1
The sulfur flats stretched before them like a wound in the world.
Yellow-tinged earth cracked and steamed under the twin suns, vents hissing plumes of toxic gas that caught the light in strange, beautiful patterns. The air tasted of rotten eggs and metal. In the distance, pools of boiling mud burped and bubbled, their surfaces shimmering with unnatural colors.
"It gets worse the deeper we go." Elara adjusted her scarf, pulling it over her nose and mouth. "Stay close. Step exactly where I step. One wrong move and you're soup."
Kaelen nodded, his eyes watering. Beside him, Fenris sneezed—an undignified sound from such a massive creature—and pressed closer.
Lyra had her journal out, damn her. "The geological composition alone—these vents must tap directly into the mountain's geothermal core. The pressure differentials—"
"Can you write later and walk now?" Elara's voice was sharp. "This isn't a lecture hall."
Lyra flushed but tucked the journal away.
They walked.
2
The path—if it could be called that—wound between steaming vents and unstable crust. Elara moved with the confidence of someone who'd done this before, testing each step before committing her weight. Kaelen followed exactly, Fenris copying his movements with canine grace.
"How much further?" Lyra asked after an hour.
"Half a day to the first marker. Then we rest, then we cross the central basin." Elara didn't slow. "The basin's the dangerous part. Thin crust, unpredictable vents, and if the timing's wrong—"
She stopped mid-sentence.
Ahead, the ground had changed. Where there should have been solid—if unstable—crust, there was now a chasm. Twenty feet across. Steam rising from the depths. The remnants of a rope bridge hung from both sides, its planks long since burned away.
"The vents shifted," Elara said quietly. "Happens sometimes. The heat weakens the rock, the whole thing collapses." She turned, scanning the horizon. "We'll have to go around. Add two days, maybe three."
"We don't have two days." Kaelen stared at the chasm. The mark pulsed—not with hunger, but with something else. Assessment. Possibility.
"What are you thinking?" Lyra asked.
Kaelen didn't answer. He walked to the edge, looking down. The chasm was deep—deeper than he could see—but the walls were rough, offering handholds. And on the far side, the path continued.
"I can make it across."
"No." Elara's voice was flat. "Absolutely not. You fall in there, you don't just die—you cook. That steam is hot enough to melt bone."
"I won't fall."
"You don't know that."
Kaelen turned to face her. "I can feel it. The rock. The heat. The stress points." He touched his chest. "The mark shows me."
Elara stared at him for a long moment. Then: "Veyna could do that. Toward the end. She'd look at something and just... know where it was weak, where it was strong."
"It's not the same. I can't—" Kaelen stopped, frustrated. "I don't know what I can do. But I know I can do this."
"He's right." Lyra's voice was quiet but certain. "I've seen him work metal. He feels things he shouldn't be able to feel. If he says he can make it across, I believe him."
Elara's jaw tightened. Then she sighed. "Fine. But you take a rope. If you fall, we pull you back."
Kaelen nodded, already studying the wall.
3
The descent was easier than he'd expected. His fingers found holds he couldn't consciously see, his feet placed themselves on ledges that appeared just as he needed them. The mark guided him—not with commands, but with subtle shifts in awareness. Here. Not there. This rock is solid. That one crumbles.
Halfway down, he paused. Below him, the chasm's depths glowed faintly—magma, close to the surface. The heat was intense even at this distance.
"Kaelen?" Lyra's voice, thin from above. "Are you okay?"
"Fine." He forced the word out. "Just... looking."
The mark was singing. Not painfully—but eagerly. The energy below was immense. If he reached for it, drew it in—
No.
He closed his eyes, remembered Thorne's voice: You control the inflow. You decide the shape.
He opened his eyes and kept climbing.
4
The far side took an hour to reach. By the time Kaelen pulled himself over the edge, his arms shook and his lungs burned. But he was across.
He secured the rope to a rock formation and tugged three times—the signal. A moment later, Fenris began the crossing.
The hound moved with supernatural grace, claws finding holds that shouldn't have existed, muscles coiling and releasing in perfect rhythm. He reached the bottom, crossed the narrow ledge, and climbed the far wall without hesitation. When he finally scrambled over the edge and collapsed beside Kaelen, his tongue lolled in what might have been a grin.
"Good boy," Kaelen whispered, burying his hands in metallic fur.
Lyra came next, slower, more careful. Twice she slipped, and twice Kaelen felt his heart stop. But Fenris positioned himself at the edge, a solid presence, and Lyra found her footing.
Elara came last, crossing with the grim efficiency of someone who'd done harder things. When she finally stood beside them, she looked at Kaelen with new eyes.
"You didn't use the power. Down there. I was watching."
Kaelen shook his head. "I wanted to. The heat—it was right there. But Thorne said—"
"Thorne was right." Elara's voice was soft. "That's the difference between you and Veyna. She would have taken it. Every time. And every time, the mark would have grown stronger."
Kaelen looked at his hands. They were scraped, bleeding in a few places, but steady.
"I don't want to be Veyna."
"Then don't be." Elara turned away, scanning the path ahead. "We've lost time. Move."
5
They made camp that night in a shallow cave, the sulfur flats behind them, the first stars appearing overhead. Fenris curled at the entrance, a living door. Lyra wrote by the light of a small star-stone. Elara tended Kaelen's scrapes in silence.
"Elara," Kaelen said quietly. "Veyna. What was she like? Before—before the end?"
Elara's hands stilled. For a long moment, he thought she wouldn't answer.
"She laughed," Elara finally said. "All the time. Even when things were terrible, she found something to laugh about. She made up songs about the Grey Cabinet—rude ones, the kind that would get you whipped if anyone heard. She taught me to dance in the rain." A pause. "The mark took that first. The laughter."
Kaelen didn't know what to say.
"Toward the end, she couldn't laugh anymore. Couldn't smile. Couldn't even cry." Elara resumed her work, her touch gentle. "The mark took everything else, but that—the laughter—that was the first to go. I think because she used it up. Laughed too much, loved too hard, burned too bright." She looked at Kaelen. "Don't burn too bright, boy. Save something for later."
Kaelen thought of Rook, teaching him to work metal. Of Torrin, showing him how to fight. Of Thorne, vanishing into the tunnels so they could escape.
"I'll try," he said.
The mark pulsed—once, softly—and for a moment, it almost felt like agreement.