He walks the Vein like a favored son.
He stops abruptly.
One massive hand flattens against the rock. His wings rustling behind him.
I follow the motion, silent now. Waiting.
After a moment, he opens his eyes.
“The disruption is above,” he murmurs. “They’ve bent the flow. Shifted it off-course. It’s not natural.”
“Rifted?”
“Nearly. But not torn yet.”
I let out a breath that’s nearly smoke. “Then we have time.”
He meets my gaze. “Not much.”
The SoulTakers are clever. Vile. Relentless.
If they crack the Vein, they won’t just poison the forge or choke the dreams.
They’ll unmake us.
The bond burns hotter.
I feel Delia’s pulse shift—faint concern, like a flicker of worry on the back of my tongue.
I close my eyes. Steady myself.
Let the fire inside me respond.
I am coming for these fools.
Let the SoulTakers hide in shadows and ash.
Let them twist the earth and whisper dark things into the stone.
They think they know fire?
They haven’t met me.
I will burn them all.
I bow my head and take my place where Dagan was but a moment before. My palms are flat against the wall, eyes focused on what lies behind it, I tell him what I see.
“The Ember Vein sings when approached by those of the Broken Plains—a low, resonant harmony that binds us to it,” I murmur, voice low, deep. “But now? Now there is discord.”
“Can you tell who they are, my lord?” Grier asks.
I narrow my eyes, focusing on the wrongness I feel.
“No. But Dagan is right, someone is tunneling,” I snarl, flames crawling up my forearms. “Not just from above. From the side. From outside our territory.”
Dagan’s eyes glow faintly.
“A long route. Deliberate. They’re avoiding the wards.”
