needed to reach the plateau below that pulse before dusk—and without rattling the Leviathan chains overhead.
Malkyre tents were already down. Daric Rhal's squad marched single file, slicing cord coiled, magnet boots sparking every third step. They must have decided that staking a toll booth wasn't worth a second stare-down. Kael watched them cross the narrow choke, counting heartbeats between each man. No collapses. Good.
He turned to his own line. "Thorn leads. Rei shadow him. Veyra's fox scouts—low profile. Elias, you split center with the mule. I'll take rear."
Varin raised a brow. "Ashwin heir trailing the line?"
"Anyone tries to cut us, they meet my edge first." Kael thumbed the Nullglaive's vent latch and felt the weapon hum, pleased.
Thorn shifted the Emberguard shield onto his back, rim forward so its curved face could deflect any falling rocks. His heavy boots thunked on stone, weight steady and deliberate. Rei flowed behind him with daggers reversed; she kept her footfalls light, instincts tuned for anything the ridge might spit out. The chilled wind tugged at her red hair but she barely blinked.
Elias walked beside the mule, one hand on the bridle and the other on his lens brace. Light glinted from the spider-crack, and he whispered counts of vector angles—as if calming both himself and the delicate glass. Varin's second porter followed with the ballast-bomb crate, cheeks puffing in the thin air.
Kael took up the back, Nullglaive loosely across shoulders. Each step he laid down managed two jobs at once: keep the line in motion and listen to the ridge's voice. The basalt spoke in subtle vibrations, like someone plucking a buried harp string. Every hundred meters he let the glaive's seam brush stone; if the hum grew harsher, they shifted path a pace left or right to skirt hidden fissures.
Half an hour in, the ridge pinched to barely a meter. A sheer drop yawned on the left; on the right, a vertical face studded with stray mirror shards caught the sun and flashed fire into their eyes. Veyra's fox mask hopped onto the vertical wall, claws becoming momentarily solid so it could look ahead. The figment's head jerked toward a rock spire above the trail where a sliver of obsidian clung like a crooked blade.
The mask dissolved, reappearing beside Veyra with a warning yip. "That shard above is loose," she murmured. "Could shear our line."
Thorn planted the shield's bottom edge, creating a miniature ramp. "I'll take it." He nudged a rune; Emberguard bled a low ripple of heat. A tiny shimmer rose from the metal, warming the stone behind him.
Kael tapped the glaive on rock. "Elias—Push just enough to shove the shard outward, off the ridge."
Elias sucked in a breath, flicked two sigils. Small Push – 2 Essentia flashed across Kael's peripheral vision. An invisible palm nudged the shard; it slid, scraped, and launched into empty air, vanishing with a whistling hiss. Kael didn't even need Ghostline Step. Simple coordination beat flashy effort.
Rei exhaled. "Gate's getting stingy with theatrics—maybe saving them for later."
"Let's not request an encore," Kael answered.
They walked another kilometer before halting for a five-minute water break. Wind scythed across the saddle; Varin passed mugs around, his clipboard tucked beneath an armpit while he scribbled supply tallies. When he reached Kael, he lowered his voice. "Rhal's crew left no markers beyond this point. Either they trust the ridge or they have other intel."
"Or they hope we trip their traps," Kael muttered, sipping water gone lukewarm.
Varin nudged Kael's elbow. "When you Shardwalked that mirror avalanche, how close were you to locking up?"
Kael remembered the half-second of freezing pressure—like every bone had been replaced with ice—and resisted a shiver. "Close enough to hate trying it again today."
He glanced at Thorn, who stood sentinel near the mule, shield angled into wind. Retainer bodyguard, lifelong anchor. If Kael lost strength mid-phase and stuck in stone? Thorn would be the first to dig him out—or to end his suffering before the rock crushed him completely. Comfort of a grim sort.
The break ended. They formed single file again. This time Rei spoke quietly while they walked. "Why didn't you take the Academy's House-sponsored team? You could've led four hand-picked nobles."
Kael shrugged. "Politics masks flaws. I wanted people who know debt." He didn't add that the Academy's House picks had eyed him like a title, not a comrade.
Rei smiled, small and sharp. "We're nothing if not bankrupt."
Ahead, Thorn signalled stop. The ridge kinked right, leading into a wind-gouged alcove—a natural place for an ambush. A line of colored survey ribbons fluttered across the pinch point: green, then black, then gold. Elias squinted. "Standard rescue codes. Green: stable. Black: unstable under load. Gold means 'wait for escort.'"
Varin clicked his tongue. "Eastreach surveyors must have left these."
Kael measured the ledge—narrow, dust-coated, undercut by a void. If the flags were honest, they needed Eastreach's ice-magi escort. But time bled.
