Wind scythed across the exit chain, carrying ash-flakes that stung like ground pepper. Kael climbed anyway, boots scraping rust the size of thumbnails from iron thicker than city walls. Two links above, Thorn led the mule, shield braced as a moving gangway; two links below, Varin paid out rope through blistered palms, as if ledgering every metre they gained. Behind Varin, Gerrin hauled the half-cracked frost coil like a wounded child. Each pulse of Anchor Six—now a distant, muffled thud—sent tremors up the metal, rattling their bones.
Kael paused, one hand hooked around a rivet the size of his torso. He risked a glance down. The plateau lay far beneath them: a dark saucer ribbed with slowly cooling trenches and dotted with the pale shapes of steam-ghosts. Somewhere in that fading heat lay Sena's body, and the bow of Liora's fallen archer, and the sled of Essentia that had drowned two nameless Malkyre. Twenty-three hours ago it had all seemed solid. Now it looked like a half-remembered nightmare.
A thin line of bold text hovered at the edge of his sight:
Gate fuse: 22 h 47 m
He inhaled, felt bruises protest, then climbed again.
The chain link he reached next glowed faint orange where hot vapour from lower vents rose to lick its underside. Gerrin wheezed behind him. "That spot'll burn through boots. I can cool it, but the coil's nearly dry."
"Short pulse," Kael said.
Gerrin set the coil's nozzle to the metal and whispered a freezing phrase. Frost spidered across the iron, dulling its glow. Steam hissed and drifted away like torn silk. Kael pressed a gloved hand to the chilled spot—cool enough to stand.
He waved the others up. Thorn coaxed the mule past the fresh ice; its hooves clanged but didn't sink. Rei patted the animal's neck twice, a silent thanks, then scanned the sky for threats. To the west, a violet storm front rolled across the Gate's ragged horizon, each flash illuminating the tangle of other chains in the distance. Every crack of lightning revealed silhouettes—some as thin as ladder rungs, others as thick as towers—swaying like pendulums.
"How high is that arch?" she muttered.
Elias climbed beside her, wiping grime from the cracked lens. "Chain's pitch rises sharper every thirty links. Rough guess: another seven hundred metres."
"Less talk, more climb," Thorn grunted.
Kael set off first. The iron plate curved upward like the back of a whale, forcing him to lean close and feel every vibration. One link ahead, Daric Rhal's depleted squad picked their way, the stolen coil now dangling useless at Rhal's belt. They did not look back.
Halfway up the rising arc, the chain quivered hard enough to buck loose dust. Kael flattened himself; overhead a deep groan passed from link to link. The entire chain shifted a handspan to the right, as if the world gave a shrug. Gerrin slipped; Kael grabbed his wrist, yanking him into a hollow where plate met rivet.
It happened then: a grey wisp rose out of a side vent—slender, bird-shaped, hunting Essentia currents. It darted straight for Gerrin's coil, eager for the residue of frost runes. Liora's surviving point archer was two steps above. She pivoted, drew, loosed—arrow whistling past Kael's ear. The shaft buried itself in the wisp; frost blossomed like blown glass, shattering the creature into drifting shards.
Gerrin looked up at her, eyes wet. "Thank you."
She nodded once, already nocking another arrow. "Next one costs extra," she said, voice thin from climbing.
A dozen links higher the chain passed beneath an overhanging spur of basalt, broken chunks half-melted to iron. Rhal's squad scurried through the narrow gap. The last man kicked loose a football-sized rock that clanged down the incline. It bounced once, twice, and spun straight at Rei.
Everything slowed in Kael's perception. She couldn't dodge—the mule boxed her in. Thorn twisted, shield coming up, but too late. Kael called her name.
The archer above reacted first. She swung her bow like a club, striking the rock aside—but the impact snapped the frost-glyph limb. Splinters of cedar and silver-leaf metal flew. A sliver sliced her cheek; another lodged in her chest. She staggered, teetered on the narrow footing. Varin lunged but missed. She toppled backward, bow fragments scattering into the void. Her body spun twice in open air before vanishing into the haze below.
