He left at gray light.South Gate made a small square behind him and then none.The road climbed until breath got short and the wind cut in strips. Old winch towers watched the drop like patient crows.
He was Lv 14. The little group under him was not. He would go ahead, outside the walls, and bring weight they could stand on.
Chains hummed on the ridge. Boards creaked. A sky-bridge crossed a slate throat. Feathers turned like knives high above.
"One and a half."
Switch.
Hunt: Harrier Molt
Crag Harriers circled. Molt season. Tallons were new and dumb, dives were bold and wrong. The bridge swayed on a slow count.
He let the wind finish the beat. He stepped when the planks rose, not when they fell.
First stoop came clean, from sun to shade.
Wisp Step. Silent step. After-image took the claws.Line Sever. A pale line across the plank. The Harrier crossed it mid-stoop. Jolt in air.Hinge Cut I. Short cut at the ankle hinge as it passed. It spun and learned gravity again.
Second dove late—fake high, real low.
[Feint detected] Feint Break ready.
Feint Break I. Tap the wing root at the wrist seam. Small stagger.Angle Step I. Ghost step to the safe plank.Hinge Cut I. Clip the knee hinge. Done.
The third screeched and shoved air at him to push him off the rail.
Grave Grip. Cold numb on the talons as they grazed.Cascade Parry I. Catch the shove with the flat; give it back.Hinge Cut I. Clean on the toe joint. Let go.
Feathers scattered into work. Wind steadied.
[Hunt Complete: Harrier Molt] +340 XP • Razor Talon x4 • Aerobone x2
He made a field bench at the tower base, out of the wind, back to stone.
Craft: Razor Talon + straps → Talon Spur (boot mod; better ledge grip)
He set the spurs. Boots held like they meant it.
[Level Up] Aiden — GreyStep → Lv 15 XP: ▓▓▓▓ 41% → ▓▓▓▓▓▓ 72% +8s • Stat: +1 Footwork
The sky went a shade harder. Chains on a second tower sang sharp. An old lift hung over a slate throat, yawing. The rope tone was wrong. The block swayed like a slow lie that wants to be a fast one.
"One and a half."
Switch.
Old Hoist
A Pulley Wight pulled at the control knot and tried to "reset" the world until it cracked. The hook swung like a lazy pendulum. Rust dust made a small weather around the head.
Line Sever. Thin cut on the deck between him and the hoist.The hook crossed the pale line. Jolt. The pattern hiccuped.
The Wight tugged harder. Ropes rasped. The control knot crawled and pretended to be a brain.
Ghost Pin. A pale nail into the main block.The knot stuttered. That was the hinge.
Angle Step I. Ghost step under the block as it came back.Hinge Cut I. Not the rope—cut the knot turn that made leverage. Short slice on the moving seam.
The hook whipped a backhand.Cascade Parry I. Catch. Return.The chain agreed with gravity for once.
Cold bled out of the lift. The rope tone fell true.
[Hunt Complete: Old Hoist] +360 XP • Wight Cord x3 • Cold Resin x1
He worked at the bench again. Hands neat. Time slow.
Craft 1: Razor Talon + Wight Cord → Counterweight Strap+ (brace vs. dives/shoves)Craft 2: Wight Cord + Cold Resin → Knot Key (tool; fast knot checks)
He tied on the Counterweight Strap+. The world shoved. The strap refused.
He crossed to the next span. Wind took a swipe and missed. The boards here had too much memory. They tried to move like old footsteps instead of new ones. Two more lifts hung crooked along the ridge and made the bridge breathe wrong.
He checked chain, plank, anchor. Counted the sway.
"Half-beat."
Switch.
Span Ghosts
Two Pulley Wights dragged two lifts out of time. Chains spit rust. The bridge made the wrong music.
First block:Wisp Step.Ghost Pin.Hinge Cut I on the control loop.The chain lost memory.
Second block swung wild to knock him free.Counterweight Strap+ braced his ribs. The shove hit; he stayed.Line Sever. A pale line before the swing. It crossed. Stagger in metal.Hinge Cut I. Short cut on the tie that made the arc.
Silence took the structure. Good silence. Honest.
[Event Cleared: Span Ghosts] +300 XP • Wight Cord x2 • Cold Resin x1 Optional: Chain Marker etched (1/1)
He walked the span's length, pressing heel, then toe, then heel again. He tied two safety knots with the Knot Key, fast hands, no show.
Wind climbed a note and came down with manners. The bridge matched him. That was enough.
He ate what folds. He sharpened as the light turned thin. He drew the blade and the Prism Edge kept a cold line for a heartbeat and then forgot. He slid it home and listened until the chain hum said "stay."
