​The scout ship didn’t wait for a formal berth. It slammed into the secondary pier with a splintering groan, its hull shivering with a fatigue that seemed deeper than just a rough crossing. Julian was already moving, his heavy boots clanking against the scaffolding as he descended toward the water’s edge. Behind him, the rhythmic whistle of the "Steady-Pulse" continued to blow, but the sound felt suddenly hollow against the sight of the approaching vessel. The crew that stumbled onto the stone pier didn't look like the hardy Northern miners Julian knew; they looked like men who had been dragged through a furnace of orange ash.​The captain, a man whose skin was usually the color of deep granite, was now covered in a vibrant, oily orange soot that clung to his beard like parasitic moss. He didn't offer a salute. He simply reached into his heavy wool coat and pulled out a jagged shard of iron ore. It should have been a deep, lustrous grey—the "Northern Soul" that served as the bedrock o

​The air in Level Nine grew thin, clogged with the shimmering orange spores that danced like static in the beam of Julian’s lantern. Silas scrambled to set the induction coils around the primary ore-vein, his movements frantic as the ceiling let out a sharp, crystalline crack. Julian didn’t flinch; he kept his hand over Elena’s, his steady, rhythmic striking of the percussion hammer the only thing keeping the sagging iron supports from turning to dust.​"The coils are primed, Julian!" Silas shouted, his voice muffled by his heavy breather. "But the frequency is erratic. The lichen isn't just reacting to the sound; it’s feeding on the electricity! If we pulse this now, we might just give the rot the energy it needs to jump the gap to the surface."​Elena leaned her forehead against the vibrating stone, her breath hitching. "It’s not looking for electricity, Silas. It’s looking for a standard. The lichen is a biological ledger... it’s trying to index the iron. But the iron we’ve used fo