Kavira looked from Elian to the captor's blade, then upward, tracing the ice-sheened stone needles hanging like frozen fangs from the vaulted ceiling. The thought of dropping her weapon, surrendering the last vestiges of her control, was anathema. She had not come this far, bled and endured, only to yield to a cheap threat. Elian was a means to an end, a life she’d saved, yes, but primarily to keep him indebted. He was not worth the Sun-Ember, not if it meant her own end. “Drop them,” the man repeated, pressing the short sword a fraction closer. A bead of scarlet bloomed on Elian’s skin. Kavira lifted her hand, not to surrender, but to aim. Her crossbow’s mechanism clicked, a soft, deadly sound in the heavy air. She didn’t aim at the mercenary, or Elian. She sighted on the thickest overhead spear directly above the cutthroat and his two cloaked companions. It was a jagged spire of ancient ice and stone, thick as a tree trunk. Before Garek could speak, before the mercenary could react to the defiance in her posture, Kavira fired. The bolt, heavy and tipped with frost-iron, struck the pillar's root with a hollow crack. A shower of ice crystals exploded downwards, followed by a deeper groan, a grinding shriek of rock tearing from rock. The ceiling overhead began to fracture. “Move!” Garek bellowed, comprehension dawning, but it was too late. The mass sheared free, dropping straight down. The hired blades barely had time to look up. A thunderous crash echoed through the vault, shaking the very foundations of the mountain. Dust and ice shards billowed, thick and choking. The air filled with the wet sound of pulverizing bone and stone. When the dust settled, three crushed forms lay under the fallen mass, tangled with rubble. The cutthroat holding Elian was gone, replaced by broken granite. Elian, released by the sudden cataclysm, tumbled free, gasping, his face smeared with dust and terror. He scrabbled backward, coughing, pressing himself against the far wall, wide-eyed. Garek, his face grim, spared a single glance for the carnage Kavira had wrought. His expression was a complex mix of horror and grudging admiration for the sheer, brutal efficacy of her plan. Then his gaze locked onto the traitorous officer, who stood frozen by the opened vault door, the brass skeleton key still in hand, mouth agape at the destruction. “You treacherous worm!” Garek roared, abandoning any pretense of caution. His greatsword, a blur of gleaming steel, sliced through the air as he charged. The traitor broke from his stupor, dropping the key and drawing his own heavier, serrated blade. Steel shrieked as their weapons met in a brutal, cacophonous dance. The older soldier was seasoned, years of Watch duty sharpening his edge. He fought with frantic ferocity, each stroke calculated to maim. Garek met him blow for blow, his movements fueled by a simmering rage that had been building for weeks. Sparks flew as their swords clashed, the sound reverberating through the vast, cold space. The vault became a cage of metal on metal, a whirlwind of furious intent. “For a weakling who cares for sick boys,” the turncoat grunted, parrying Garek’s overhead strike, “you swing a heavy arm, Vond.” He twisted, aiming a low thrust at Garek’s ribs, forcing Garek to leap back. “What is it about that sickly *boy* that makes you forget your vows, forget your honor? A shame, really. I always thought you had potential. Now you’re just a fool, throwing it all away for some… *thing*.” The man spat, his pupils needle-sharp. Garek’s face contorted. “You wouldn’t understand honor. You sold yours for coin.” Garek lunged, a flurry of strikes driving the turncoat back against the frost-bitten stone. “You tried to murder us! To steal what protects this realm!” “And what is it to you?” the man snarled, his blade meeting Garek’s with a jarring clang. “Protecting this *thing*? This Kavir? He’s nothing. A common street rat you picked up, a blight on the Watch. Look at him, Vond! Barely standing, coughing up dust, too weak to even join the real fight!” His eyes flicked to Kavira, who swayed, ribs throbbing where the stimulant burned through her veins. “You are a fool,” Kavira rasped, her voice dry. The man's focus remained fixed on Garek, his flank exposed. Kavira moved, a swift, almost silent blur. Her short-sword, a simple but perfectly balanced blade, arced in a precise, horizontal strike. It wasn’t a killing blow, but a calculated humiliation. The edge of her sword struck his serrated blade not with a clash, but a sharp snap. The turncoat's steel sheared apart, the top half spinning away to gouge the mortar behind them. He stared at the stub in his hand, then at Kavira. His face, already etched with fury, twisted into an ugly snarl of disbelief and shame. “You little…!” The words died in his throat. A searing, blinding agony ripped through Kavira’s lower body. It felt as if a thousand needles were plunging into her flesh, followed by an immediate, terrifying numbness. Her knees buckled without warning. Her legs, from the thighs down, went stiff, rigid, cold. A sickening, grinding sound emanated from within her. She collapsed to the stone floor, her sword clattering beside her. From the corner of her eye, she saw it. The pale, translucent sheen spreading rapidly, encasing her skin. The sensation of blood draining away, replaced by something hard and brittle. Her legs, once capable of scaling mountains and delivering precise, deadly blows, were no longer hers. They were transforming, hardening, solidifying into grotesque, crystalline monuments. The Glass-Rot had finally claimed her lower half, turning her flesh into a lifeless statue. Seeing her fall, seeing the crystalline glaze spread, the officer barked a dry laugh. “Well, well. It seems the pest is finally done for. A shame Vond tried so hard for nothing.” He dropped the hilt of his broken sword, pulling a short, wicked-looking dagger from a sheath on his belt. His eyes, burning with a mix of vengeance and deranged triumph, fixed on Kavira’s now immobile form. Garek was still several paces away, struggling to reach them. He advanced on Kavira, raising the dagger high. It glinted under the vault’s faint light, a deadly shard aimed at her frozen neck.

The Sun-Ember