The Bonepack settlement rose from the dunes like a mirage carved from bone and fire. Tents of woven coyote fur and solar cloth flapped in the hot, dry wind. Blue ghost-fires burned in pits lined with pre-Rift circuit boards, casting flickering shadows across faces half-human, half-beast. The air smelled of sage, oil, and blood.
Kael stepped forward—the boy from Bone Station, now taller, leaner, jackal legs fused at the hips. His human torso was scarred and sun-darkened; the jackal half moved with predatory grace, tail lashing like a whip. His eyes—one human, one glowing amber—locked on Farren.
"Your sister's song calls storms," Kael said, voice rough as cracked asphalt. "We can mask it. For a price."
Farren's hand rested on the revolver at his hip. The runes pulsed faintly—HUNGER—feeding on the tension in the air. "Name it."
Kael's jackal half snarled, teeth glinting in the firelight. "A soul-shard from the Serpent-Coil's heart."
Cherina slept inside a tent of coyote fur, her breathing shallow and synced to Sable's. The lynx lay curled around her like a living shield, cyber-spines dimmed to embers, tail draped over her chest. Farren sat outside beneath a sky streaked with violet auroras, sharpening the plasma sword on a whetstone of soul-iron. Its runes crawled like living code, spelling VENGEANCE in shifting violet script.
Kael squatted beside him, warming his hands over the ghost-fire. "The Coil isn't just a fortress. It's a god-engine. They'll fuse your sister with the Rift itself—make her the key to open it wide. One bell to end the world."
Farren's eyes narrowed to slits. "How do you know all this?"
Kael touched the fresh scar on Farren's throat—earned in the mirror fight. "Because I was supposed to be the first bell. They cut my voice out with a soul-knife. I escaped. Barely."
Night fell like a blade. Choir scouts descended on hover-skiffs—serpent-priests with diamondback coils for legs, scales glinting like oil. Their eyes glowed green with corrupted magic. Farren and Kael fought back-to-back. The revolver barked twice; rune-bullets detonated into sigils of SHATTER, shredding skiffs into metal rain. Kael's jackal claws raked through armor, spilling black blood that hissed on the sand.
A priest's fang grazed Farren's arm. Venom burned like liquid fire. He pressed the plasma sword's edge to the wound; the blade cauterized it with a hiss of steam and flesh.
They won. Bodies dissolved into black sand. Silence returned, broken only by Cherina's scream from the tent. Her eyes were black glass, pupils dilated into infinity.
"The song… it's starting…"
Kael pressed a jackal tooth pendant into Farren's hand. "Wear it. It'll buy you time. Masks the song for a day."
The Bonepack vanished at dawn—tents folding into dust, fires snuffing out. They left a map etched on coyote hide: the Serpent-Coil's patrol routes, marked in blood and claw.
Farren kissed Cherina's fever-hot forehead. "We're close, Cheri. Hold on."
Sable's Rift-mark pulsed brighter. The lynx's eyes glowed gold.
Farren slung the map over his shoulder. The pendant hung beside the broken signet. They walked east. The Wastes whispered secrets in the wind.