The near-fatal attack galvanized the Sorcerai. Boltar and Ferran, wasting no time, made contact with Grok and his Morphai technicians. An uneasy alliance was struck, born of mutual need and the shared threat lurking in the ruins. The ambitious vehicle project began, albeit under severe constraints.
All construction work was confined strictly to daylight hours. The memory of Mireia's death and the silent blade meant no Sorcerai ventured far from the relative safety of their respective camps after dusk. The Morphai hub offered some security, but transporting materials and collaborating became a daytime-only affair, slowing progress considerably.
In the cleared basement beneath the Terragrove embassy ruins, the work commenced. Ferran, with astonishing precision, began shaping salvaged trimantium alloy plates into reinforced chassis components. His hands moved with fluid certainty, the metal groaning softly as it yielded to his elemental will, forming curves and angles designed for maximum structural integrity.
Beside him, Boltar worked with Grok, sketching complex energy flow diagrams onto salvaged synth-panels. They debated furiously over capacitor designs, voltage regulation, and insulation methods needed to safely harness Boltar's lightning into a sustainable power source. Grok, occasionally shrinking his fingers to manipulate micro-components within a salvaged power converter, brought his relentless Morphai focus on efficiency to bear, challenging Boltar's raw power approach with pragmatic engineering constraints. Sparks flew, both literal and figurative, as elemental might met meticulous mechanics.
Yet, while sparks of creation flew in the Morphai basement, the daily reality for everyone remained grim. The struggle for basic necessities intensified. Clean water was strictly rationed. The water source near the Sorcerai camp required constant vigilance and purification efforts, now undertaken less efficiently by Boltar using electrical charges or Flareon applying careful heat.
Food was even scarcer. Scavenging runs yielded less and less edible material. Rations were cut again, then again. Hunger became a constant, dull ache, fraying nerves further, making tempers shorter. Gravus attempted to use his Earth magic to coax life from small patches of irradiated soil within their courtyard, trying to cultivate scavenged seeds, but progress was agonizingly slow, the results meagre. The irony of building a sophisticated escape vehicle while struggling to find enough food for the next meal was not lost on anyone.
One bleak afternoon, Flareon was paired with Gravus for a run through a particularly devastated residential sector near the city's edge, hoping to find overlooked canned goods or medical supplies. The silence here was profound, broken only by the wind whistling through shattered windows. They moved cautiously through the wreckage of what might have been apartments, Flareon's flame held low, illuminating scenes of frozen domestic chaos while Gravus checked the structural integrity of collapsed floors and precarious walls.
While Gravus carefully assessed a leaning support column, Flareon's light fell upon something half-buried in the rubble of one collapsed dwelling: a severed arm, pale and rigid, clearly some days old. Such sights had become depressingly common. But something glinted on the wrist.
Gravus grunted softly beside him, his gaze sweeping the surrounding ruin.
He murmured in Sorcerai, his voice low.
His pragmatism cut through the grimness of the scene.
Back at the Sorcerai camp that evening, he found Seren sitting alone, sketching complex energy diagrams onto a scrap of synth-paper by the dim elemental light, her injured leg propped up on a low stool. He approached quietly, stopping beside her.
He held out the bracelet, dropping it gently onto the paper beside her sketches.
"Found this."
He said, his voice low, devoid of inflection.
"Thought... you might have use for it."
Seren looked down, startled. Her eyes widened as she recognized the Lumecryst, the familiar design. She picked it up carefully, her fingers tracing the cool surface of the stone, the intricate silverwork. She knew it wasn't her bracelet, but it was a potential conduit for the Arcane knowledge she possessed but hadn't been able to access since her capture.
She looked up at Flareon, her expression complex. Surprise, gratitude, and a shadow of the grim understanding of where he must have found it flickered in her eyes.
"Flareon... Thank you."
She whispered, clutching the bracelet tightly.
He simply gave a curt nod, already turning away, uncomfortable with the moment, perhaps needing to distance himself from the reminder of the city's brutality and the small act of unexpected consideration he had just performed. But the gesture hung in the air, a fragile spark of connection in the overwhelming darkness.
...
One afternoon, a noticeable absence settled over the Sorcerai camp. Seren wasn't in her usual spot, sketching or debating with Ava. She wasn't assisting Gravus with his struggling garden patch or observing Boltar's energetic tinkering. Flareon found himself glancing towards the entrance more frequently than usual, an unfamiliar prickle of unease beneath his usual impatience. Her quiet presence, once easily overlooked, had become a steady point in their chaotic existence.
The hours passed. The sun dipped low, painting the ruins in long, distorted shadows. Just as true dusk began to settle, bringing with it the heightened tension of the approaching night, Seren slipped back into the camp. She looked flushed, her breathing slightly uneven, dust clinging to her clothes more than usual. She carried the salvaged Lumecryst bracelet Flareon had given her, clutching it tightly.
"Seren! Where have you been?"
Gravus's deep voice held an uncharacteristic sharpness. He intercepted her near the entrance, his brow furrowed with concern.
"Going out alone, especially now, is reckless! We searched nearby, couldn't find you."
Seren avoided his gaze, looking down at her dusty boots.
"I... I'm sorry, Gravus. I didn't go far. Just... found a quiet spot nearby. Needed to... practice."
She gestured vaguely with the hand holding the bracelet.
"Familiarizing myself with the Lumecryst again. Trying to channel..."
"Practice can wait."
Gravus stated firmly, though his tone softened slightly seeing her obvious discomfort.
"Your safety cannot. Don't do that again. Understand? We need to know where everyone is, especially after dark."
"Yes, Gravus. I understand. It won't happen again."
Seren murmured, quickly retreating towards her pallet, avoiding further questions. Flareon watched the exchange silently, a flicker of suspicion mingling with his relief at her return. 'Practicing' seemed an inadequate explanation for her prolonged absence and slightly disheveled state.
Later that night, long after the camp had settled into uneasy slumber, Flareon was jolted awake by a light touch on his arm. He instinctively tensed, reaching for the spear beside his pallet, but relaxed slightly seeing Seren kneeling beside him in the dim glow of the night-lights. Her face was pale, her eyes wide and urgent. She pressed a finger to her lips, signaling silence.
She beckoned him to follow, leading him quietly towards a secluded alcove near the back of the camp, shielded from view by stacks of salvaged supplies. Once they were hidden from sight and earshot of the others, she turned to face him, her expression deadly serious.
"Flareon..."
She whispered, her voice barely audible, trembling slightly.
"I wasn't practicing."
She leaned closer, lowering her voice even further, the words tumbling out in a hushed, urgent rush. She spoke for several minutes, detailing observations, connections she had pieced together.