Even after Griff's gang had burst in, recoiled in terror upon laying their eyes on the Shard Warden's jaws, then ran screaming back into the woods, the arclith golem remained standing in the same spot for at least three minutes. Sylven had counted every beat of his own pulse, each shallow breath, expecting the crystalline titan to remember it could vaporize them all with a glance.

"Is it... sleeping?" Sela whispered from behind a rock, her spear still raised.

Menna didn't look up from her instruments, but Sylven could see the white-knuckled grip she had on them. "It's… processing. The harmonic interference is holding it in a feedback loop, but…" Her voice wavered in a way Sylven had never heard from the self-assured Middleshy girl he knew. "But I have no idea how stable it is."

"How long do we have?" Vazko asked, his commander's training keeping him composed.

"I'm not sure," Menna admitted, her uncertainty adding to the overall anxiety. "The loop could collapse in minutes or hours. Or it could stabilize for days. We're in uncharted territory."

Veyran looked up from his own calculations, his face pale. "It's unlike anything documented in everything I've ever studied. This isn't just an arclith construct… It's something our ancestors built and then... buried."

Rhiannon shifted in her saddle, Ashwind still prancing nervously beneath her. "So, we're grappling with a weapon its own creators never fully explained. Wonderful."

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft buzzing emanating from their scattered shards. No one wanted to say it, but their shared glances spoke volumes. They were completely out of their depth.

"We need to move," Sylven finally said. "If this thing wakes up and it's pissed off..."

"It will wake up," Veyran said with certainty. "The question is… whether it will resent or welcome its masters' descendants."

Later, back in the ruins, Sylven crouched among the roots threading through a crumbled stairwell. The light from the Warden, now mercifully dim, continued to throb between the trees.

He pressed one hand to the shard on his chest, feeling it echo the pulse of the captured titan. His other hand gripped a bundle of arclith spikes, each one of these anchor points no more than a pin compared to the behemoth. Yet, they had worked.

The air still smelled like ozone, the same sharp trace before lightning strikes. The ruins around him hummed with the awakening of their own potential.

His connection with Vikka was edged with the same barely controlled fear they all felt.

The last node's anchored. Her mental voice was steady, but her dread bled through their bond like cold water.

Acknowledged. Sylven replied, then gestured to Ilkin next to him. Fall back, now. The scout's eyes were still wide from the shock of facing down a living weapon, but he nodded and vanished deeper into the ruins.

The Warden loomed beyond the treeline—a crystalline mountain of barely-contained destruction. It was kneeling, but kept its head tilted as if listening. The shards ringing it, sunk into the soil like ritual stakes, glowed faintly in the same familiar rhythm.

Menna and Veyran's cluster pattern idea had worked. The anchor points appeared to draw power from the lingering energies beneath the ruins, weaving a harmony that held the Warden in a state of confused suspension. They were using the wisdom of the past to tether the weapon, and so far, it held, but barely. Twice in the past hour, the creature had tested the ring's boundaries, its head swiveling toward gaps in the shard formation before the harmonics pulled it back into dormancy. Even the Sunshy could sense the instability in the containment field. It reminded them of a weaker, thinner Sunveil, wavering like a flame in wind.

A silhouette emerged from the shadows beyond the courtyard. Sylven recognized Menna as she rounded the corner, and he froze.

Her fingers were still smudged with mud and arclith residue, her scholar's robes torn and stained. The satchel at her side clinked with shard fragments, but her eyes mirrored the same stunned disbelief in his own.

She looked up, and for a heartbeat neither of them moved. The weight of everything, all their time apart, the dangers they had faced, hung between them like a held breath.

"There you are…" she whispered, tentative, afraid that speaking louder might shatter the fragile moment.

Sylven nodded then closed his eyes, as if he hadn't prepared for the sudden tide that rose in his chest. He was moving before he realized it, walking with the careful deliberation of someone who wouldn't dare disturb a dream.

"I guess… I couldn't keep up my promise to bring a kobold egg to the Big Mix," he replied, scratching the back of his head, his voice cracking halfway. "But you… looks like you held up your end and managed to show up those fancy Deepshy."

They stepped into each other's space without thinking. When they reached each other, Sylven's hands found her shoulders, his forehead pressing against hers. For a moment, they just breathed the same air.

"I kept thinking… what if…" She gestured wildly between them. "That maybe I shouldn't have… that I'd never get to… to tell you..." she stammered, voice trembling.

"No worries. No regrets…" Sylven interrupted and tried to soothe her by squeezing her hands. "See where you being such a busybody took us?" Sylven teased.

