Kavvi’s spine stiffened. She was not a begger. Not for her life, and certainly not for Lirra’s amusement. She met her captor’s eyes, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor in her jaw the only hint of her terror. Fennik, however, stepped forward, his slight frame surprisingly resolute.
“Magistrate Vorl,” Fennik’s voice was even, devoid of any panic. The man beside Lirra wore the indigo sash of the adjudicator corps. “I assume these officers are under your direct command?”
Magistrate Vorl, a portly man with a neatly trimmed beard and eyes like polished obsidian, nodded stiffly. “Indeed, Master Mokkan. Your trespass into restricted repositories and tampering with central core functions constitutes high treason.” He nodded toward Kavvi’s iron cuff. “The evidence is literally on her arm.”
Lirra giggled, a sound like grinding sand. “Don’t bother, Fennik. There’s no escaping this one. Not even Kavvi’s… *resourcefulness* can talk her way out of a tribunal charge.”
Fennik ignored her. He simply tilted his head, a strange, almost serene look on his face. “Before you proceed, Magistrate, I have a question. Have you ever wondered why the Lumin-Cores in your Upper Wards, particularly those powering the pleasure domes and the elite residences, have been operating with such astonishing efficiency lately?”
Vorl frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Everything,” Fennik said, his gaze suddenly sharp. He reached into his tunic, not for a weapon, but for a small, intricately carved metallic orb. His thumb brushed a tiny, almost invisible glyph on its surface. “Because those ‘astonishing efficiencies’ were my unpatented, experimental Lumin-Core boosters. And as of this exact moment…”
He pressed the glyph. A low, resonant hum vibrated through the air, quickly followed by a series of distant, muffled *thumps* that seemed to shake the very foundations of the city lattice. Not violent explosions, but powerful, concussive implosions. The lights overhead flickered once, twice, then died, plunging them into murk lit only by sputtering orange glow-globes.
Outside, a cacophony erupted. Shouts, gasps, and the distant, panicked clang of alarm bells echoed from the Upper Wards. From their vantage point in the archive’s narrow, grimy window, Kavvi saw it: tier after tier of gleaming spires sat extinguished. Only the Grand Astrolabe itself, fed by an isolated reserve, remained alight.
“What… what have you done?” Vorl sputtered, sweat beading across his brow. Lirra shrieked. “My residence! My collections! You monster!”
Fennik’s voice cut through the chaos, clear and cold. “I have merely deactivated my prototypes. Every single one of them. For a man of your rank, you understand the cost when every estate in the Upper Wards goes cold while the core manifold struggles to compensate.”
Before anyone could respond, a new set of footsteps echoed down the aisle. Not the heavy, uniform tread of the tribunal sentries, but a more disciplined, precise cadence. From the deeper shadows, a familiar, stoic figure emerged, flanked by a dozen soldiers whose armor bore the insignia of the Seventh Garrison.
Bollan Vannos. His gaze was fixed, not on Fennik, but on the Magistrate and Lirra.
“Adjudicator Vorl,” Bollan barked. “Under emergency provisions of the Garrison Code, you are under arrest for obstruction of justice and unlawful seizure of state property.” His hand clamped on his hilt. “Troopers, disarm him.”
Vorl spluttered, “On what grounds, Captain Vannos? This is an outrage!”
“On the grounds that you are protecting a known conspirator.” Bollan’s eyes shifted to Lirra, cold and hard. “Lirra Jorrah. You are under arrest for repeated interference with critical military operations, illegal procurement of sensitive Imperial data, and the attempted assassination of a ranking commander – myself – by means of rigged patrol routes and false intelligence. Your actions nearly cost lives and destabilized a vital strategic mission.”
Lirra gasped, a sound of pure, unadulterated fury. “Bollan! You traitor! This is all Kavvi’s fault! She’s corrupted you!” She lunged, claws extended, but two of Bollan’s soldiers moved with practiced ease, pinning her arms behind her back. “Let go of me! Do you know who I am? I am of House Jorrah!”
Bollan ignored her struggles. He turned to his men. “Secure the watchmen. They are accomplices by association.” Bollan's squad pivoted in silence, batting the rifle barrels aside and stripping the watchmen of their sidearms.
Fennik stepped forward again, facing Vorl. “The blackout is temporary. The prime core is holding. I will restore power and deliver the engine, provided my terms are met.”
Vorl, now trembling, nodded frantically. “Anything! Just restore the power before the nobility riots! The Grand Council will skin me alive!”
“First,” Fennik said, “use your master cipher to release our collars. Second, file an immediate clemency order for Kavvi of House Jorrah, sealed without caveats.”
Vorl fumbled with a complex series of keys hanging from his belt, his fingers shaking. “But… the pardon is for Master Mokkan. You are the inventor. Not her. The Ministry… the Ministry demands assurances—”
“The Ministry sits in the dark,” Fennik cut in, voice flat. “And stays there until you comply. Enter the cipher.”
Vorl swallowed, hands trembling. He pulled out a small, gilded key and inserted it into a hidden slot on his wrist-comm. His fingers flew across the brass keypad on his wrist-comm.
A sharp ping rang out. Fennik’s band clicked open and clattered against the flagstones. Kavvi’s band, however, shrieked. Crimson sparks erupted from the seam, biting into her skin and peeling open a scorched gash across her forearm.
Kavvi hissed through gritted teeth, stumbling backward. Instead of unlatching, the band contracted, teeth of hot metal biting past raw skin. Blood dripped into the grit on the floor.
“What’s happening?!” Fennik yelled, rushing to her side, his face a mask of horror. “The cipher! It’s backfiring!”
Vorl shrank back, sputtering. “The band was altered! Lirra braided an inverted filament into the latch—the release sequence is driving the charge inward!”
Kavvi sagged against Fennik, her knees threatening to give out. Her fingers went numb as cold rot crept up the tendons of her wrist, fighting the stinging heat of the burn.
“Fennik,” she gasped, her voice barely a breath, “it’s… it’s going to detonate.”