A low clatter came from behind. Daric Rhal's squad re-emerged, having completed their rest. They stopped two dozen paces back. Daric folded his arms, studying the flags. "Ashwin pausing? Interesting."
Kael called over his shoulder, "Your magnet boots handle unstable stone?"
Daric's smile was cold. "They handle many things. Want proof?"
"Be my guest," Kael said, stepping aside.
Daric nodded to a lieutenant. The man strode to the pinch, magnet greaves humming. He set one foot onto the flagged lip—and sank ankle-deep as the stone shelled away like rotten wood. A soft rumble rolled beneath, then a slab sheared off, plummeting. The lieutenant jerked back, face pale.
Daric's smile flickered. "Escort it is."
Kael faced his cohort. "Elias—any net left?"
The young man flexed fingers over the cracked lens. "One Gravity Net, half strength."
"Save it," Kael decided. "We barter escort. Thorn and I will approach Eastreach camp." He turned to Daric. "Care to share the fee?"
The rival considered. Pride warred with pragmatism. Finally he nodded. "Split cost. But Rhal crosses first."
Kael extended a gloved hand. "Done." Daric clasped it—brief, firm.
Varin leaned close as they resumed march. "Pride's a coin; you just made him spend some."
"Better his than ours," Kael said.
They arrived at an ice-magi post twenty minutes later—a pair of Eastreach practitioners in frost-sleeved robes tending a spindle of rune-studded ice that burrowed into the ledge. Steam curled where ice met rock. Kael explained the black-flag choke; Daric added coin from Rhal coffers. The magi agreed to glaze a temporary shelf.
Kael watched the process. One mage spiraled Essentia through a staff; frost grew outward, layering molecular sheets until a pale blue bridge arced across the void. The other mage seeded tiny hex-runes to anchor the ice. When finished, the bridge looked fragile but hummed with structural force.
System Flash – Environmental Rune Bridge RegisteredLoad Rating: 3.5 tons – Lifespan: 4 hours
Clear enough. Rhal's squad crossed first, boots sparking. The bridge flexed but held. Kael's team followed. Thorn went slow, shield dragging for balance. Mid-span the ice creaked—a treacherous groan—and Kael felt fear spike in his throat. Reflex kicked: he leaned into Ghostline Step, leaving a faint blur behind as he dashed the remaining meters. The blur collapsed like a vanishing echo, harmless but unsettling. Rei teased him once they hit stone: "Could've saved that trick for worse."
Kael's pulse hammered. The System pinged a gentle reminder:
Ghostline Step left his nerves buzzing, a reminder that even cost-free tricks could fray the mind when the Veil pressed close.
He breathed out; growing pains of talent and terror.
Past the bridge, the ridge widened, offering a natural campsite. Anchor Six's bloody glow loomed three kilometers off, its pulse faster now, beating against clouds. Varin called halt—mule needed re-shoeing, and the bomb crate straps had frayed. Rhal's company pressed forward, eager to outpace them. Kael let them: someone had to set off the first snares.
They pitched low tents between basalt spires. Thorn built a modest fire with heat shards; Elias brewed bitter leaf tea. Wind moaned through stone fissures like distant pipes. Kael sat with back against a rock, Nullglaive across his knees, eyes on Anchor Six. Each red pulse seemed to echo the beat of a wounded heart.
Varin returned from tethering the mule. He slid down beside Kael. "Remember the courtyard pact?" he asked in a hush. "Five misfits, one Gate slot?"
Kael smirked. "Grandmother called it a joke."
"Best joke we ever told," Varin said, nudging Kael's shoulder. "Don't let it be our last."
Kael watched sparks drift up into the dusk. Thorn handed him a tin of tea—careful; the rim glowed faint from ember contact. He sipped, warmth blooming behind his sternum, and let silence settle.
Anchor Six's red flicker painted the camp in faint scarlet. Each pulse reminded them the fuse might ignite any moment. But for one measured hour they let the world slow—relishing simple warmth and the brittle peace of being alive halfway up a chain too thin for regret.
Tomorrow they would climb again. Tomorrow the Gate might demand another payment. But tonight, Kael allowed himself one memory of the courtyard pact: Thorn's broken-tooth grin, Rei's first illegal bet, Elias's terrified excitement, Veyra's shy phantom fox curling around their ankles.
He raised the tin. "To what comes next," he whispered.
The others clinked cups—metal against metal, no ringing mirrors, no echo collapse, just a soft promise that five Spark-Bound climbers could still anchor each other when the Veil tried to sever every link.
The night swallowed the sound, and Anchor Six pulsed on.