Menna's fingers clutched at the front of his jacket, fists curling like she might lose balance without anchoring to him.

"I almost forgot… what was important. Got too distracted by politics and academics," she admitted. "Trying to solve everything with my mind instead of trusting what I felt here." She pressed her palm against his chest. "But then I remembered…" An off-kilter smile spread across her lips. "Somebody needed to scold you about being more responsible!"

They laughed together, part relief, part apology, finally relaxing in each other's company.

Around them, threads of light pulsed out from the shards, anchoring the warden and slowly illuminating the ruins, one glyph at a time.

Sylven gestured at the warming glow encompassing them. "You made all this work, you know," he insisted, pulling back enough to search her eyes. "And just in time, too."

"We all made this work," she corrected.

And in that moment, the ruins around them felt whole again.

Vikka found the other kobolds in the shelter they'd hurriedly slapped together, braiding rope around a low-burning fire. Ever watchful, Nynka's head snapped up, nostrils flaring, as the prodigal kobold hesitated on the threshold.

Their silence was suffocating. These were the kin who'd trusted her even when she'd doubted herself. And she'd abandoned them when they needed her most.

Vikka swallowed against the tremor in her chest. "I'm sorry that… I ran."

Nynka stood, tail stiff and spine straight. "More like… floundered," she sniffed.

Vikka nodded, accepting the barb.

"I wasn't... I didn't know how to explain everything to you," she admitted, glancing behind her.

Mirys stepped forward, calm and deliberate. The fire's glow haloed her in a soft shimmer. She lowered her gaze to the group, then placed one clawed hand over her chest in quiet greeting.

"This is Mirys. She's the one…" Vikka said. "Who taught me about the Veilwoods. Told me what I didn't want to hear."

Sidhe tilted her head. "About… being a queen?"

Vikka shook her head. "About choosing how to be one. That it isn't about commanding others, but about what you're willing to do for them."

Tibbin blinked, trying to comprehend this revelation. "Is she like you?"

"No," Vikka said softly, her gaze fixed on Mirys. "She's stronger, wiser. A… mother." She hesitated before continuing. "She could have claimed me, claimed us all. Bent us to her will. She had the right, the force of spirit, but chose not to wield it."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Mirys said nothing. But her gaze swept over them, nodding as she looked each kobold in the eyes.

"I hope you all get to know her," Vikka continued. "Not as a challenger to the queen we left. Just… someone we can trust. Someone who can help us figure out what we're meant to be... Now that we've known how it is to be hiveless..."

Sidhe sidled right next to Mirys and curled her tail around their new acquaintance. "Then she can sit by our fire."

Vikka let out the breath she had been holding. "Thank you."

Nynka was last to approach, warily sniffing the air around Mirys. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "You smell of... hatchlings… and memories I thought I'd lost."

Mirys finally smiled and spoke. "I have never forgotten the scent of kin."

They sat together then, awkwardly at first, tails curling protectively around each other's spaces. Sharing the warmth, silence, and healing.

Sylven ducked beneath a bramble, making his way back into the heart of the battered Shy stronghold. The tunnels were half-collapsed, but still defensible. And they'd laid out the trickiest obstacles the Shy, kobolds, and their human allies could dream up between them: a web of tripwires and foot snares, pits camouflaged by muddy leaves and vines, echo shards to throw sound. Traps meant to humiliate and stall their goliath foes.

A clatter sounded up ahead, followed by cursing in Alvon's voice.

"I said slide the panel. Don't kick it—"

"I was testing it!" came the muffled reply.

Sylven turned a corner to see Alvon and Tibbin maneuvering a mirror into place. A hanging prism caught the light then concentrated it into a blinding ray, ready to dazzle whoever stepped into its path.

"This one's ready?" Sylven asked.

"Half-rigged," Alvon replied. "We're figuring out the final placement. Don't want Griff's stooges sidestepping it."

"You're assuming they'll get past the first wave."

Alvon smirked. "I'm expecting they'll trip over their own boots trying."

Further in, Mara was speaking quietly with Vazko beside a cistern, their heads bowed over a map scrawled onto a strip of bark. The Deepshy stood with his armor smudged with grime but his posture still crisp. He gestured to a point on the map, and Mara nodded in agreement. She glanced up, meeting Sylven's eye with a brief, affirming nod before returning her attention to the commander. They were working around the ruins' lack of intact walls and towers, trusting that their Shy smarts would go a long way.