Silence clamped the link. Only the Gate-wind howled.
Liora reached the edge and stared down, eyes flat and unreadable. She drew a breath that hitched, then turned away, snapping the remains of cedar in two. "She knew the risk," she said, but her voice cracked.
No one argued. Two Silver-Leaf left now, plus Gerrin, plus the battered cohort. Rhal didn't look back.
Kael forced himself to move. "Climb. Every minute we freeze is a minute lost."
Shear Step still tingled in his bones, a new-born blade wanting to cut. He tested it on the next obstacle: a broken rung bridging a gap half a body long. Instead of dropping and jumping, Kael touched Varin's shoulder, pictured a slit no wider than a page, and stepped sideways. Cold washed over him—quick, biting, gone. He and Varin reappeared on the far rim with only mild dizziness, no collapsing exhaustion. Ghostline's old flicker, upgraded to a clean slice with no toll unless he dragged heavy weight.
Good. Reliable seed again.
He waved Thorn and Rei over the gap, then the others. Gerrin crossed last; Varin tied a short rope around the magus's waist just in case, and for once Gerrin didn't protest.
Twenty minutes later, they reached a rest platform: a flat sheet of iron bolted to two giant rivets, once used by ancient maintenance crews. Someone long ago had etched a sigil of steadying on the centre plate; it still faintly glowed, dampening the worst vibrations.
Everyone collapsed in ragged semicircle. Varin produced the last intact water bladder, doled out mouthfuls by strict count. Thorn leaned his helm against the mule's flank and closed his eyes just long enough to keep them open later. Gerrin sank to his knees and traced Sena's name in frost on the platform's soot, wiping it away a second later.
Rei sat beside Kael, arms looped round her up-drawn knees. She stared at her cut knuckles. "You saved Varin with a new trick," she said quietly. "But you can't save everyone."
"I know." Kael flexed fingers numb from Shear Step's chill. "But if we leave Rhal loose, he'll cost more."
"We catch him after we reach daylight," she said, tone hard. "Dead men aren't worth obsidian."
He almost smiled; that was the gambler in her, weighing odds. "Deal."
Elias crouched nearby, lens dim. "Rune wheels at half strength. I can throw one more Net, maybe a two-second bubble."
"That bubble could decide who lives," Kael told him. "So keep it dry."
Varin came over, ledger sheet fluttering. "Rations: one quarter-bar each. Water: eight gulps total. Heat shards: one." He tapped the paper. "No extra rope, one piton. Mule's looking worse."
Kael eyed the beast. Its coat was patchy with burn marks, but its eyes were clear. Loyal without understanding. "We keep it moving. If it stalls, we lighten its load."
Thunder cracked off to the west. The violet storm had reached a cluster of empty chains, lightning forking between links, illuminating silhouettes of broken bridges. They would be climbing into that mess soon.
Fuse: 21 h 58 m
Time slipped, relentless.
Kael rose first, pulled the Nullglaive overhead to stretch his spine. The seam glinted dull silver. "On your feet," he called. "We rest again only when the arch is in sight."
Thorn groaned but stood, fist bumping Kael's shoulder. Rei flicked daggers into sheathes and ran a palm down the mule's neck. Gerrin wrapped coil straps tighter across his shoulders. The two Silver-Leaf archers checked replacement bows—a plain hickory pair Liora had drawn from a pack. Simpler, lighter.
Kael led onto the next link. Bolts the size of millstones studded its curve; steam hissed from seams where anchor pressure still bled upward. He picked a route along rivet shanks that offered footing and partial shelter.
Half an hour later they climbed into wind that smelled of ozone and salt. The violet storm reached them. Lightning spidered between free-hanging chains. Each blast set their link vibrating like a struck bell; the shock travelled through feet and into ribs.
"Hold!" Kael shouted. They crouched against metal. A bolt lanced the air ten metres off, connecting one chain to another. Sparks exploded in a sheet, scalding their faces. Liora's left sleeve caught fire; she slapped it out, cursing under breath.
Gerrin yelled over the wind. "Coil won't freeze lightning strikes. We need higher ground or a shield."
