CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

The Artisan's Fire

Lirien's words hung in my mind like a fog that wouldn't lift. Taking control of District 98—replacing the council with herself as sole leader. Treason wasn't a strong enough word for it, but the thought alone didn't shock me as much as it should've. What unsettled me more was how possible it felt. She could do it. She might already be doing it.

I stood in District 97's ruined streets, watching workers haul crates under the ward's dim glow. My hands twitched, itching to join them, to lose myself in the simple rhythm of labor. But my head wouldn't quiet. Lirien wasn't just eyeing 98; she was sinking roots here, too, in the ashes of a district barely holding on. The pieces were falling into place, and I couldn't shake the feeling I was one of them, a tool in her hand whether I liked it or not.

Back home, they probably thought we were dead, chainrunners sent to face a breach, swallowed by the fog. When we returned, scars and all, we'd be heroes. Lirien would step into that light, her chainrunner unit at her back, veterans now, their faces hard from battle, their pride burning brighter than the ward's runes.

They'd follow her anywhere after what they'd survived. And with the artifacts we'd gathered—she'd have power no family could match. Then there was the Frost Titan. She called it a weapon, something to loom over anyone who dared say no.

I shifted my weight, Hazeveil brushing my shoulders. Could she pull it off? Yes. The chainrunner unit was hers, their morale high, hands still shaking from victory but ready to grip swords again. And Wulric… I pictured him towering over District 98's center, ice glinting, sockets flaring. Not rampaging, not killing—just standing there, a threat no one would test. Lirien didn't need to spill much blood to win; fear would do the work.

I didn't know if her rule would heal the district or break it. A council could be slow, petty, but it spread power thin. Lirien alone? She'd be iron, unbending. If people fought back, and I was sure they would, what then? Would we cut them down? Humans, not beasts. The thought twisted in my gut, sour and heavy. I'd killed in the fog, survived by instinct, but facing someone from the ward made my chest tighten.

Around me, District 97 was changing, grinding into motion despite its wounds. Thousands of beast corpses littered the ward. They weren't just bodies anymore; they were wealth. A building nearby hummed with new purpose, its doors wide as men carried in scales and came out with sketches—plans for weapons, armor, tools. The air buzzed with it, a strange hope rising from the ruin.

Lirien's plan kept circling back. She wasn't stopping at 98; I saw it now. District 97 was weak, its people broken but loyal to anyone who'd fought for them. Like us. Like her. She was building something here, too, while the council back home argued over scraps.

Part of me wanted to let it happen, to believe she'd make things better, stronger district, more food, fewer deaths. She'd led us through the breach, hadn't she? But another part screamed caution. What if she was wrong? What if her control crushed more than it saved? The chainrunners had changed in the battle; their eyes were sharp, almost wild, ready to march to hell if she pointed the way. I'd seen that look before, in the fog, on beasts hunting as one.

I lifted a crate, heavier this time, my tentacles twitching under Hazeveil, eager to help but held back. I wanted to hide in the work, let someone else, some other piece of me, decide what was right. But there was no one else.

I paused, watching a young man named Lucious direct a team near a new workshop. He waved a schematic, pointing at a pile of bones, his voice loud with ideas. Mateo, the Chainrunner captain of this district, nodded beside him, already carving a tusk into something sharp.

I turned away, Lirien's plan still gnawing at me. Was I just her weapon, like Wulric? Or could I choose something else? The thought lingered, unanswered, as the district hummed around me, alive with purpose I wasn't sure I shared.

***

District 97 hummed with a restless energy, its streets alive with the clatter of crates and the shouts of workers. I'd slipped away from the main bustle, drawn to a squat building at the edge of the crafting quarter. Inside, Mateo and Lucious were at it again, hunched over a workbench littered with beast parts—claws, fangs, scales glinting like grim treasures. Every day brought something new: a weapon, a tool, sometimes just a spark of an idea that fizzled out. Most didn't work, but I couldn't stop watching. Hidden in the shadows, I felt like a kid peering into a world I wasn't meant to understand yet.

I crouched high on a column, Hazeveil cloaking me in darkness, its evolved threads drinking in the lamplight. My tentacles twitched beneath it, ready to catch me if I slipped, but I stayed still, eyes fixed on the scene below. Mateo stood tall, his broad shoulders steady as he studied a schematic, a beast tooth rolling between his scarred fingers, a habit he fell into when puzzling something out.

