CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

Farewell to Lies

"Mi lord, mi lord!" A voice rang out, sharp with urgency, paired with a knock that jolted me awake. I lay in a wide bed, silk sheets tangled around me, in the same room at Camilla's mansion where I'd first stirred after the breach. The ceiling's carved beams loomed, gilded in dawn's light.

I shuffled to the door, rubbing sleep from my eyes, and opened it to find a young maid, her face bright with a smile that could've lit the fog itself. Her apron was crisp, her braid tight, her eyes sparking with a warmth I couldn't muster. "Mi lord, you'll be late if you dawdle!" she chirped, thrusting a bundle of clothes at me, beast-leather, tailored for what she called the "grand day".

"Thank you," I mumbled, taking the clothes, my tone flat, no trace of her enthusiasm.

"Mi lord, you oughta smile more!" she said, undeterred, her grin widening. "The fog's dangerous, sure, but today's different. You'll be home soon!" She gestured to a side room, steam rising from a prepared bath. "Water's hot, all set for you." She thought I feared the run, like any chainrunner might, but I actually feared the arrival.

I nodded, closing the door, her footsteps fading. She was around my age, maybe sixteen, her cheer a stark contrast to my exhaustion. Camilla, ever thoughtful, had brought to the mansion younger staff since I'd returned, likely hoping staying near people my age would ease me.

I'd overheard her orders through the walls, her voice soft but firm. But no amount of kindness could lift the burden. "Almost fourteen," I muttered, glancing at my reflection in a polished mirror. My eyes were too old, no one treated me like a boy—not Camilla, not the guards, not even the ghosts.

Six months had passed since we arrived, and the truth I'd uncovered at the Obelisk gnawed at me. Our chainrunners, led by Lirien, had sabotaged the ward, killed the council, and triggered the breach for power. I'd wanted to confront her, to expose the lie, but what good would it do? District 97 thrived now—beast-leather cloaks, full bellies, warm homes.

Exposing the truth would shatter their hope, their future. So I stayed silent, accepting the sin as much as Lirien, but I swore I'd never be her tool again. I wasn't just a blade for Rule One or a pawn for Rule Two.

Heroism, I'd learned, was a lie. Elina's tales of brave warriors fighting evil rang hollow. Songs in taverns exalted me, the boy who slew the Vyrithax, tales spun wild with exaggerated blows. District 97 hailed us as saviors, but we'd brought the ruin they thanked us for. Was this how heroes were made? On betrayal, on blood? I hated it, but the district's prosperity, born of that same blood, stared me in the face. I vowed to do better, to be no one's instrument, to carve truth where lies had grown.

I bathed, the hot water easing my aches, then dressed in the new chainrunner clothes, their stitching marked with "Artifact Holder" and my name. Without hesitation, I draped Hazeveil over them, its familiar weight grounding me. The maid knocked again. "C'mon, mi lord, hurry!" she urged, her voice bubbling, her boots tapping as she led me through the mansion's halls.

We reached the district's central plaza, a sea of faces gathered. Stalls brimmed with smoked meat, children laughed, their boots new, their cloaks thick. The crowd buzzed, their eyes on a raised platform where Camilla stood, radiant in a serpent-hide cloak. Lirien flanked her, her face sharp, her presence a shadow. The district had come to bid us farewell, to honor District 98's chainrunners before our run home.

Camilla raised her hands, and the crowd hushed, her presence commanding yet warm, the "person of the people" they adored. "Today, we say farewell," she began, her voice clear, carrying over the plaza. "But what you've done will never fade. District 98 isn't just our neighbor—you're family now, bound by blood and sacrifice." Her smile was genuine, her eyes sweeping the crowd, lingering on me for a moment, warm but knowing. She gestured to the rebuilt streets, the glowing forges, the children playing. "Together, we've built a future, and it starts today."