Sylven moved toward the tallest remaining tower, where Vikka stood at the precipice, watching the woods with her arms crossed.

Checking in on our captive? she asked, not turning to greet him.

Sylven joined her. The Warden stood between them and the trees, its great head lowered to the ground, mist curled around its legs. It hadn't moved or flashed its destructive beam in hours. It didn't need to, to keep their pursuers at bay. Its presence was enough so far.

"The anchors are still holding," he replied verbally, in a voice tinged with disbelief.

"For now," Vikka murmured. "But if the humans out there realize we aren't directly controlling the golem…"

"They won't… not for a while," Sylven said, and made himself believe it.

"But look at its eyes! I can't help but feel like… there's a thinking being inside the beast," Vikka pointed out. "Like… it knows that we're just forestalling the inevitable."

Sylven looked down at the disparate crews of Shy and kobolds were reinforcing barriers with ropes and wire, the best they could come up with in the time crunch. Every possible opening had been carefully accounted for.

Leaving Vikka to her perch, Sylven walked up to Wyatt and Garrett as they were putting the finishing touches on a trap. The boy was meticulously arranging leaves and gravel over a tripwire.

"You're getting really good at this," Sylven commented at their former minder.

Wyatt looked up, a smudge of dirt on his cheek. "I learned to set traps from the best. My Dad! And all you Sunbraves, of course." He grinned up at his father, a flash of mischievous satisfaction in his eyes. "Too bad Ruth didn't send any of the smarter guards. These bozos are gonna be too busy looking for you Shy and shiny things. None of them will get through to the ruins… without a few new bruises at least."

"Good," Sylven affirmed. "Keep it up. We need every advantage."

Griff squinted at the treeline, one boot braced on a root, the other sinking deeper into the muck than he'd expected.

"Bloody muck," he grunted, yanking his leg free with a squelch. "If I didn't know better, this place is hellbent on eating us alive!"

Roddick snorted behind him. The rest of the guards, a sorry bunch of desperate men with rusty blades, wet socks, and even damper morale, were spread out around the edge of the clearing.

Griff had figured it would be easy. They could just sweep through the site, grab whatever glittered, stomp on anything underfoot.

They'd followed the light, its glow rising from the trees like a beacon, and found the terrifying maw of the Shard Warden glaring right at their faces, prompting a panicked retreat.

But a few hours later when the light dimmed and only silence filtered through the trees, they tentatively peeked back into the clearing and spotted none of their quarry. Not even the behemoth.

But they had the distinct feeling they were being watched.

"Fan out," he muttered, waving his sword vaguely. "Look out for anything that could be loot or trouble. Don't touch anything without checking for traps."

No sooner had he said it than a guard jabbed at a moss-covered stone with the tip of his sword. There was a snick and a whump and a cloud of dark powder puffed up right at the victim's eye level.

The man shrieked, dropped his weapon, and began frantically rubbing his face. "It burns! My eyes!"

"It's just wild pepper!" Griff snapped. "You'll live. Wash it off at the next puddle."

Roddick caught up beside him, breathing hard. "We reckon they've prepped the whole perimeter. You so much as breathe on anythin' and somethin' nasty pops out! I nearly got blinded meself!"

"Good," Griff grunted, letting slip the cruel satisfaction in his voice. "Means they're scared."

"One of the boys stabbed his own reflection, got glass in his cheek for his trouble," Roddick muttered.

A loud yelp cut through the undergrowth ahead, followed by the unmistakable twang of a sprung cord.

Griff sighed.

"Go check," he said, not turning. "Whoever gets caught in a net again, we're not cutting him out next time."

He stepped into the boundary of the outer ruins, his foot paused just over the remnants of an archway that came up to his calf, little wider than his shoulders. He saw a shimmering line laced into the stone, almost invisible.

"Clever little pests," he muttered.

Then his foot went down and didn't stop dropping. The floor fell out, revealing a pit that went down to his knees, deep enough to sprain his ankle. He then tripped forward into a sheet of sticky netting that stuck to his face and blade.

He roared and sliced through, but the blade gummed up, ruining its cutting edge. Behind him, someone choked back laughter. He didn't even turn to look.

"I'll bust the balls of whoever I catch smiling!"

He staggered upright and looked around. No sign of Shy, kobolds, or their allies.

But he could feel them, tiny eyes boring into his soul at the periphery of his vision. The glow from the golem broke through the mist, but if ever they lost that light, they'd be walking in blind.

"Keep pushing," he said. "They've dug in, but we better have eyes on them before nightfall."

A long pause, and then a small voice from the shadows replied, sounding surprisingly close.

