Days 48–50

  Day 48 brought a clean, hard light. The field outside Saltwhistle's eastern wall lay flat and empty except for the circle.

  Blue and Indigo had spent three days carving it into the earth—concentric rings of silver and violet light that hummed with a sound felt more than heard. The air above it rippled like heat shimmer, but cold instead of warm. It had cost treasury gold, cleric blessings, and enough of the Rainbow Court's reserves that Marcus had sent word twice asking if they were certain.

  They were.

  The portal would last one day. Long enough.

  "They're coming," Raptor said.

  He stood at the edge of the circle, head angled slightly, pupils needle-thin in the morning glare. His breath was slow enough to seem borrowed from stone; his heart barely moved beneath his ribs—the Stillness Engine at work.

  "Portal's building pressure," he added. "Four large masses. Six medium. Two that burn." His eyes narrowed. "Rainbow City's end just opened. Handlers are keeping formation, but barely."

  Yara, Eliza, and the three Chain-Lords joined him. Petra settled at Yara's heel, the unnamed wolves flanking her. Bruno waited behind with the rest of the pack, positioned to move if anything came through wrong.

  Scythe didn't bother with a spyglass; he watched the portal instead, the way the light thickened at its center, the way reality seemed to lean away from the edges.

  Raptor blinked once, listening to something no one else could hear.

  "First one's stepping through," he said. "Heavy. Armored. Breathing like a forge bellows."

  The portal's surface bulged.

  Then Wall-Breaker came through.

  The great bear emerged headfirst, ram-helm gleaming, chest-plate catching the morning sun. It stepped onto Saltwhistle's soil with a weight that made the ground remember what pressure meant. Steam rose from its flanks where the portal's cold magic met living heat.

  It shook itself once, armor chiming, and moved aside.

  Formation-Breaker followed, spikes first, shoulders scraping the portal's edge with a sound like grinding stone. Where Wall-Breaker had walked with deliberate force, Formation-Breaker stalked—predatory, assessing, every step a threat held in reserve.

  The two scout bears came through together, leaner, faster, blades strapped to their forearms flashing as they bounded clear of the circle and immediately began surveying the perimeter with bright, restless intelligence.

  Merchant representatives watched from the city wall, counted by Eliza's glance: salt, rope, grain, pilots. Not close enough to be part of the arrival. Close enough to see power made manifest.

  The portal shimmered, adjusting.

  Six elk stepped through in formation, synchronized and stately. Their plate armor gleamed, platforms stable on their backs despite the dimensional transition. Men rode two of the platforms, crossbows slung and faces trying hard not to look exhilarated. The elk moved with unnatural stability, hooves striking the earth in measured rhythm.

  Harry stood apart, leaning on a cut stone, his draco-crocodilian bulk half-silhouetted. The fragment under his ribs hummed a shade brighter than yesterday, but steadier.

  The portal flared white.

  "Handlers are having trouble with the last two," Raptor said quietly. "Fire doesn't like cold magic."

  The Nightmares screamed before they appeared.

  Ember-Mane burst through the portal with mane ablaze, hooves scorching the grass black where they struck. Ash-Hoof followed half a breath later, flames licking the portal's edge, handlers barely keeping their seats as the horses fought the dimensional crossing.

  For a moment, the portal buckled silver and violet light fracturing at the edges. Then it stabilized, held, and the Nightmares stamped in furious circles, leaving charred crescents in the dirt.

  The portal's hum dropped to a lower register. Its light began to fade.

  Blue's voice carried through it, thin and distant: "Closing in sixty seconds. Clear the threshold."

  The last handler stumbled through, leather scorched, face pale. The portal contracted behind him like a closing eye.

  Then it was gone.

  Just grass and scorched earth where magic had been.

  "That's obscene," muttered Tor Wick, one of the Chain-Lords, beside her. He didn't sound displeased.

  "Efficient," Yara said.

  Harry exhaled, a rough, almost content sound. Yara saw the scales along his throat settle, the fragment's light in his chest going from jitter to low, deep glow.

  "You feel them?" she asked.

  "Yes." His voice was gravel warmed by coals. "All of them. The bears like pressure. The elk like purpose. The horses… only like fire." He paused. "They're leaning toward me. The fragment remembers them—recognition."

  “Is that good?” Eliza asked.

  “Better than silence,” Harry said. “Before, the hunger in me was alone. Well, the wolves helped, but now it’s… distributed.”

  The convoy drew closer, the ground beginning to answer their weight. Wall-Breaker’s steps made the road vibrate up through Yara’s boots. Formation-Breaker’s armor chimed faintly, metal rubbing on metal. The elk’s hooves struck like measured drums.

  The Gem warmed in her ribs, appreciative. You brought me a traveling feast.

  “Not for you,” she murmured.

