The temple's infirmary reeked of antiseptic herbs and burnt flesh. Alex lay on a cot, his right arm—now more sunsteel than bone—glinting dully in the lantern light. Lira hovered by the door, arms crossed, watching the priestesses change his bandages.
"He's stable," one murmured, "but the fusion spreads. By tomorrow, the metal may reach his shoulder."
Lira's jaw tightened. "Leave us."
When the room emptied, she knelt beside Alex. His breathing was shallow, sweat beading on his forehead despite the chill. The gauntlet's black veins pulsed rhythmically, as though counting down to something.
"Still playing nurse?" he rasped, forcing a grin.
"Still playing hero?" She tossed him a vial of murky liquid. "Drink. It'll dull the pain."
He gagged as it went down. "Tastes like rot."
"That's the point. Your body's rejecting the flame. This slows it." She hesitated. "Ryna's back."
Alex sat up too fast, wincing. "Where?"
"Gone. Left another gift." She placed a charred scroll on the cot. The parchment bore the Devourer's sigil—a spiral devouring its own tail.
Alex unrolled it. The ink writhed, forming words only he could see.
Come to the Dead Plains. I can halt the corrosion. Bring the priestess's daggers as payment.
He crumpled the scroll. It disintegrated into ash. "She wants your weapons."
Lira snorted. "She wants you. The daggers are a bonus."
"We can't ignore this. If the fusion reaches my heart—"
"Then we find another way." She stood abruptly. "The First Sanctum's archives survived. There might be records of the Forgemaster's binding rituals."
"Lira." He caught her wrist. The gauntlet's heat made her flinch. "What if there is no other way?"
She pulled free. "Then you learn to live with it. Like the rest of us."
The archives were a crypt of dust and echoes. Lira sifted through crumbling tomes, her daggers—now dull and pitted—lying heavy at her hips. She'd lied to Alex. The Sanctum's records were mostly ash. But one text remained intact: The Canticle of Embers, penned by the first Forgemaster.
The flame seeks equilibrium,it read. When bound to mortal flesh, it hungers. Feed it starlight, or it will feast on the soul.
"Starlight," she muttered. "Of course."
A shadow fell across the page. Ryna leaned against a shelf, her milky eyes gleaming. "Always so clever, Lira. Always missing the obvious."
Lira's daggers cleared their sheaths. "How do you keep getting in here?"
"The Devourer's gifts include… flexibility." Ryna tapped a withered finger on the book. "Starlight won't save him. The Forgemaster was a liar. The flame consumes everything eventually."
"Why do you care?"
"Because I want what you threw away." Ryna's smile turned jagged. "Redemption. The boy's a better anchor than you ever were. Let me trade him for your sins."
Lira lunged. Her dagger sliced air as Ryna dissolved into smoke, laughter echoing.
The Dead Plains await, little Warden. Bring him before the moon fractures.
Alex found Lira on the temple roof at dusk, sharpening her daggers with violent precision. Below, the valley buzzed with activity—sentinels patrolling the wards, refugees rebuilding huts. Normalcy draped over rot.
"You're cutting that stone to dust," he said.
She didn't look up. "Ryna's right. We're out of options."
"Since when do you listen to her?"
"Since this." She slashed a dagger through the air. A faint gold trail lingered—a ghost of its former power. "The daggers are failing. So are you. The Plains might have answers."
Alex sat beside her, his metal hand sparking. "And if it's a trap?"
"It's always a trap." She sheathed the blades. "But the Forgemaster's text mentioned starlight. The Dead Plains hold the Order's oldest observatory. If any 'starlight' survives…"
He followed her gaze eastward, where the horizon shimmered unnaturally. The Dead Plains were a blight—a desert of glass and ash where the Devourer had first breached their world.
"We go at dawn," he said.
"We go tonight." She tossed him a cloak. "Before the sentinels notice."
The Plains lived up to their name. Glass shards crunched underfoot, reflecting a fractured moon. Whispering winds carried voices—not the Devourer's, but the dead.
Turn back, they sighed. Turn back.
