The name had spread too quickly.
"Rogues."
"Shaders."
"The crew from Autumnvale."
It whispered through markets, clanged off the walls of foundries, even carried up to the redstone rails where minecarts rattled endlessly. By sunset, Techno City was shifting against them — soldiers doubling patrols, bounty hunters sharpening blades, eyes lingering longer than they should.
The crew felt it.
---
Vince moved through a crowded street, shoulders square, face blank. He'd shaken off the bounty hunter earlier, but now three more stalked him in the open. They didn't hide it — they wanted him to see, to know he was prey. Vince's hand twitched toward his Nitrox blades, but he didn't draw yet. His eyes narrowed, calculating.
"Storm's brewing," he muttered to himself.
When the first hunter lunged, Vince sidestepped and struck with surgical precision. The second followed, steel flashing, and Vince's blades caught the attack in a burst of sparks. The third came with a net — and for the first time, Vince gritted his teeth, realizing he couldn't cut through everything at once.
He slipped into an alley, heart steady but jaw clenched, the shadows of three killers dogging his steps.
---
Emily clutched the stolen map beneath her cloak, ducking through twisting alleys. Every corner seemed to have guards, every shout seemed aimed at her. She pressed herself against a wall, breathing shallow.
"Think, Emily. Think."
A squad of soldiers thundered past. One slowed, turning his head, eyes narrowing. Emily spotted a cart stacked high with fish and dove beneath it, covering herself in the stench. The soldiers passed, none the wiser, but Emily gagged quietly.
She pulled herself out, muttering, "I'm going to die smelling like haddock." Her fingers clenched the map tighter. "Worth it."
---
James leaned back in a tavern chair, redstone pistols resting on the table as the crowd pressed closer. His stew had made him a spectacle, but his accent and his weapons had made him a target. A heavyset man in a Miner's uniform shoved through the throng.
"You think you can waltz in here, feed these fools, and not draw eyes?" the man snarled.
James raised an eyebrow, unbothered. "I was merely correcting a culinary crime."
The man swung. James leaned aside, letting the fist crash into the table. The tavern erupted, chairs and bottles flying. James moved like water — ducking, weaving, his pistols never firing but always present, a quiet warning in each smooth draw and snap back to his sides.
But the tavern was swarming now, soldiers mixed with civilians, and James realized the chaos would only grow. He slipped out the back, boots echoing on cobblestones, the smell of smoke and ale following him into the streets.
---
Ryder tried to keep his head down. Really, he did. He guided his goats through the quieter edges of the city, muttering assurances to them. "Almost done. Just need to leave. Nobody will notice us."
But children had noticed earlier, and now two Miner soldiers approached, lips curled in disdain. "This your herd?" one asked.
Ryder nodded quickly. "Y-yeah. Just goats. Nothing else."
The soldier sneered. "Stray animals aren't allowed in the city. They'll be confiscated."
When he reached for the rope, something inside Ryder snapped. The wind burst before he even realized it, slamming into the soldier and knocking him sprawling into a stall of tools. The second guard grabbed Ryder's arm, but another pulse of air broke the grip.
The goats bleated wildly as Ryder stumbled back, horror on his face. He yanked the ropes, fleeing down the street as shouts rose behind him.
"What am I doing?" he gasped, panic rising with each step.
---
And Hunter?
Hunter had slipped away without meaning to. One moment he'd been laughing in the markets, bolting from guards with that reckless grin, and the next his feet had carried him down a narrow stone path. Away from the chaos. Away from the others.
He didn't know why. The noise of the city faded with each step, replaced by a hush that seemed unnatural here. The smoke thinned, the air cooler. Moss grew between cobblestones, untouched by the endless churn of industry.
Hunter slowed, breath catching in his throat. Ahead lay an archway of weathered stone, vines creeping along its edges. Beyond it, a courtyard.
And in its center, a sword, buried in the earth. A crown rested against its hilt.
Three words carved into stone:
TECHNOBLADE NEVER DIES.
Hunter froze at the threshold, the chaos of Techno City behind him, silence before him. His hands curled into fists.
For the first time since he'd stepped foot in the city, he didn't grin.
He bowed his head. And walked inside.
---