The crowd cheered, hands raised, voices shouting, "Chainrunners!" My gut twisted, the monocle's cord heavy, my mist curling at my boots. Camilla was regent now, loved by all, her rule meant to be temporary but clearly permanent. Yet I knew she answered to Lirien, whose gaze swept the plaza, cold and calculating. Six months ago, we'd come as strangers; now, we left as heroes, but the lie of our heroism burned.

This run would be different, not just for the lie we carried, but for what we'd become.

We'd arrived six months ago with a few dozen chainrunners, losing nearly two dozen to the breach's chaos. Yet now, our ranks swelled to around 150, bolstered by District 97's survivors—civilians who'd held barricades, guards who'd bled beside us. They'd chosen to join us, to become chainrunners, to call District 98 home.

These weren't raw recruits; they'd faced beasts, survived the breach, and trained rigorously in the months since, their discipline sharp, rivaling veterans who'd braved the fog for years. I watched them stand in formation, their new armor glinting, their eyes steady, a unit forged in blood.

Lucious and Mateo had outdone themselves, their workshop a furnace of innovation. Last month, they'd distributed new chainrunner gear, crafted from ebony beast hides—diremaws, shoggoths, and the like—lighter than steel yet stronger, runes etched deep into the leather.

Even the heavy chainrunners, those who drew beasts' attention, wore it, the armor's protection surpassing any metal mined in the districts. The runes, glowing faint silver, granted strength, agility, and, at my suggestion, kinetic absorption. A chainrunner could take a beast's blow, be thrown against a wall, and rise unscathed. The boots, crafted from the same hides, reduced fatigue and boosted speed, especially in the fog's mana-rich air. The gear made us more than men, a force to rival the fog's horrors.

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The armor's secret lay in its ebony core, embedded in each suit, cycling mana to power its runes. The boots and other gear relied on ambient mana, but if pushed too far, they'd falter, needing time to recharge. None were true artifacts, but people already called them "sub-artifacts," a term whispered with awe in the markets. I adjusted my own armor, its fit perfect, the runes humming under my fingers, though its strength paled against my core's power.

My thoughts broke as Gorin strode up, Gustav at his side. Gorin grinned, his eyes bright with pride. "How's it feel, Omen?" he asked, slapping his chest, the runes flaring briefly. "This gear's somethin' else, yeah?"

Gustav, grizzled and broad, snorted, his veteran's scowl softened by a glint of excitement. "Sub-artifacts, they're calling them. Who'd'a thought we'd get toys like this?" His voice was rough, proud, a chainrunner through and through, his scars a map of fog runs.

"It's solid," I said, my tone even, "but they're sub-artifacts for a reason, not true artifacts."

"Ye, ye," Gorin laughed, rubbing a rune on his gauntlet, its glow pulsing. "Maybe not for you, freezing beasts and lifting boulders, but for us? This stuff's a game-changer. Ain't no one outrunning me now." His casual tone hid his past reluctance, his forced years as a chainrunner even though his sentence ended last month.

He was right. The armor's edge—speed, strength, resilience—wasn't much for me, my core already surpassing it, but for them, braving the fog, it was a miracle. "Lucious is a genius," I said, meaning it. "Crafting this many in half a year? I can't wait to see what's next."

Gustav barked a laugh, his beard twitching. "Genius? Sure, but a mad bastard, too. Last time I dropped off a message at his workshop, I saw carvings—nasty shit, eyes and mouths, scratched into the walls. Reckon he's half-crazed, maybe worse." His tone was half-joking, half-wary, a veteran's skepticism.

I stifled a chuckle, the tension in my chest easing. "Aye, saw that myself," Gorin chimed in, mimicking Gustav's gruffness. "Proper creepy, like he's worshipping something foul." His grin was sly, but his eyes flicked to me, searching.

I met his gaze, a thought striking. "Gorin, your sentence ended last month, didn't it? You're free to leave the chainrunners once we are back." A hint of curiosity in my face.

He shifted, his grin fading. "Yeah, about that… I'm stayin'. Sentence or no, this is me now." His voice was firm, no trace of the reluctant man forced into the fog. The breach, the blood, had changed him, just as it had me.

