The sun cast a bruised yellow haze across the valley floor as Ash Company moved with the discipline of a migrating beast. Their convoy, bristling with iron and humming with magic, slowed near the mouth of a shallow gorge where the land dipped and filled with floodwater.
Roa held up a clenched fist. Instantly, the company halted. Golem limbs stilled. Voices dropped. Dust settled.
Across the waterlogged basin, shadows moved.
The surface of the flood shimmered, then rippled as something vast stirred beneath it. Dozens of nostril slits, barely visible, broke the surface like scattered reeds. Moss-covered spines emerged next—then long, pale bodies dragged in slow arcs across the muck.
A herd of Mirejaw Creepers.
Each was easily sixteen feet tall when standing upright. Their frog-like jaws could split wide enough to swallow a man whole, and even at this distance, the sound of their synchronized stomping was like rolling thunder. Moss clung to their backs. Mud suctioned at their feet. They moved with eerie cohesion—feeding on aquatic plants, then crushing the wet earth beneath any perceived threat.
The handlers pressed low to the slope, shielding the children. Aegis-1 and Aegis-2 stood immobile, half-buried in mud like statues awaiting a signal. Thornjaw's helm was lowered, the rune plates across its chest dim.
"This is truly astounding," Fornos whispered from behind Roa, perched atop a storage crate.
Ross, crouching beside Marry, hissed, "Tell me, what is so fascinating about these oversized things?! All they do is take up space, eat, and destroy!!"
"Stop, you will—" Marry began, but Fornos interrupted her with a soft chuckle.
"I'm not that petty," he said. "Besides, you can't expect someone to not show resentment against something that took everything from them."
Ross blinked.
Fornos didn't look at either of them, but his voice remained cold and measured. "Come on. Why the look? A long-time lover... and an apparent spite against Relicts."
Marry froze. "You were listening on us. Through these collars!"
Fornos smirked beneath his mask. "Do you think I'm made of money? Just because I don't appear doesn't mean I'm not there."
Roa turned sharply. "And how much do you see, exactly?"
"Everything except bathing and procreation," Fornos replied with no shame. "Besides, why would I even want to see something like that?"
Ross grumbled, "You're twisted."
Fornos shrugged. "You wear my collars. Expect scrutiny."
The Mirejaw Creepers moved on, uninterested in their hidden observers. The herd trailed into the distant marshes, leaving only faint ripples in their wake. Ash Company resumed movement slowly, cautiously.
That night, under the dim glow of portable forge-lamps and the crackling warmth of a campfire ringed with stones, Ash Company made their first quiet camp.
The children gathered again, forming a ring near Fornos's corner of the camp. At first, they were hesitant, stealing glances toward him as he silently adjusted a mechanical bracer around his wrist.
Then one of them—Klesh—cleared his throat.
"Um... another story?"
Fornos didn't even look up. "You did this, didn't you?"
He turned toward Marry and Ross.
They exchanged awkward glances.
Fornos raised his hand, and one of his rings pulsed with faint violet light. The collars around their necks shimmered in response.
"Consider this a punishment," he said flatly. "You won't be doing it for some time."
"You can't listen to our conversations," Ross growled, "but you can stop that?!"
"Magic is pretty flexible," Fornos replied, adjusting the ring. "Be glad I'm only annoyed."
Then, without missing a beat, he looked at the gathered children.
"You want another story?"
A round of eager nods followed.
He sighed and leaned back against a supply crate, the firelight flickering over the lenses of his mask.
"Fine. Last time we stopped at the Fifth Sail... the founding of this land. Let's skip ahead."
He lifted a gloved hand and drew a shape in the air—seven curved lines. The number of sails.
"The Seventh Sail," he began, "was not to a free land, but to a living one. A continent covered in jungle and fog. It is ruled by the Empire of Jabir, the only continent to remain united under a single regime for over a century."
He let the fire pop once.
"There, golems are made of flesh. Not stone. Not metal. Flesh—shaped by a science they call Alchemy. They grow them in vats. Shape them like clay. Some live. Some think. Others pray."
The children leaned in closer.
"The empire's core is religious. Doctrines burned into buildings. Priests with blade-tongues. And the Jabir royal family... they command a living weapon called Burden."
"That's its name?" asked Rilo, wide-eyed.
Fornos shook his head. "A translation. I don't know their language. No one outside their bloodline commands it. It doesn't obey magic. Doesn't follow typical rules. It just is."
He gestured again, this time with both hands. Slowly, almost reverently.
"Burden stands taller than Kindling. Taller than Craterhoof. Draped in robes and scripture, it bleeds incense instead of blood. It moves in silence. And when it strikes, there is no sound—no scream—just absence. The land forgets what it took."
Silence hung heavy in the circle.
"Few have seen it in motion," Fornos continued. "None have seen it twice."
Ross finally spoke, half-whispering, "Is that... true?"
Fornos didn't answer. He simply leaned forward, pulled his coat tighter around him, and turned away from the fire.
Roa watched him for a moment, then addressed the group.
"Stories help us remember. Sometimes they help us forget. Get some rest."
The children dispersed, murmuring.
Fornos sat in the flickering shadows, unmoving.
Behind his lenses, no one saw the brief flicker of grief that passed over his eyes.