The plan, however ambitious, injected a new sense of purpose into the beleaguered Sorcerai camp. The immediate goal shifted from mere survival within their walls to actively acquiring the resources needed for Boltar and Ferran's proposed vehicle. Scavenging runs took on a different character; they weren't just searching for food or medicine, but for specific high-quality alloys, sturdy structural components, undamaged wiring harnesses, anything that might contribute to the construction effort.
Flareon found himself frequently paired with Ferran and Gravus on these expeditions. Their combined skills offered a balance of detection, manipulation, and focused power. They moved through the ruins with practiced caution, deliberately avoiding known Versari gathering spots or areas where recent conflicts had flared. Their priority was acquisition, not confrontation.
One afternoon found them deep within the skeletal remains of a heavily damaged Starbreach automated defense facility. This place, once bristling with Aetherium-powered turrets, was now a graveyard of twisted metal and shattered composites. But Ferran believed the reinforced alloys used in the turret casings might be exactly what they needed for vehicle armor.
The air inside the ruin was heavy with the smell of burnt ozone and damp decay. Gravus moved slowly, testing the floor's stability, his gaze sweeping the precarious tangle of fallen beams overhead. Ferran pointed towards a partially collapsed section where several turret husks lay buried.
They began the arduous process of clearing the debris. Gravus used subtle shifts of the earth beneath to dislodge heavy chunks of ferrocrete, while Ferran carefully bent warped girders out of the way. Flareon stood nearby, illuminating the cramped workspace with a steady flame, keeping watch on the shadowed corners of the vast, echoing space.
They were focused, absorbed in their task. The only sounds were the groan of stressed metal under Ferran's control, the scrape of stone shifted by Gravus, and the soft hiss of Flareon's flame.
Suddenly, Ferran froze. His head snapped up, his eyes narrowing, his focus instantly shifting from the debris to the air itself. He felt it...
Ferran reacted with pure elemental reflex. Thrusting out his hand. The blade stopped dead in mid-air, inches from Gravus's neck, held suspended by an invisible force field of manipulated metallic energy. It vibrated faintly, thwarted momentum straining against Ferran's control.
Gravus flinched back, startled, his hand instinctively going to his throat where the blade hovered menacingly. Flareon whirled around, his flame instantly intensifying, casting harsh, revealing light into the surrounding shadows.
"Show yourself!"
Flareon roared, sweeping the beam of fire across the upper gantries and shadowed machinery nests.
But again, there was nothing. Only echoes and shifting shadows. No sound of footsteps, no flicker of movement. The attacker, whoever they were, possessed unnerving skill in stealth and timing, striking from concealment and vanishing instantly.
Ferran slowly lowered the captured blade to the ground, his expression grim, his knuckles white from the sudden exertion. He knelt, examining the projectile. It was crudely fashioned but wickedly sharp, crafted from a piece of salvaged high-tensile plating, likely from this very facility. Not a random piece of shrapnel; a deliberately aimed weapon.
Gravus stared at the blade, then up into the empty shadows where it had originated. His usual stoicism was shaken. That had been too close.
He murmured, his voice low and gravelly.
Ferran nodded grimly, standing up, his senses still scanning the area for any lingering metallic trace of the attacker.
Ferran knelt beside the captured blade, turning it over in his hand, his Metal Sorcerai senses analyzing its structure, its residual energy. He frowned, his brow furrowed in concentration. Something felt... off.
He muttered, more to himself than the others, running a thumb carefully along the sharpened edge.
Gravus looked down at him, puzzled.
Ferran shook his head slowly, standing up, holding the blade out.
He looked towards the empty darkness where the attack originated.
Gravus added, thinking of the Farseer's Focus Art or even cruder applications.
Ferran immediately shook his head again, tapping the blade thoughtfully.
Ferran's gaze sharpened, a disturbing realization dawning in his eyes. He looked from the blade in his hand to Gravus, then to Flareon, his expression hardening into grim certainty.
He stated quietly, the words hanging heavy in the dusty air.
Flareon protested instinctively, shaking his head.
The thought violated the core tenets of Citadel unity, the shared identity forged through elemental birthright and historical conflict.
Ferran gripped the captured blade tighter, his knuckles white.
He met Flareon's disbelieving gaze.
Flareon frowned, scrubbing a hand through his grimy hair, wrestling with Ferran's chilling conclusion.
Flareon questioned, pacing a few steps away, his gaze sweeping the debris-strewn floor.
Flareon conceded, turning back to face them.
He picked up a small, twisted piece of metal, examining it.
Ferran still looked unconvinced, weighing the captured blade in his hand.