Dawn broke through the fractured brick clerestory in thin grey shafts, catching the pale smoke that still drifted from the cooling slag troughs along the eastern wall.
Ferra held her newly fitted ash handle up to the lantern light, sighting down the straight grain to confirm that the wedge sat true in the eye.
She had spent six hours beneath the air flue fitting a hollow copper sleeve into the grip, lining the inner socket with dragon-tempered bronze to cushion against harmonic recoil.
The supplied frequency crystal rested securely inside the pommel cavity, bedded in powdered graphite and sealed behind a heavy, fine-threaded brass plug.
"Marra, Tobin, check the emergency bypass dampers once more before we touch the main gates," Ferra commanded, tightening the leather wrist wrap around her right forearm until the tendons stood out like corded wire.