His red sash, faded and patched, hung at his waist, a quiet mark of his role as District 97's Chainrunner captain. Since the breach, he'd taken on more; he merged the guards into his unit after their captain fell, making him the leader of every warrior left in this shattered place. His gravelly voice cut through the workshop's din. "Careful with those fangs," he called to a group hauling crates, their contents flashing silver under the lamps.

Lucious darted nearby, wiry and restless, his ink-stained hands clutching a rune-etched slate. His hazel eyes flicked between a claw on the bench and the schematic Mateo held, like he could see the answer if he stared hard enough. His messy hair, tied back with a cord, caught flecks of metal dust that shimmered as he moved. "Not those," he snapped, waving the workers off. "The serpent fangs, over there." He pointed to another crate, brimming with coiled, venomous spikes. I leaned forward, curious.

Today's experiment was a launcher, a rough metal tube meant to fire a claw like a bolt, powered by mana. I'd seen it before, watched it spark and fail, but they kept at it. Mateo adjusted the schematic, his voice calm but firm. "The runic inscription's off. It's pulling too much mana, too fast." He traced a line on the paper, his limp barely noticeable as he shifted weight off his bad leg.

Lucious frowned, tapping his slate rhythmically, like he was matching a ward's pulse. "Maybe," he muttered, but his tone said he wasn't convinced. He grabbed the launcher, slotting a claw into its barrel, and muttered something about flow rates.

Stolen novel; please report.

The workshop buzzed around them, with workers sorting bones, others hammering beast hide into armor strips. Crates lined the walls, stuffed with remains from the breach: thousands of corpses, now fuel for District 97's rebirth. I'd helped haul them, but here they were something else, raw potential shaped by hands that hadn't forgotten Araksiun's old ways.

Not all knowledge was lost. The city's records, fragmented as they were, still held secrets about runes, alloys, and ways to bridge science and mana. Mateo and Lucious pored over them, scraps of parchment pinned to boards, their edges yellowed but legible.

They lacked materials back then, not ideas. Now, with mountains of beast parts, they had what they needed. Lucious was the spark, his mind leaping from one design to the next, reckless but brilliant. Mateo grounded him, a fighter who knew what worked in the fog. Together, they were unraveling Araksiun's past, testing theories most would've called impossible.

I sketched as I watched, my charcoal scratching faint lines on a scrap of paper. The launcher glowed briefly, mana surging through its runes, then crack, a burst of flame erupted from the barrel. The claw shot out, embedding in a wall with a thud, but the launcher itself was scorched, tendrils of smoke curling up. "Not again," Lucious groaned, tossing it onto a pile of failed prototypes. Workers rushed over, dousing the flames with buckets of water, their curses muffled but sharp.

I stifled a laugh, sketching the explosion's arc. It was crude, sure, but fascinating; mana wasn't just power; it was stubborn, tricky, like the fog itself. I wasn't the only one dabbling in runes, not anymore. Given time, they'd crack it, I thought, tracing the launcher's shape. My crimson core hummed faintly, picking up the workshop's mana traces, but I stayed hidden, Hazeveil's shadows tight around me.

The flames grew, licking at the bench, and Lucious swore, kicking a crate. Mateo stayed calm, already flipping through the schematic. "Slow the intake," he said, pointing to a rune. "It's overloading the conduit." But the fire spread, and then boom, the launcher shattered, shards clattering across the floor. The noise echoed, loud enough to shake dust from the rafters. I froze, clutching my sketch, as footsteps approached from outside.

Lirien stepped through the doorway, her presence like a blade cutting the chaos. Her leather armor gleamed faintly, her bow slung across her back, and her eyes swept the room with that unyielding calm. "Another failure?" she asked, voice cool, expectant.

Lucious spun to face her, his lopsided grin more grimace than smile. "Yes," he said, clipped, brushing ash from his apron. "But we're closer."

Lirien's gaze flicked to a stack of schematics on a nearby table, new designs half-drawn. "What about these?" she asked, tapping one with a gloved finger.