Thorn swung the Emberguard over his head, angling its rune-lined curve skyward. "Storm rod," he grunted. The shield's runes glowed white, drawing static. Small arcs flicked toward it then grounded harmlessly through the thick iron plate. The effect gave them a moving umbrella against worst strikes.
For the next ten links Thorn walked stooped, shield above like Atlas bearing a world of lightning. Sparks skittered across its face, leaving black pocks. Each hit jarred his arms; he said nothing, but sweat tracked through soot on his jaw.
Finally the storm faded, rolling east behind them. Thorn lowered the shield, shoulders trembling. Kael gripped his forearm. "Can you go on?"
"I'm Ashwin guard," Thorn rasped. "I go until you don't."
Kael nodded once. They pressed on.
The arch appeared three links later: a ragged maw of stone ringed by faint runes, hanging in empty sky where the chain disappeared through it. Daylight—the pure gold of sun outside the Gate—spilled around its edges like a promise. But between the cohort and that promise stretched one last set of three broken links, each crusted with patches of molten slag.
Rhal's silhouette moved on the first broken plate, coil sparks flickering in hand. He edged around a weakness that glowed cherry-red. One final haul of salvage stacked on his back made him sway.
Kael's stomach clenched. If Rhal misstepped, that plate could break, taking chain integrity with it—and their only exit path.
"Last obstacle," he murmured. He looked at Gerrin. "Can you frost a line across the first gap?"
Gerrin studied the slope, coil hissing. "A thin one. Thirty seconds firm."
"Enough." Kael inhaled glass-tainted air, feeling Shear Step itch to be used. "Thorn, storm rod ready in case slag vents. Rei on mule, archers cover ghosts. Varin rope. Elias—keep that Net dry."
They moved cautiously. Gerrin laid a shining ribbon over the first glowing hole. It cracked under Thorn's weight but did not break. Rhal glanced back, eyes wide. For a second Kael thought he might dump the coil and help. Instead Rhal hunched over his haul and hurried on.
Halfway across, the ribbon began to fracture. Gerrin's coil sputtered. Kael slashed a Grounded Cut into the cracked ice—adding silver strength to blue. Slag hissed, cooled into gray scab. They hurried over.
On the last link a tongue of slag erupted near the mule's flank. It screamed, reared, knocking Rei backward. A ghost darted up, sniffing Essentia. Liora's archer fired but missed. Kael jumped, the new seed slicing space in a quick Shear Step. Cold flash, half a heartbeat, and he was beside the mule, hand on its bridle, dragging the beast sideways out of the plume. No fatigue; short slice, light load. The wisp drifted after Essentia scent; Kael gutted it with the glaive, shards vanishing in steam.
Fuse counter hovered: 21 h 09 m
They reached the arch's shadow. Sunlight bled through runes, warming Kael's face with real heat for the first time in weeks. Rhal was twenty metres ahead on a narrow iron catwalk that fed into the portal. He looked over his shoulder, saw them closing, and tried to run—but his salvage crate slid sideways. He lurched, barely kept balance.
Kael ignored him for now. He turned to his people—what was left of them. Thorn's armour smoked; Rei's hair lay plastered by sweat; Gerrin's leg seeped blood where crawler claws had torn him earlier. Liora's eyes were flat and red-rimmed.
"Through the arch," Kael said. "Across the floodway on the other side is the final platform. We get there, the Gate spits us out at sunrise tomorrow."
"And Rhal?" Rei asked.
Kael met her gaze. "He finishes the climb. Or the Gate does."
Nobody protested. They moved into the rune-light, one by one disappearing through the arch into blazing white that smelled of pine and sea salt. Kael went last, Nullglaive humming low, Shear Step ready for one more slice if the world tried to collect another coin before dawn.
As he crossed, he felt the seed settle—not a cage now, but a whetstone. Razor-edge cleared, fatigue managed, promise intact. Behind him Anchor Six's final rumble echoed like a distant drum. Ahead waited a floodway of searing wind, one more gauntlet, and—if the scale of debts allowed—daylight.