  Handlers raised their hands in salute as they reached the rise. Wall-Breaker halted with a hiss of armor and breath, little chips of stone popping from the road where its forepaws struck. Formation-Breaker snorted once, steam gusting from nostrils.

  The lead elk Alpha, with broader antlers and extra plating over its chest, dipped its head in something that was almost a bow, eyes level and assessing. The Nightmares screamed once, high and triumphant, hooves scorching the packed earth where they danced.

  Merchants on the wall flinched. No one below did.

  “Welcome to Saltwhistle,” Yara said.

  The beasts didn’t understand words. They understood the tone, fragment, and the man standing half in shadow off her right shoulder.

  Harry straightened, rolling his shoulders like someone putting on a heavier cloak. “Stand,” he said quietly.

  The bears lowered their heads, not in submission but acknowledgment. The elk stilled. Ember-Mane and Ash-Hoof stamped once more, then fell into a not-quite calm, fire running slow along their manes.

  Harry’s jaw unclenched. “Better,” he said. “They… anchor me. The fragment feels less like a knife at my spine.”

  Yara nodded once. “Then we’ll use that.”

  Behind them, along the wall, merchants leaned forward with the same expression, calculating the cost of saying no to someone who marched with this.

  They brought the beasts through Saltwhistle at midday, when the sun had burned the morning fog off the water and shadows were honest.

  The city square had never held that much metal and muscle at once.

  Wall-Breaker came first, chest-ram catching the light, helm blank and implacable. Men parted without needing orders. Children stared with swallowed shrieks. Mothers pulled them back just enough to prove they were cautious, not cowed.

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  Formation-Breaker followed, spikes brushing the edges of awnings, forcing adjustments. The two scout bears loped to either side, blades strapped along their forelegs, catching the light in little flashes. They watched everything with bright, animal intelligence.

  The six elk circled the square’s edge, platforms occupied by archers and crossbowmen who moved with practiced care. Their antlers carried hooks, chains, and one wicked grappling rig. The elk’s hooves struck stone with abnormal silence, their armor absorbing impact.

  The Nightmares came last.

  Ember-Mane and Ash-Hoof tossed their heads as they entered, flame washing the air above them. Their hooves left black, glassy kisses on the cobbles with every step. The handlers kept tight reins and tighter jaws.

  At the square’s center, one of the horses stamped in irritation. A burst of flame licked out, scorching a dark circle into the stone. Heat rolled over the front ranks of onlookers. No one moved for a heartbeat.

  Then a child laughed, sharp and delighted. The sound broke the tension. Adults hissed him quiet, but the world had already heard it.

  On the balcony of the old counting house, the merchant council watched.

  Aldric stood with them, new metal glinting faintly where his sleeve rode up. His eyes were half-closed, as if listening to something under the noise.

  “The sea is patient,” he said, mostly to himself. “Those are not.”

  Yara stood below with Eliza and the Chain-Lords. Petra pressed against her leg. She tracked the expressions in the crowd: awe, fear, calculation, a dangerous flicker of pride. Saltwhistle did not like to be impressed, but it respected obvious force.

  “These march north in seven days,” she said, loud enough for the front rows, soft enough that people had to lean in. “Until then, they rest. They are not here to tear down your walls. They’re here to remind the next city what happens if it tries to burn you.”

  The words went up like a soft wind. Port ears carried them faster than drums.

  Ember-Mane stamped again, mane flaring. The scorch mark on the cobbles smoked, then cooled. The stone would bear that print longer than any proclamation.

  That night, the beast encampment lay just outside the east wall, between road and scrub. They’d fenced a broad circle of ground with heavy posts and chains, anchored deep and blessed twice. The air smelled of hot metal, animal musk, and faint fire.

  Wall-Breaker slept like a collapsed fortress, breath slow and heavy. Formation-Breaker dozed sitting up, spikes gleaming in firelight. The scouts paced, restless. The elk lay with their legs tucked under, heads upright, eyes reflecting the camp flames.

  The Nightmares did not sleep. They circled each other at opposite edges of the enclosure, hooves leaving charred crescents in the dirt.

  Harry moved among them like a man walking between thoughts. The fragment in his chest glowed a steady green, brighter whenever he neared one of the beasts, dimming when he stepped away.

  Yara found him with Petra at her side. The rest of the wolves paced the perimeter with Bruno and Scythe.

  “They quiet you,” she said.

  “They do,” he agreed. “The hunger… distributes. It’s not all in me anymore.”

  He laid a hand on Formation-Breaker’s armored flank. The great bear huffed once and leaned subtly into the touch. Where Harry’s palm met metal, Yara thought she saw a faint green-yellow light trace old seams.

  “Do they feel it?” she asked.

  “Some,” Harry said. “The bears, definitely. They lean toward the fragment like it’s a fire in winter.” He glanced at the elk. “The elk, too, but more… strategically. They don’t worship it. They factor it in.”