"Oh, you'll see us, alright," it boasted. "But by then, you'll wish you'd minded your step."

Within snapping range of the Shard Warden, Veyran was tweaking one of the arclith anchors, testing how wide a radius they could risk before losing its effect on the golem. He was so intent on the task he didn't notice's Vazko approach.

"You're injured," the older brother noted, much as he would a mount or man under his command.

"So are you," Veyran shot back. "Looks like you Deepguard never did try out my ideas for improving your armor."

"Because your ideas always cost too much arclith."

"I believe that won't be an issue anymore," Veyran sighed and finally turned with a grin on his face. "You're sounding more and more like Father."

Vazko stepped closer. The silence between them stretched, tinged with old disagreements and suppressed sentiments.

"I should've found you sooner," Vazko conceded. "I had a feeling you'd end up beyond the caldera. If the Deep couldn't contain you, what hope would the Sunveil?"

"Well, by letting me runoff, you were being a bad Deepguard, but a rather good brother," Veyran acknowledged.

After a long pause, Veyran reached into his pouch and held out folded, water-stained scraps of paper, maps, diagrams and half-finished notes.

"These are all I have to show you for the trouble I caused," Veyran admitted.

His brother looked at the bundle and crossed his arms. "I knew you made your choice for a good reason."

"I never thought it would turn out to be such a dangerous path," he explained, fanning out the muddle. "Now, these are nothing like all the staid, safe bum-wipes they publish in the Deep ad nauseum."

Vazko raised his eyebrows, then expanded his gaze to take in Rhiannon and Menna further in the background, working in rotation around the different anchor points, trying out different shards and spells.

"You never were good at figuring out that relationships can be just as valuable as research, my dear brother." Vazko's grey eyes gazed intently at his brother's face. "And in that respect, you've already gained far more than any Deepshy master can boast."

"I just… wanted you to know that I didn't betray any of our people's most valued secrets," Veyran stressed. "Not the way you think. I'd long stopped believing that our knowledge was the only kind worth guarding."

"I know," Vazko replied. "That's why I'm standing here with you, not rushing to drag you back." He clasped a gloved hand on his Veyran's shoulder and winked. "For now…"

Veyran exhaled. "That's the nicest threat I've heard all week."

The brothers smiled at each other, in that moment seeming more alike than apart.

From the first ring of obstacles past the Warden's line of sight came a very loud thunk, and a very human string of curses. The traps continued to keep the outsiders at bay.

Sela emerged from the treeline, ducking through the barriers of bent reeds. "One of them nearly made it past the moat!" she reported. "We've packed it with thorns, but that won't be enough if they regroup."

Menna looked up at the Sunbrave. "Any casualties?"

Sela shook her head. "Just injuries. They'll be more cautious now. Watch their footing better."

"We might not have much longer to finish tuning the shards." Menna warned. "Once they breach the barriers... we still can't predict exactly how the Warden will react."

With Sela rushing off to Mara to convey the latest developments, Menna proceeded to check the next anchor point in her rotation. She pressed her hand to the arclith, fingers splayed to feel its thrum through her palm. She had been monitoring their pulse rhythm for hours, but something was different from her last set of measurements.

"Veyran," she called out. "The pulses are shifting."

The Deepshy had one eye squinting behind a lens, watching light ripple through the shards. A brass filament, scavenged from clockwork scraps, vibrated in time inside a bamboo tube, playing a note keyed to the shard frequencies.

"I didn't think this configuration would even stabilize, let alone harmonize," Veyran muttered. "It's not just pinning the Warden…"

Menna looked at him sharply. "Then what do you think it's doing?"

Veyran didn't answer. Instead, he adjusted the prism tool, catching the glow from the central point of the triangle and projecting it onto a nearby wall clad with a mosaic of archaic Shy script, mostly eroded.

The light struck the stones, and the weathered surface began to transform, shimmering as if viewed from behind a veil of heat distortion. Glyphs blazed to life. Lines of power connected, their patterns aligning.

"All this active arclith is charging up the traces," he breathed. "Reviving systems that were never meant to lie dormant."

"The arc-tech all seems to date from before the sealing of the Sunveil." Menna's mind raced. "You think the Warden's presence is recharging them?"

"No," Veyran said, eyes narrowing. "We are."

Veyran turned, and for a change, his voice carried no arrogance, only awe.

"The shards aren't just holding the Warden in place," he said. "They're energizing the ruins themselves. This whole complex, it's not just a settlement. It's a machine. And we've powered it on."

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