I nodded, respect warming my core. Wulric had volunteered, but Gorin, once dragged into this life, now chose it. Before I could reply, Dain approached, his stern face framed by his armor, his arm healed. "Ready, Omen?" he asked, his voice clipped, eyes scanning the plaza.

"Yes," I said, certain. I'd move the Frost Titan, Wulric, his ice form glowing with mana, reborn months ago under my command. He obeyed me alone, his power immense but untested for a run. I'd spent months charging him, yet the mana cost of bringing him home remained unclear.

"Let's move," Dain said, turning, his boots clicking on the stone. I followed, but paused, glancing at Lirien on the platform, her posture rigid, no guilt in her eyes for the sabotage, the lives lost. My vow burned hotter: I'd never let this happen again, not to District 98, not to my home. The chainrunners, 150 strong, stood ready, their sub-artifacts gleaming, a force reborn. The fog awaited, but we were no mere men.

***

The plaza's cheers faded as Camilla's speech ended, District 97's people pressing closer. I stood atop the Frost Titan's shoulder, Wulric's ice form solid beneath me, his mana pulsing like a second heart

Below, the Chainrunners moved, boots firm on the stone, assembling near the ward's edge where the main road stretched toward District 98.

The sub-artifacts and the increase in numbers changed everything, not just our strength but our tactics. More warriors meant more beasts drawn, especially with ebony cores glowing like bait.

"TO YOUR LINES!" Lirien's voice boomed, amplified by a runic tool from Lucious's workshop, cutting through the noise. She stood below, her posture commanding, unyielding as ever.

They split into six units, each about twenty-five strong, their movements precise. Five units formed a ring around the Frost Titan, tasked with protecting Wulric as we moved. The sixth, led by Lirien, would shift to the flanks, reinforcing wherever beasts struck hardest, taking the brunt of attacks.

My role was clear: perched on Wulric's shoulder, I'd guard against aerial beasts, while hurling ice spears to aid the units below, my core's power a weapon none could match. The crowd murmured, awed by the Titan's size, its icy glow, and the chainrunners' gleaming ranks.

Truth be told, I could've shrouded Wulric and myself in mist, slipping through the fog unseen—my mist wouldn't harm his ice. But Lirien insisted the Titan march with us, a symbol for District 98's "emotional impact," as she called it. Controlled destruction wasn't Wulric's strength; his power was raw, unpredictable, so he would not fight and instead we had to protect him.

Luckily, his pace was fast enough to match the chainrunners' enhanced speed. I tightened my grip, my core steady, and swore no one would die for Lirien's politics. Not today at least.

The ward's runes pulsed, their light steady, the road beyond fading into fog. District 97's people lined the streets, waving, some weeping, their voices soft but fervent. "Safe run!" a woman called, her child waving. The chainrunners stood ready, their sub-artifacts humming, a wall of strength between the district and the fog.

"ADVANCE!" Lirien shouted, her runic tool amplifying her voice. The crowd held its breath, eyes on us, expecting motion. But Wulric didn't move and the chainrunners stayed put, their units fixed around us. Silence fell, heavy, the air thick with tension. No one spoke, no one shifted, the crowd's murmurs dying. Lirien's gaze snapped to me, her jaw tight, but I stared back from Wulric's shoulder, my eyes unyielding.

I delayed, deliberate, two minutes stretching, my mist coiling. This was my defiance, a message to Lirien: I was no tool, not hers, not anymore. The sabotage, the lies, the blood—she bore no guilt, but I'd sworn to prevent another. The chainrunners waited, their silence a mirror of my resolve. District 97 watched, confused, the ward's hum the only sound.

Finally, I leaned forward, my voice low but firm. "Forward," I said, and Wulric stirred, his icy limbs creaking, each step rumbling the earth. The chainrunners moved as one, their boots thudding, the five units pacing the Titan, Lirien's sixth peeling to the flank. The crowd roared, cheers erupting. I glanced back, District 97 shrinking, its lights swallowed by fog. My core burned, my vow unbroken. Home awaited, but the truth came with me.

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