The Salt Marshes did not end so much as they were cauterized. As the pack moved north, the humid, sulfuric haze of the Mire gave way to a dry, scouring heat that tasted of ozone and ancient ash. The transition line was a literal scar across the earth—a vast expanse of vitrified sand where the ground had been turned to jagged black glass.
"The Glass-Flats," Elara noted, her brass hand adjusting the filters on her mask as the wind began to howl. "They say a Cinder-Drake passed through here during the Shattering. One breath was all it took to turn a forest into a mirror."
Kaelen knelt, running a gloved hand over the obsidian surface. Beneath the glass, he could see the fossilized remains of trees, frozen in a state of eternal agony.
"The ground is silent here," Rend's voice vibrated through the soles of Kaelen's boots. "No soil to swim in. Only the hard-dark. Rend feels... small."
"Stay close, Rend," Kaelen reassured him. "Vane, do you catch any scent?"
The Shard-Wolf stood at the edge of the glass, his obsidian fur bristling. "The wind is too sharp. It shreds the smell of the world. But there is a vibration. A deep, rhythmic thrumming coming from the north. It is not the city. It is... older."
As they crossed the flats, the horizon began to shimmer, revealing the jagged silhouette of Orizon, the City of Mirrors. Unlike the soot-stained Iron Spires, Orizon was a skeletal marvel of glass and white stone, built into the side of a dormant volcanic caldera. Its towers were designed to catch the sun, focusing light into massive collectors that powered the city's water-purifiers.
But as they drew closer, it was clear Orizon was a city under siege.
The Guild's banners—a silver heart held in a fist—flew from the highest parapets. Steam-powered blockade runners patrolled the lower gates, their spotlights scanning the Glass-Flats for any movement.
"They've locked it down," Elara whispered, peering through a set of brass binoculars. "The Guild isn't just looking for the Drake; they've turned Orizon into their base of operations. If we want information, we're going to have to go through the Dust-Markets in the shadow of the walls."
The Dust-Market was a chaotic sprawl of tents and lean-tos built against the city's foundation. It was a place for those too poor for the glass towers but too stubborn to die in the flats.
Kaelen left Vane and Lyra in the outskirts—their presence was too loud for a subtle search. Pip remained hidden in Kaelen's hood, his bioluminescence dimmed to a faint, pulsing ember. Elara walked beside him, her clockwork arm hidden beneath a heavy poncho.
"We're looking for 'Ash-Walkers,'" Elara directed. "Scavengers who brave the volcanic vents. If the Drake is active, they'll be the first to find the scorched scales."
They moved through the crowd, passing merchants selling jars of purified water and Binders-for-hire displaying their broken, hollow-eyed beasts. Kaelen felt a pang of anger at the sight of a Frost-Fox chained to a stake, its Lexicon glowing a painful, forced red.
They eventually found an old Ash-Walker named Koda in the back of a smoke-filled tavern. His skin was like tanned leather, and one of his eyes had been replaced by a faceted piece of volcanic glass.
"A Cinder-Drake?" Koda rasped, laughing a dry, hacking cough. "You're about a week late for the news, boy. The Guild's been buying up every scrap of sulfur-char we bring in. They found a 'Nesting-Sign' near the Caldera's Throat."
Kaelen leaned in. "What kind of sign?"
Koda reached into a pouch and pulled out a fragment of something that looked like obsidian but felt unnaturally warm. "A scale. But it's not just stone. Look at the edges."
Kaelen took the fragment. It was jagged, the size of a dinner plate, and it hummed with a low-frequency heat. On the underside, he saw a pattern of glowing gold veins that pulsed in time with his own heartbeat.
"It is alive," Pip whispered in Kaelen's mind. "The stone is breathing, shiny-man."
"The Guild sent a 'Capture-Train' up the mountain this morning," Koda added, his glass eye glinting. "With a Null-Cage the size of a cathedral. If you're planning on following, you'd better have a way to fly."
As they stepped out of the tavern, the air suddenly grew cold—a localized, unnatural chill.
"Kaelen, look up," Elara hissed.
Perched on the rim of the city wall was a Guild-Inquisitor. Unlike the Enforcers, Inquisitors were High-Binders who specialized in hunting other humans. Beside him sat a Void-Stalker, a Primordial that looked like a panther made of shifting smoke and starlight. Its eyes were two hollow points of absolute darkness.
