The brassy horns vibrated through the floorboards, matching the prickle across Tevani's palms. She breathed in the dry scent of burned cedar and ozone, her mind struggling to anchor itself against the foreign warmth humming beneath her skin. She was only Tevani, a traveler with a pouch of dried yarrow and a mending needle, yet the light lingering under her collarbones felt as vast and hollowed-out as an ancient quarry. She swayed, her legs unsteady beneath her. Rukhso, his immense form still crackling with residual lightning, caught her gently, guiding her down amidst the shattered shelves and fallen scrolls. He lowered his heavy muzzle, tracking the faint, glowing patterns along her neck with twitching ears. “Lady Tevani,” he said again, his voice raw, close. “Are you truly well?” Chiri, roused by the upheaval, gave a soft, raspy squeak from Tevani’s collar. The tiny moth-gecko, usually content to nibble stray dust motes, began to meticulously trace the glowing lines on Tevani’s skin with its six delicate legs, a tiny, almost imperceptible *zzzt* sound accompanying each touch. As Chiri moved, the intense radiant heat radiating from Tevani’s chest and arms slowly receded, the starlike constellations dimming from sapphire to a gentle, pearlescent sheen. It felt as though tiny, hungry mouths were consuming the last vestiges of a foreign energy. “It’s… dissipating,” Tevani murmured, watching Chiri work. “It almost felt like… the holy fire was still clinging to me.” Rukhso knelt beside her, his large paw surprisingly delicate as he retrieved a torn strip of linen from a discarded banner. He didn’t question the glowing marks, didn’t comment on the Architect. His slate-colored pupils narrowed on the fresh scrape across her forearm, where a jagged bit of mortar had sliced clean through her sleeve. He didn't treat her like a distant deity. He treated her like Tevani, the gentle traveler who had shielded him. “Your arm,” he rumbled, his voice low, a grounding presence in the chaos. “You are hurt.” He carefully wrapped the linen around her arm, his motions tender, precise. “You stood before him again. You faced his fire. You are not meant to suffer, Lady Tevani.” His amber gaze settled directly on her, calm and immovable as iron. “My oath is to *you*. To protect the one who protected me. To shield the kindest soul I have ever known. That has not changed.” His steady hands chased away the numbness that threatened to pull her under. Whatever strange power slumbered in the marrow of this world, Rukhso saw only the traveler who had shared bread with him in the dark. That clarity was enough to root her boots firmly back against the rubble. “Thank you, Rukhso,” she said, her voice steadier now. “I am here. And we will stop this.” Thalric, still struggling against Rukhso’s invisible hold, let out a frustrated growl. The air around him shimmered, crackling with desperate holy energy, but it couldn’t dislodge the Storm-Mane’s grip. He wore a gilded circlet, intricately carved with sun motifs, that seemed to pulse faintly in time with the bellowing horns outside. It looked ancient, heavy with Khetar’s false divinity. [The 'Crown of Khetar' upon Thalric’s brow is the keystone. Its destruction will halt the Zenith Ritual.] The message from the Echo Log burned into Tevani’s vision, startlingly clear. The Crown. That was it. The target. Before she could articulate her thoughts, a scuffling sound drew their attention to the far end of the ruined archive. Kaelia, her lynx ears twitching nervously, darted out from behind a toppled statue of a forgotten hero. In her small paws, she clutched a heavy ring of iron keys, their jingle muffled by the ongoing blare of the ceremonial horns. “I found these!” Kaelia chirped, holding them up with a triumphant, albeit shaky, smile. “A guard dropped them near the passage to the sky-deck. I heard them talking. All the ‘vanguards’… all five hundred of them, they said… they’ve been moved. To the sky-deck. They’re bringing them up for immediate vaporization.” Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. “My brother… Perrin… he was there.” Five hundred lives bound to the sky-deck. Tevani pressed her palm against Rukhso's bracer, her knuckles white against the battered steel. There was no room left for caution. A low, grinding shudder tore through the foundation of the Sunspire Atrium. The floor beneath them groaned, the remaining archways of the archives trembling. A deep, resonant hum vibrated through the stone, and then, slowly, inexorably, the entire structure began to ascend. The torn ceiling, through which they could glimpse the fading sun, began to recede, replaced by a dizzying expanse of deep crimson sky. The air, already thin at this elevation, grew colder, sharper, pulling at their lungs with each shallow gasp. The Sunspire Atrium, a gilded cage, was now a soaring monument of death, rising into the stratosphere. There was no escape without wings.

Shadows and Starlight