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CHAPTER 22: THE KEEPER OF BROKEN THINGS
Morning in Mudia's sanctuary arrived not with light, but with the slow dimming of the blue crystal filaments that lined the walls. The hum that had accompanied their sleep faded to a barely perceptible whisper. Stollen sat up first, his engineer's ear catching the shift.Mudia was already gone.They made their way outside. The mist had thinned slightly, revealing the settlement for the first time. Low, circular huts of dark stone and riveted metal clustered in a shallow valley. Chimneys released thin trails of smoke that mingled with the fog. People moved between the huts quickly, heads down, shoulders hunched. No one called out. No one paused. They flowed like water avoiding rocks.A subordinate approached them—a thin man with a patchy beard and eyes that refused to meet theirs. He carried a tray of dried fish, hard bread, and water, all scaled for the giants. He placed it on a flat stone and stepped back quickly."Elder Mudia is at the
CHAPTER 21: THE ECHO IN THE MIST
The northern cloud-forest of Hearth Two was a world of drowned sound and phantom shapes. The ship descended through layers of clinging mist that beaded on the viewports like cold sweat. Below, the trees were giants even to Stollen and Lyra—colossal, pale-barked pillars that vanished into the grey ceiling above.“Sensors are glitching,” Stollen reported, frowning at the flickering display. “It’s a localized field. Deliberate jamming.”“Mudia doesn’t want to be found,” Lyra said, peering into the fog. “Eira said he’s paranoid.”Nathe, secured in his pouch, nodded. “He’ll be listening. Watching. Before we see him.”They set down in a small clearing, the ship’s landing gear sinking slightly into the damp, spongy moss. The air was cold and thick with moisture. Fog curled around their legs, reaching Lyra’s knees. Every sound—the creak of a branch, the drip of water—was muffled, intimate.They walked. The forest was a labyrinth of greys and greens. After twenty minutes, Nathe, with his sharp
CHAPTER 20: GHOSTS IN THE GEARS
Dawn on Hearth Two did not arrive gently in Eira’s domain. It was announced by the groan of massive generators powering up and the shudder of conveyor belts resuming their endless cycles. Stollen and Lyra were already at the deep-core drill site, examining the problem with the critical eye of engineers. The drill was a colossal, intricate piece of machinery—to the Hearth Two workers it was a mountain of moving parts; to the giants it was the size of a large house, complex and wounded.Eira pulled up in her rugged vehicle, a fresh mug in hand. She didn’t bother with greetings. “The main rotary coupling. It’s fractured. Shear failure due to vibrational stress. It’s rated for ten thousand ton-spans.” She pointed a stylus at a schematic glowing on her slate. “You’re strong. You also probably caused the stress spike that broke it when you cleared the landslide. So. Fix it.”Stollen studied the schematic. “We’ll need a replacement. And a forge to shape it.”“We have both. You have until mid
CHAPTER 19: THE PIT BOSS
The transition from Arinthal’s serene mountain peak to Eira’s domain was like diving from clear sky into a furnace. The air grew thick with the smell of scorched metal, ozone, and the sour tang of industrial solvents. The land below was a geometric wound—terraced open-pit mines the size of small lakes, conveyor belts snaking like metal intestines, and clusters of squat, fortified structures belching steam and smoke into the lavender sky. The only colors were rust-brown, gunmetal grey, and the angry orange glare of molten slag.Their ship was directed by a gruff, signal-light code to a landing pad on the rim of the largest pit. As the hatch opened, the noise hit them—a cacophony of grinding machinery, pneumatic hammers, and shouted commands amplified by tinny speakers.A foreman in grease-stained coveralls and a dented helmet waited, hands on hips. He was taller and broader than any Hearth One native they’d seen—clearly a product of Hearth Two’s larger scale. He didn’t look up at them
CHAPTER 18: THE QUIET OBSERVER
Arinthal’s domain was a crown of crystal and light perched atop a solitary, slender mountain that rose from a sea of mist. Unlike Thorold’s rigid spires or Arin’s tranquil gardens, this place hummed with quiet, purposeful energy. Domes of translucent material housed arrays of delicate instruments that tracked the slow dance of the six smaller suns across the lavender sky. There were no guards, no walls—only the sheer drop and the thin, cold air.The ship settled on a landing platform that seemed to be grown rather than built, its surface smooth and warm. As the hatch opened, Arinthal emerged from the largest dome. He was as tall as the other Hearth Two natives, but his movements were fluid, economical. He wore simple grey trousers and a close-fitting tunic lined with fine data-fibers that glimmered as he moved. His expression was one of open curiosity, not doctrine.“Stollen. Lyra,” he said, his voice clear and needing no amplifier in the stillness. “And the seeker from the Root. Nath
CHAPTER 17: THE GOD TRIAL
The Sanctum of Essence was not a room; it was an instrument. Vast, circular, its walls and floor made of a seamless, milky crystal that thrummed with a low, sub-audible frequency. Arin led them to the center, his robes whispering against the polished stone. Here, under the vaulted ceiling where floating orbs of light drifted like captive stars, the air tasted of ozone and incense.“The God Trial measures the resonance of your essence against the sacred template of Övon Ihinyon,” Arin explained, his voice echoing slightly in the resonant space. He stood at a raised console that emerged from the floor, his fingers resting on glowing glyphs. “It will present you with imprints from your own memory—key moments of moral weight. The sanctity of your response will be quantified. Blood-taint, heresy of intent, and foreign resonance will be measured.”Stollen eyed the crystalline walls. “So it’s a moral spectrometer.”“It is divine judgment rendered into observable truth,” Arin corrected, witho
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