Lira ignored them, compass in hand. "The observatory should be—"
A tremor. The glass field rippled like water. Alex yanked her aside as a spire erupted—obsidian and jagged, its peak crowned with a shattered telescope.
"Not an observatory," he muttered. "A tomb."
They entered through a crack in the spire's base. The interior was a maze of frozen shadows. Statues of astronomers lined the walls, their faces melted. At the center stood a pedestal holding a single artifact: a lens the size of a shield, its surface etched with constellations.
"Starlight," Lira breathed.
Alex reached for it. The gauntlet flared, its light refracting through the lens into a thousand beams. The shadows screamed.
Darkness coalesced into a figure—a hunched thing with too many joints, its body a patchwork of glass and void.
"Thieves," it hissed. "The stars are mine."
Lira's daggers flashed. "Move!"
The creature lunged. Its glass claws shattered against Alex's gauntlet, but the force knocked him into a wall. Lira ducked a swipe, driving a dagger into its side. Black ichor sprayed, burning her sleeve.
"The lens!" she shouted. "Break it!"
Alex slammed his fist into the pedestal. The lens shuddered but held. The creature howled, backhanding Lira into a statue.
Child of embers, the void whispered. Use the flame.
Alex hesitated—then channeled the gauntlet's fire into the lens. Light exploded, piercing the creature. It wailed, dissolving into shards.
The lens dimmed, cracked but intact. Lira staggered over, clutching her ribs. "Well? Did it work?"
Alex gripped the lens. Energy surged—cold and ancient. The gauntlet's corrosion slowed, black veins retreating. "Temporarily. We need to get this to the forge."
A slow clap echoed. Ryna emerged from the shadows, flanked by rift-walkers. "Bravo. But the lens stays here."
Lira stepped forward. "You followed us."
"Guided you." Ryna gestured. The rift-walkers seized Alex, pinning his arms. "The Devourer prefers bargaining with corpses, but you've proven… resilient."
Alex strained against the hunters. "Lira—run!"
Ryna sighed. "Predictable." She snapped her fingers. The floor vanished.
They fell into darkness.
The chamber below reeked of sulfur and iron. Chains hung from the ceiling, their hooks crusted with old blood. An altar dominated the space, carved with the Devourer's sigil.
Ryna dragged Alex to the altar. "Hold him."
Lira leapt from the shadows, daggers aimed at Ryna's throat. A rift-walker intercepted, its blade locking with hers.
"You never learn," Ryna tutted. She pressed a blade to Alex's glowing chest. "Drop the daggers, or I carve out his spark."
Lira froze.
"Do it!" Alex shouted.
Her blades clattered to the floor. Ryna smiled. "Good girl."
The ritual began. Ryna chanted in a guttural tongue, the altar's sigils glowing violet. Alex's gauntlet flared in protest, but the chains held.
Lira edged closer. "Whatever she's selling, it's not worth your soul."
"Too late," Alex groaned. The corrosion surged anew, black veins climbing his neck.
Ryna raised a jagged dagger. "The Devourer sends its regards."
A roar shook the chamber. The sentinels burst through the ceiling, stone fists crushing rift-walkers. Lira grabbed her daggers, plunging one into Ryna's shoulder.
"You never learn!" Ryna shrieked, dissolving into smoke.
Alex broke free, shattering the altar with the lens. The sigils died. The sentinels finished the rift-walkers, then turned to him.
"The temple sent us," one rumbled. "You… glow brighter."
Alex examined his arm. The corrosion had receded, but the gauntlet was now fused up to his collarbone. "Did we win?"
Lira wiped her blade. "We survived. That's the same thing."
They emerged at dawn. The lens, strapped to Alex's back, hummed with captured starlight. The Dead Plains stretched endlessly, but for the first time, something glimmered on the horizon—a silver spire, untouched by corruption.
"The real observatory," Lira said.
Alex adjusted the lens. "Next time, let's skip the tombs."
They walked. Behind them, unseen in the glass, a shadow followed—Ryna's laughter carried on the wind.