Danira’s shout tore through the crumbling air, a desperate battle cry against the stone. The sapphire pulse around her hands intensified, a blinding nova of frigid light that slammed into the fracturing dormitory. The groaning of tortured rock screeched to a halt, replaced by a deep, resonant hum as colossal columns of ice erupted from the canyon floor, snaking upwards like frozen serpents. They pierced the collapsing structure, bracing it with rigid leverage, holding the tons of splintered rock aloft. Dust billowed, obscuring everything for a tense, drawn-out moment. Then, silence. The barracks hung, impossibly suspended, a jagged monument to a desperate act. Kassar, who had been charging towards the structure, arm raised to try and catch a falling beam with his shield, skidded to a stop. Air hitched against his teeth as he dug his heels into the dust. He saw the cadets, silhouetted in the dust, slowly begin to pick themselves up from beneath their beds, alive. He saw Oghlun’s younger sister, Kalri, stumble out of the haze, her small face streaked with tears and dirt, but unharmed. Then his gaze snapped to Danira. The brilliant glow around her had vanished, leaving her silhouetted against the colossal ice-pillars, swaying like a wind-battered reed. “Danira!” he roared, a panic he hadn’t felt in years clawing at his throat. He covered the distance in three long strides, his heavy plates clanking together. She was falling even before he reached her, her knees buckling, eyes rolling back. He caught her, one arm sweeping around her waist, the other cradling her head. She was surprisingly light, boneless in his grip. Her skin, usually cool from her core-weaving, was now clammy and cold. A thin sheen of ice crystals still clung to her eyelashes, but her frost-light had died. He hauled her up against his cuirass, arms locking around her limp frame. Her head lolled against his chest, her breath shallow. He could feel the rapid, thrumming beat of her heart, a frantic drum against his armor. Kassar barked her name, shaking her shoulder. “Danira. Wake up. Danira!” Oghlun dropped onto the stones beside them, sweeping his gaze across the braced dorms, the surviving cadets, and Danira. His earlier disdain melted away, replaced by a look Kassar had never seen on the proud weaver: profound respect, tinged with a grudging admiration. “She expended it all,” Oghlun murmured, his voice rough. “To save… them. To save Kalri.” He swallowed, then clenched a fist over his chest, his gaze locking onto Kassar’s. “By the Iron-Sands, and the Blood-Oaths of the Ascendancy, I swear my core to her cause. Whatever she needs, wherever she leads. She has paid the Blood-Debt. I am hers.” Kassar looked at Oghlun, then back at Danira. Danira's sudden, reckless loyalty still unnerved him, but its weight was grounding. He shifted Danira carefully, adjusting his grip. “She’ll need rest. We need to find Jelmeq. Before he… before he takes the Hearthstone.” Oghlun nodded, scanning the torn trench. “His core-signature. It’s faint, but I can feel a residue. He went… down. Beneath us, I think. There’s a faint, almost imperceptible tremor in the rock, a power drain. Not of the Hearthstone, but… something else.” Kassar looked around. The main invasion still raged, but the immediate threat to the barracks was averted. He slung Danira over his shoulder, her arm flopping limply. Her slack frame rested light against his shoulders, though the cold quiet of her pulse set his teeth grinding. “Lead the way,” he grunted, moving towards a fractured cliff wall that hummed with a subtle distortion. Oghlun wove a faint luminescence around his hand, a guiding light through the dust and debris. They descended into a newly formed fissure, the air growing colder, heavier. The hum intensified, a low thrumming that resonated in Kassar’s bones. It wasn't the sound of an ancient ward, but something more… organic. More painful. The fissure opened into a vast, hidden cavern, carved deep beneath the Iron-Sand Garrison. It was a bleak, rock-hewn chamber, choked with the stench of stagnant iron and foul copper. Dozens of figures, gaunt and emaciated, were chained to the walls, their limbs thin, their eyes sunken. Each one wore a collar embedded with an energy siphon, glowing with a sickly green light. Lines of crackling core-energy ran from their collars, converging into massive conduits that disappeared into the rock, undoubtedly feeding the Garrison’s anti-Blight wards. These were weavers, drained dry, their very life force bled to power the Ascendancy’s defenses. Jelmeq’s kin. His enslaved people. Kassar’s steps faltered. The ruthlessness, the betrayals… it wasn't for power, not entirely. It was for this. For them. Danira stirred against his shoulder, letting out a faint groan as her brow tightened. Oghlun stared, skin draining of color. He, too, had heard the whispers of forced core-weaving, but seeing it, feeling the raw anguish radiating from the enslaved, was a different matter entirely. “The Ascendancy… they claimed these were traitors, willingly forfeited to the Hearthstone for power.” His voice was a bare whisper. One of the chained figures, a woman with hollow eyes and hair like spun cobwebs, slowly lifted her head. She coughed, a dry, rattling sound that seemed to tear at her throat. Her gaze, dulled by suffering, fixed on Kassar’s chest, on the gleaming insignia of the Royal Vanguard etched into his armor. “The sentinel…” she croaked, the rasp barely carrying across the cavern floor. Her eyes, suddenly sharp with a terrible urgency, met Kassar’s. “His blood… it is the final key… to opening the gorge permanently.”

Chains of the Ascendancy