Lucious stared, dumbfounded. "Those? Concepts, not ready. We don't even know if they're possible." His voice was tight, hazel eyes narrowing. He looked like he'd rather eat the paper than explain.

"Time I don't have," Lirien said, her stern face unmoved, a captain used to getting her way.

Lucious bristled, stepping forward. "That's your problem, not mine. I'm an artist; this is art. Great work takes time." He gestured at the crates, the beast parts splayed out like a twisted gallery, with claws pinned to boards, hides stretched taut, fangs gleaming in rows. To him, it was beautiful.

Mateo cleared his throat, stepping between them, his mace artifact clinking at his belt. "Sorry, Captain Lirien," he said, voice steady, respectful. "These are taking longer than we thought. The records show how runes should work, but the parameters; we're still testing." He held up the schematic, pointing to a faded Araksiun note, his calm a bridge over Lucious' fire.

I watched, perched high, Hazeveil's shadows cool against my skin. Mateo's deference surprised me—a man commanding District 97's warriors, yet careful with her. Lirien's influence reached even here, pushing them to churn out weapons, equipment, anything to arm her chainrunners for District 98. She wasn't just preparing; she was building an arsenal.

"Something simpler, then," Lirien said, sharper now. "My patience is running out."

Lucious opened his mouth, but Mateo shot him a look, quick and firm. "It'll be done," Mateo said, nodding. "A few weeks, and your chainrunners will have what they need. My word."

Lirien's lips curved, a dry smile. "Good." Then her eyes flicked up, straight to me.

My heart skipped. How? Hazeveil cloaked me perfectly, its shadows thick even in daylight. I was high, out of sight, silent. "Oh, damn," I muttered, my sketch slipping in my grip. She'd known all along.

"Seems you have visitors," she said, voice lighter, almost amused.

Lucious laughed, shaking his head. "Visitors? No chance. This place is locked tight; nobody gets in without clearance." He gestured at the guards outside, oblivious to me.

They had a perimeter, sentries, but nothing my cloak couldn't slip through. I'd been coming for days, drawn to their work like it was Elina's advanced class, only sharper, rawer. Their schematics sparked ideas I hadn't voiced, runes I wanted to try. I hadn't asked permission—didn't think I needed to, since no one saw me. Until now.

"Someone did," Lirien said, laughing softly, pointing up. "Not that I expected him to be stopped. Just curious, as always."

My face warmed, caught like a kid sneaking sweets. I let Hazeveil's shadows fade, the cloak rippling as I stood. No point hiding. I dropped, tentacles catching the column's edge, swinging me down smooth and quiet, landing with a soft thud. "Sorry," I said, brushing off my hands. "Didn't mean to bother."

Mateo's eyes widened, his tooth pausing mid-roll. Lucious blinked, then grinned, like he'd found a friend. The workers froze, staring; none had clocked me up there, not once. "It's you," Lucious said, stepping forward. "No problem, kid. Someone who gets art like you? Stay anytime." He shot a glance at Lirien, his tone pointed, like she was the one who didn't see the beauty in his mangled claws and scorched launchers.

Lirien's gaze lingered on the beast parts, with guts strung up, hides half-stitched, fangs in piles. Her eyebrow twitched, a silent jab at his "art." They locked eyes, tension thick, like they could spark another explosion just staring. I shifted, uncomfortable, my sketch crumpled in my hand.

The quiet stretched too long. I cleared my throat, holding up my drawing. "Maybe increase the bone density here," I said, pointing to the launcher's frame. "Bones hold mana well and could take the overload without burning."

Lucious snatched it, eyes lighting up. "Fabulous," he said, waving it at Mateo. "Look at this!" I couldn't tell if he meant it or was just dodging Lirien's glare. Mateo nodded, studying the sketch, his face unreadable.

People had been like this since the breach, careful around me, like I'd snap if they spoke wrong. Dain said it was gratitude, but it grated, made me feel like a beast they tiptoed past. I wasn't here to be praised.

"Omen," Lirien said, cutting through. "You're not an artisan. Don't waste time here." She stepped closer, her eyes gleaming with something heavy, expectant. "I was looking for you. We have matters to discuss."

I froze, my tentacles curling under Hazeveil. That look was about District 98, her plan, maybe worse. Something ominous waited in her words, and I wasn't sure I wanted to follow her to it.

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