“Where is she? The girl,” Kael said, just loud enough to rise over the distant crackle of flames.
Kael held his sword to the throat of the sole survivor.
Against the jagged mountain peaks, plumes of black smoke twisted upward as dusk approached over the charred remains of the camp. Craters marked where tents once stood. A flame occasionally flared, casting a ghostly shadow. A few flags hung in tatters from bent poles, their edges tinged with orange, occasionally letting a spark loose.
What surprised Kael most was the fused and melted metal where armor had been, as if the soldiers had stepped into a furnace.
The Crown soldier, already terrified by the scene, shifted his gaze between Kael’s face and the blade pressing against his jugular. His mouth opened, releasing a jagged breath, but nothing else. No confession.
“I won’t ask again,” Kael said, pressing just enough to draw a thin line of blood.
“T-tower,” the soldier managed. “He took her to the—”
A horse neighed. Kael heard the hooves stomp in the snow and the snort. He sensed a presence behind him.
“Put down your weapon, Kael.”
The voice came from behind him, smooth and authoritative. Kael didn’t turn, didn’t lower his blade, but his muscles tensed with recognition.
“Killing my soldiers again?” Sorian asked, his horse trotting into view at the edge of Kael’s vision.
Behind him, a half-circle of Crown soldiers fanned out, crossbows trained on Kael’s chest and back. “I would put you to death myself, but that would be too easy for you.” Sorian’s lips curved into a thin smile.
Kael slowly lowered his blade from the soldier’s throat but kept it unsheathed, the metal gleaming crimson in the occasional burst of flames.
“How did you manage all this?” Sorian asked, gesturing to the devastation around them: blackened craters, melted weaponry, scattered bodies. His expression was almost impressed despite the anger. “I really underestimated you.”
“It wasn’t him,” the frightened soldier blurted out, pressing himself against the wagon as if trying to melt into the wood. His eyes were wild, unfocused. “It wasn’t him at all.”
Sorian quirked an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Dragons,” the soldier muttered, breaking his voice on the word. Blood had soaked through his bandage, dripping down his arm.
Sorian’s pity gave way to a quick, snide laugh. “We’ve had enough of dragons and abominable snow monsters,” he said, shaking his head as if dealing with a child’s nonsense.
A rustling came from the shadows. All weapons swiveled toward the sound as another figure emerged, dragging himself into the light. The left side of his uniform was blackened. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and the other held the same wild terror as the first soldier’s.
“Dragons,” the burned man rasped. “From the dark tower. Breathing fire.” He coughed, a wet, rattling sound. “The Peddler called them down.”
“A peddler?” Sorian’s tone had lost its mocking edge.
A cold certainty settled in Kael’s chest. “Riven,” he said, the name barely more than a breath.
Sorian turned to him sharply. “A street merchant?”
“Did he carry old hardware?” Kael asked the burned soldier. “Patched cloak? Crooked eye?”
The man nodded frantically. “Aye, that’s him alright.” He licked his cracked lips, eyes darting as if expecting the Peddler to materialize from the shadows. “But he weren’t a man… a devil summoned by a witch. I cut him with my sword.” His hands shook as he pantomimed a stabbing motion. “Was metal underneath, like a steam-man.”
Sorian and Kael looked at each other, a moment of shared understanding passing between enemies. Then, as one, they glanced toward the tower, barely visible against the darkening sky.
As Sorian dismounted, leading and patting his spooked horse, the soldier continued.
“Blue fireballs came out of their mouths,” the burned soldier said, his voice taking on a rhythmic, trance-like cadence, as if speaking the words aloud would somehow make sense of the horror. “Burning everything. Everyone.” He stared at his blackened hands. “Melting armor like it was candle wax.”
Sorian’s expression had transformed, all traces of mockery gone. “Your report is noted,” he said, formal and flat. “Most likely demons from Candlemakers.”
He nodded, providing a story for the soldier, as if retelling an old folktale to a child. “And dragons.” Sorian mirrored the words. “Get patched up and make your formal report. We’ll deal with the Candlemakers’ witchery.”