"Kaelen of the Forge," the Inquisitor's voice echoed, cold and amplified. "You've cost the Guild a great deal of 'essence.' It's time to settle the debt."
The Void-Stalker vanished.
"Formation!" Kaelen roared, his amber Lexicon flaring to life.
The Stalker reappeared instantly behind Elara, its claws of shadow reaching for her throat. Elara reacted with mechanical speed, her brass hand snapping up to catch the beast's wrist. The gears in her arm groaned as she held back the shadow-creature.
"Vane! Lyra! Now!"
From the shadows of the nearby alley, Vane lunged. He didn't hit the Stalker; he hit the ground, his obsidian needles vibrating at a frequency that disrupted the "solid" shadow of the beast. The Void-Stalker screeched, its form flickering like a dying candle.
High above, Lyra descended. She didn't use a sonic pulse—she used the "Cold-Vacuum." She beat her wings in a reverse-rhythm, pulling the heat and air out of the alleyway. The Inquisitor, caught on the wall, gasped as the oxygen vanished from his lungs.
But the Inquisitor was prepared. He tapped a device on his wrist, and a "Null-Beacon" flared.
A wave of grey energy washed over the alley. Kaelen felt the mental tether to his pack fraying. Vane stumbled, his needles retracting into his skin. Lyra fell from the sky, her wings losing their lift as the magical connection was dampened.
"The beacon!" Kaelen shouted. "Pip, the core!"
Pip shot out of Kaelen's hood, a streak of violet light. He flew toward the Inquisitor, but the man raised a Null-Lance, ready to swat the wisp out of the air.
"I'm not a snack!" Pip screamed mentally.
Instead of a flash, Pip did something he had never done before. He condensed his light into a single, needle-thin beam—a "Laser-Strobe." The beam sliced through the Inquisitor's Null-Lance, severing the power source.
The grey wave vanished.
With the connection restored, Kaelen surged forward. He didn't use a beast; he used the momentum of his own rage. He leapt onto a stack of crates, vaulted toward the Inquisitor on the wall, and jammed his Pulse-Trigger directly into the man's white Lexicon.
The feedback was catastrophic. The Inquisitor's brand shattered, and the white light turned into a jagged, black scar. He fell from the wall, landing in the Dust-Market below as the Void-Stalker evaporated into nothingness without its master's will.
The pack fled Orizon before the Garrison could mobilize. They climbed the steep, winding paths of the caldera until they reached a hidden shelf of rock overlooking the city.
The view was breathtaking. Orizon's glass towers reflected the setting sun, turning the city into a crown of fire. But Kaelen's eyes were on the north, where the Caldera's Throat belched a constant stream of black smoke.
Elara sat by a small, smokeless fire, checking the gears in her arm. "That Inquisitor was just a scout. There will be more. And that scale... Kaelen, if the Drake is shedding stones like that, it means it's 'Molt-Feeding.' It's vulnerable, but it's also the most dangerous thing in Aethelgard right now."
Vane lay near the fire, his fur slowly regaining its obsidian luster. "The shadow-cat was strong. But it had no soul. It was a puppet."
Lyra perched on the edge of the cliff, her pale eyes fixed on the smoke. "The Drake is singing, Kaelen. It isn't a song of war. It is a song of... waiting."
Kaelen looked at the scale he had taken from Koda. It was still pulsing. "It's waiting for someone to stop the Guild. Or it's waiting for the world to end so it can start the next one."
"Which one are we?" Elara asked.
Kaelen looked at his pack—the broken, the brave, and the chosen. "We're the ones who are going to make sure the world stays broken. Because a broken world can still heal. A world under the Guild's heel... that's just a grave."
"Shiny-man?" Pip asked, hovering near Kaelen's ear. "Is the dragon going to be bigger than the mountain?"
"I hope not, Pip," Kaelen sighed, closing his eyes. "I really hope not."
As the pack drifted into a guarded sleep at the edge of the volcano, the distant sound of a steam-engine's whistle echoed from below. The Capture-Train was moving. The hunt for the Cinder-Drake had officially begun.