  “And the horses?”

  Harry’s mouth tugged in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “The Nightmares feel it and don’t care. They’d burn without it. With it, they burn more efficiently.”

  The fragment pulsed against his ribs, synchronizing for a moment with the beast-heart rhythms around them. Yara could almost hear it—a layered thrum, like distant drums out of time slowly aligning.

  "How long?" she asked. "If we march in seven days, reach the Capital… three weeks? Four?"

  "Three if we push," Harry said. "Four if we're careful. The fragment wants three."

  "And you?"

  He hesitated. "I don't know. The hunger is quieter. But it's… deeper. Less frantic, more focused. I can feel the other piece pulling and not screaming. Just steadily. Like a river that remembers where it meant to go."

  "Different than before?" Yara asked.

  "Completely." Harry looked north, where the Capital waited beyond weeks of road. "When we marched from Aethelmar and came here, every step away from the Capital felt like walking against the current. The fragment fought me. Clawed. Demanded we turn around."

  He flexed his claws, watching firelight catch on the scales. "Now? It's patient. Almost calm. It knows we're going the right way this time."

  "That's why you're steadier," Yara said.

  "That's why I can think," Harry corrected. "Before, the hunger was panic. Now it's… anticipation. Like a man who knows dinner's coming and can afford to wait for it to be cooked properly."

  Yara nodded slowly. "The spring rains are letting up. In a few more days, the northern roads will be passable instead of swamps. We'd lose a week just dragging siege beasts through mud."

  "The fragment doesn't care about mud," Harry said.

  "But the army does," Yara replied. "And the fragment needs the army to get you where you're going."

  Harry's mouth pulled into something that might have been a smile. "You're reasoning with a shard of ancient power through logistics."

  "It's working," Yara said.

  He couldn't argue that. The fragment pulsed once under his ribs, not urgent, not demanding. Just present. Waiting.

  "Seven days," Harry said. "The roads dry. The beasts and the army rest. The fragment gets stronger knowing we're finally pointed in the right direction." He paused. "And I get to remember what it feels like to not be at war with myself."

  "Use it," Yara said. "That patience. That clarity. When we reach the Capital, you'll need both."

  He glanced down at his own hands, at the claws and the thickened scales. "I'm not afraid of dying, Yara."

  "I know," she said.

  "I'm afraid of what I'll be if we're late," he said. "Not dead. Not alive. Just… function. A thing the fragments use to reach each other."

  Yara didn't soften. He deserved truth, not comfort.

  "Then we move fast," she said. "We use everything we have—Scars inside, beasts outside, Weaver below. We give you every day we can buy, and not one more."

  He huffed a rough breath that might have been gratitude. "You've made me into a monster that thinks about logistics. That's your real crime."

  "Monsters that think are harder to waste," she said.

  Wall-Breaker shifted in its sleep, the earth trembling slightly. Petra pressed closer to Harry's leg, nose twitching as if measuring his scent against the beasts'.

  "They're part of me now," he said quietly. "And I'm part of them. If I break, they might, too."

  "Then don't break," Yara said.

  Harry looked toward the north again, where the sky was just darkness and the idea of distance. "The fragment can feel it," he said. "Three weeks of march. Maybe less if the roads cooperate. It's counting days the way a man counts coins before a long-awaited purchase."

  "Let it count," Yara said. "As long as it waits."

  "It will," Harry said, and for the first time in months, he sounded certain. "It knows we're finally going home."

  “Then don’t break,” Yara said.

  The Gem warmed, approving. Use him until he reaches the edge. Then build the edge further.

  Harry looked toward the north, where the sky was just darkness and the idea of distance. “That place,” he said. “The Capital. It feels like a mouth waiting to learn whether it’s predator or prey.”

  “Let’s teach it,” Yara said.

  Later, back within the harbor keep, the sounds of the encampment were a dull thrum through stone, distant roars, occasional fire-horse screams, and chains clinking.

  Eliza found Yara at the war table, maps spread from Saltwhistle to the Capital. The Sapphire’s light traced potential lines of march. The Gem sat warm, satisfied but not sated.

  “You’re not just taking an army,” Eliza said.

  Yara didn’t look up. “No.”

  “You’re taking a statement,” Eliza continued. “Bears that break walls. Elk that carry fortresses. Horses that set fear on fire. Plus an army of Enhanced, Chainwolves, clerics, and your two dragon-things that think in troop movements.”

  Yara’s mouth twitched. “If the Crown Mage doesn’t understand words, he’ll understand shapes.”

  Eliza moved closer, eyes on the map. “Inside: Buck, Wren, Pike, Loom, and the shadow scouts. Outside: you and your beasts. Between: a queen regent and a mage who plays with fragments like children play with knives.”