The soldiers helped their wounded comrades away, leaving Kael and Sorian standing amid the wreckage. The wind shifted, bringing the acrid smell of burning canvas and a strange, metallic tang.
“Lower your weapons,” Sorian ordered the remaining soldiers, keeping his gaze on Kael. “Give us space.”
The circle of guards withdrew several paces, still watchful but no longer aiming directly at Kael’s heart. Didn't matter. Kael knew he was boxed in, outmatched.
“Tell me,” Sorian said, low enough that only Kael could hear. “About the androids.”
Kael sheathed his sword. Some threats were bigger than old enmities. “There was one left,” he said, watching Sorian’s face carefully. “Hidden here. In Threadneedle. Since the rebellion. Since the beginning—the first Android War.”
He stepped closer, his tone dropping to a hush. “You know better than I do—the Crown swore to destroy all remnants of technology… but it couldn’t bring itself to destroy the one thing it should have: the Covenant. So it stayed. Nexus. No longer a body, just breath, living inside the machine’s core. It made the weapon its home.”
Kael gave a dry laugh. “It’s the Crown’s own folly.”
“During the war,” Kael continued, “it began to multiply. Created more Oonas. Twelve tries. All failures. Until it forged the one that could end us all.”
Sorian’s whole body tensed, muscles working beneath the skin, as the puzzle came together. “I see. And now it, or Nexus, has the key we were trying to get, the one that Edric reported to us. Sarah, Oona 13.”
He spoke her name with reverence.
“It’s probably already begun,” Kael said, and only then felt the finality of it.
“And there’s no reasoning with it?” Sorian asked, sounding for the first time like someone seeking answers rather than giving orders.
Kael shrugged, the gesture containing all the weight of impossible choices. “It set itself up as humanity’s judge and executioner.” He looked up at the sky, where a few lonely points of light appeared: Mars, and the North Star.
“Maybe… but you show me the rainbow and tell me—why humanity deserves to survive.”
They stood in silence for a moment, surveying the eviscerated camp, the garrison that had seemed invincible a day ago.
“What can we do?” The question held no arrogance, no calculation. Sorian now looked to Kael for what came next; he knew all his cards had been played, all the Crown’s advantages gone in a single, devastating attack.
“You have the rest of the Crown’s army?” Kael asked. “That’s a start. We need Oona, and the Candlemakers… She knows its ways.”
“Yes, I am aware of that—Oona, I mean,” Sorian replied, some of his old sardonic attitude returning despite the circumstances. He straightened his shoulders, reclaiming a fragment of his authority. “The Crown’s army will be at your disposal.”
“The Candlemakers, what’s left of them, are meeting at dawn at the Old Mill,” Kael said, plans forming even as he spoke. “We join them, and battle the tower, battle Nexus.”
Sorian nodded, the simple gesture sealing an alliance neither man had thought possible hours or even minutes earlier. Then, with visible awkwardness, he extended his hand toward Kael.
After a long moment, Kael reached out, then pulled Sorian into a brief, rough embrace, bumping shoulders.
“It’s been a long time since the academy,” Sorian said quietly. “I always thought of you as a brother.”
Kael jumped back, suddenly suspicious, all too aware of the possibility of manipulation. Old habits died hard.
“Sorian,” he said, becoming impatient. “Don’t start.”
Sorian smiled, an ‘aw, shucks’ expression that didn’t make it very far. “Of course,” he said, retreating into formality.
“And your men,” Kael asked, glancing at the soldiers, their gazes tight with suspicion and wonder. “They can be trusted?”
Sorian squinted into the middle distance, considering the question with more care than Kael had expected. “Of course,” he said finally, but the hesitation spoke.
A charge arced between them, equal parts charge and caution. Two former friends, recent enemies, now reluctant allies, united against a threat neither fully understood.
Beyond the camp, a blue glow pulsed from the tower’s highest window.