He moved on.
The ridge stair-stepped to a higher cut. On the far side, a wind gap made a throat sound. Old pylons stood like missing teeth. Down past them, a line of cliff nests broken by molt. A second Harrier run would be cheap. He did not buy twice from the same stall.
He took the winch path that hugged the rock. A shadow crossed. Not a raptor. A scrap-glide: shed feathers tied to sticks and lashed to wire. Wight toys. They threw themselves off the lip and tried to learn jumping again. He gave them the right lesson.
Line Sever on the path edge where the glide clattered back.Hinge Cut I at every wire knot that looked like a hand.The toys became wood again. Wind pushed them, not hunger.
He found a sheltered lee behind a tower base and made camp. He liked to sleep with stone on one side and air on the other so he could know which one changed its mind first.
The Arc kept tidy columns.
[Field Circuit Logged] Hunts: Harrier Molt • Old Hoist • Span Ghosts Loot: Razor Talon x4 • Aerobone x2 • Wight Cord x5 • Cold Resin x2 Crafted: Talon Spur • Counterweight Strap+ • Knot Key Reputation: +1 (Road Wardens)
He slept. Wind argued, then got bored.
Gray returned with the kind of light that lets you see your breath say hello. He drank, stretched ankles, checked heel spurs, checked cord.
A slow grind came from a cut above. A third hoist tried to move its own corpse. No Wight, just a dead weight that wanted to be a story. He fixed the knot because it would teach the next person how to fix the knot. He did not log it, because not all help needs a line.
The ridge path dropped to a narrow saddle where the wind pushed in both directions for no reason. He walked in the middle and did not argue. He saw the flats far east and the floodplain dull green to the south. The Mire of Clocks was a dark thought beyond that, counting to itself.
A cart-wide plank ran across a notch. It had a wire handrail that remembered nothing and a middle board that had been replaced by faith. He crossed with one hand on rope and the other on air, feet small and true. He stopped at the far side and listened to his heart say "work."
A shadow turned high and dropped toward him like a thrown knife.
"One and a half."
Switch.
It was a Harrier that liked late lessons. It stooped steep, then flared to fake. He did not buy it. He stepped when the plank rose.
Wisp Step.Line Sever. The pale line showed the angle that would ask the bird to lie. It crossed. Jerk.Hinge Cut I at the inside toe as the talons spread.It tumbled, surprised that the world could be plain.
It hit the threadbare slope, got up stupid, and left. He let it.
He kept moving until the ridge fell into stone fields that had been a mountain once and were now a place where wind forgot its name and just pushed.
He set a day bench behind a pylon stump. He checked gear.
Talon Spur seated.Counterweight Strap+ tight.Knot Key on cord.Prism Edge clean.Sinew Laces snug.Latch Guard on the elbow that tries to lie.
A hum cut across the plain from a tower ahead, lighter, faster. Not chain. Not wind. A person might have made that, once, but there was no one here to keep it tuned. He climbed. It was an old alarm harp that the wardens used to know a dive before it started. Three strings sang sharp in the gust. He thought about learning all its voices and then let it be. A thing can keep its own job.
He took the long way back along the ridge top so he would see the sky bridges at different light. He fixed two small ties and made one small note with a chalk thumb at a brace post: seat at half-beat, not on. Someone would read that later and think of him or think of work. Both were fine.
He passed the first tower again at late day. The shade lay long across the throat. He stood and listened. The bridge said "good." The wind said "still here." He said nothing.
He went down the switch path until stone became dirt became path became a choice. He chose the path that pointed toward water because water wants someone to listen. The floodplain waited where the ridge stopped pretending to be tall.
He took a last look back. Towers in a row. Cables like lines drawn by a quiet hand. The day put a soft edge on the metal. He liked that. Things work better without brag.
He went down into air that could carry weight like a friend.
The Arc lifted a small ledger and set it down again.
[Level Up] Aiden — GreyStep → Lv 16 XP: ▓▓▓▓▓▓ 72% → ▓▓ 18% +9s • Stat: +1 Edge
He camped where brush broke the wind and the ground remembered to be level. He ate. He sharpened. He wiped the blade with oil and let the cold line bloom and fade, bloom and fade, like breath.
He thought of the group under him. Sora's lane. Kael's second foot. Lynet's coil. Faron's one perfect brace. He did not think of telling them about any of this. He thought of showing them steadier steps.
Tomorrow, floodwater and false lights. Sump and surge. He would listen to water and not argue. He would cut hinges and not faces. He would bring back parts that became tools and tools that became habits.
He lay on his side with stone at his back and air at his front and the strap snug across his ribs.
Switch off.