  “We squeeze,” Yara said. “The Scars open gates, cut lines, break the wrong bonds. We hit hard and fast before Theodric can turn the city into a slaughter to feed his shard.”

  “And if he won’t negotiate?” Eliza asked.

  “I take what Harry needs,” Yara said. “The fragment. And whatever else I have to.”

  Silence stretched for a heartbeat.

  Eliza’s gaze stayed on the map, on the little inked marks indicating garrisons and granaries. “The men have been asking questions,” she said. “The Enhanced ones. About families.”

  “About pay?”

  “About children,” Eliza said softly. “About whether they’ll ever have any. Some of them have tried. Nothing takes.”

  Yara’s jaw tightened. “Binding stops new growth?”

  “Perhaps,” Eliza said. “Or perhaps we’re missing something. Either way, it means your empire doesn’t have a future unless you find one.”

  “Mark it for later,” Yara said, too quickly.

  Eliza’s lips pressed thin. “You keep saying that.”

  “Because we have a Capital to take before we can fix what we’ve broken,” Yara said. “One problem at a time.”

  Eliza nodded slowly. “Just remember: if there’s no next generation, every battle you win is just… delaying collapse, and you are possibly making the issue worse. You will keep adding enhanced.”

  Yara looked at the map. At the routes. At the cities she already held.

  “Then I’ll make sure what we build is worth existing for one lifetime,” she said. “And if I can, I’ll buy them more. I have some hope… the sapphire showed Petra with a cub. That means in at least one future she can have one.”

  The Gem purred. Creation is just consumption that got sentimental.

  Eliza heard none of that, but she watched Yara’s face and saw the flicker of it. “We’ll talk about it again,” she said. “After the Capital. If we’re still alive.”

  “We will be,” Yara said. “Or our problems end there.”

  Day 50. The war council met at dawn.

  The war room table now carried more markers; carved pieces representing bears, elk, wolves, clerics, Scars, and standard infantry. Yara stood at its head. Eliza, Scythe, Bruno, Harry, the Chain-Lords, Aldric, Renn, and Ilan all present. Marcus’s image flickered in the mirror-circle, looking more tired than when they’d left him in Aramore’s care.

  “We march in five days,” Yara said. No preamble. “Day 55. Three weeks’ push north. Faster if weather and supply cooperate.”

  “Aramore tomorrow?” Marcus asked.

  “Yes. Day 51 through the circle. We return on Day 52 with thirty more Enhanced and one additional cleric. Days 53 and 54 are final prep. Then we head for the Crown.”

  Garrison assignments followed, clipped and precise:

  “Ilan stays,” Yara said. “Cleric and conscience. Fifty regulars, twenty Enhanced. Chain-Lords in command of the walls and the watch. Aldric holds the harbor and the council.”

  Aldric inclined his head. “Saltwhistle will still be standing when you return. Or when word reaches us that you’ve made something else of the world.”

  “Weaver will keep threads here,” Eliza added. “Any sign of Splinter remnants or Capital tricks, we’ll know.”

  Harry’s fragment pulsed once. “The other piece is louder every day. It will be ready when we arrive.”

  “Then so will we,” Yara said.

  The council broke into tasks. Maps were rolled, orders carried. Outside, the city moved in its new rhythm.

  Yara lingered at the table. Four cities held—one waiting. The Sapphire showed her the shape of what might come. The Gem hummed, eager for it.

  “Or dies trying,” she said, to the empty room and the map that was already out of date.

  The world did not answer. It rarely did in advance.

  Thanks for reading! If you're enjoying the series, please consider leaving a comment or rating.

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  Dark steampunk fantasy

  The world of Rohana exists beneath a barrier of luminous crosses that has enclosed humanity in a dome. Within it, people bow to Rohai and his Church of Harmony, who have divided the world into city dwellers who harness crystal technology and villagers who reject it.

  Haran Baratti fled his homeland with his infant son, Heron, and found refuge in a remote village in a neighboring country. But the sanctuary they seek does not last, and events revolving around Haran's past leave Heron alone, forcing him to return to his father's homeland. But to get there, he can only do it by obtaining a special passport, which will allow him to travel to different kingdoms.

  Having been raised in a different culture, Heron will have to navigate a world of mechanical cities powered by crystalline powers and governed by various social structures. There he'll meet allies and face dangerous foes. And those whom he encounters have secrets; some of them, if revealed to the public, may reshape the very foundations of the Rohana Federation. Will Heron, in learning those secrets, realize that maybe some of those secrets should have stayed buried?

  What to expect:

  ? Dark steampunk-inspired power fantasy with extensive world-building

  ? Magic systems where power comes at a psychological cost

  ? Visceral, well-choreographed combat sequences

  ? Mysteries that unfold across multiple volumes

  ? Steampunk aesthetics merged with elemental magic

  ? Stories where the actors are often found in morally grey areas