The Upper Wards of Ironhaven gleamed under gaslight, their polished brass facades a stark contrast to the Lower Wards' grime. Elias Varn kept his head low, his coat collar up against the fog's chill as he and Mara moved through the streets. The Gearheart thrummed against his chest, its runes faintly warm, like a pulse warning him of the danger ahead. Mara walked beside him, her satchel of tools clinking softly, her pistol hidden under her jacket. The orb, still dim from its burnout at the Cog Altar, hung at her belt, its runes dark but restless. The Gearwright temple loomed in the distance, its spire a jagged silhouette against the smog, a fortress of faith and secrets.
"Keep your eyes open," Elias muttered, scanning the street. Automatons patrolled here, their brass limbs clicking, their lenses glowing with cold precision. Council enforcers, too, would be watching—Veyra's orders, no doubt. The vision of Thane's death, the blueprint, the woman's voice, The heart will wake, gnawed at him. If the lab was under the temple, they were walking into the Order of the Cog's lair.
Mara nodded, her cap pulled low. "Temple's got sentinels like the one we fought. My orb's not charged enough to stop them again." She glanced at him, her eyes sharp. "Your pendant's glowing, Varn. You sure you're up for this?"
Elias's hand brushed the Gearheart, its heat grounding him. The visions were coming faster now—flashes of gears, blood, a chamber of fire—but he couldn't let them slow him. "I'm fine," he said, his voice rougher than he meant. "You focus on that map."
Mara's journal, tucked in her satchel, had led them here. The sketch of the lab, hidden beneath the temple, showed tunnels marked with runes matching the Gearheart and Thane's cog. If Thane died there, they'd find proof—and maybe the blueprint from Elias's vision. But the temple was Gearwright territory, sacred ground. Trespassing meant arrest, or worse.
The street narrowed, leading to the temple's gates. Ironhaven's elite bustled past—merchants in velvet, Council aides with brass badges—none sparing a glance for two Lower Wards drifters. The gates were iron, etched with cogs and runes, guarded by two automatons, their red lenses scanning the crowd. Elias's gut tightened. "Any bright ideas?" he whispered.
Mara smirked, pulling a small device from her satchel—a brass cube with a blinking blue light. "Distraction," she said, tossing it into an alley. The cube sparked, emitting a high-pitched whine. The automatons' heads swiveled, and they lumbered toward the sound, leaving the gate clear.
"Move," Mara hissed, darting forward. Elias followed, slipping through the gates into a courtyard of polished stone. The temple rose above, its walls carved with murals of the Machine God—a figure of gears and light, hands raised over kneeling worshippers. The Gearheart pulsed, and a vision flickered: Thane kneeling before a similar mural, a blade at his throat, a woman's shadow looming. Elias shook it off, his head throbbing.
Mara led him to a side entrance, a rusted grate hidden behind a statue of a cog-crowned priest. She pried it open with a wrench, revealing a dark tunnel sloping downward. "This matches the map," she said, her voice low. "Lab's below. Stay close."
The tunnel was tight, its walls damp with condensation, pipes hissing overhead. The steamheart's pulse was faint here, but the Gearheart's hum grew stronger, like a beacon. Mara's orb flickered, its runes catching the dim light of Elias's lantern. The air felt charged, as if the temple itself was watching.
"You ever been inside?" Elias asked, his revolver ready. The memory of the sentinel's red eyes lingered, and the masked figure's warning—The god wakes soon—echoed in his mind.
"Once," Mara admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "When I stole the orb. Got in, got out, didn't look back. Gearwrights don't take kindly to thieves."
"Then why'd you do it?" Elias pressed, his eyes on her back.
Mara paused, her hand on a pipe for balance. "Because I'm tired of their secrets. The Gearwrights control everything—steamheart, city, us. That orb was my way to fight back."
Elias didn't reply, but her words hit hard. He'd lost everything to the Council's rules—his inventions, his reputation. The Gearheart was his only rebellion, and now it was pulling him into a fight he didn't understand.
The tunnel opened into a chamber, its walls lined with shelves of gears, cogs, and blueprints. At the center, a workbench held a machine—half-finished, its runes glowing red, like a smaller steamheart. Bloodstains marred the floor, dark and dry, and Elias's breath caught. "This is it," he said. "Thane died here."
Mara knelt by the stains, her face grim. "Clean cut, like in the alley. Professional." She scanned the workbench, pulling a blueprint from a pile. Its lines depicted a chamber, gears orbiting a crystal, runes scrawled in the margins. "This what you saw?"
Elias nodded, the vision replaying: Thane clutching the blueprint, the woman's blade at his throat. "That's it. The Order's building something—something to wake the Machine God."
Before Mara could respond, a clank echoed from the tunnel. Elias spun, revolver raised, as a figure stepped into the light—Councilor Veyra, her silver hair glinting, her Gearwright robes pristine. Two automatons flanked her, their lenses red and unblinking. "Detective Varn," she said, her voice smooth as steel. "You're far from your precinct."
Elias's grip tightened. "Councilor. Funny place for a stroll."
Veyra's smile was cold. "You've been poking where you don't belong. Thane's death is Gearwright business, not yours." Her eyes flicked to Mara, then the orb at her belt. "And you, tinkerer, stole from us. That orb is sacred."
"It's tech, not a relic," Mara snapped, her pistol half-drawn. "And Thane was killed for it."
Veyra's gaze hardened. "Thane was a traitor. He sought to disrupt the steamheart, to defy the Machine God. His death was justice."
Elias's head throbbed, the Gearheart burning. A vision hit: Veyra in this lab, her hands stained with blood, Thane's body at her feet. The heart must not wake, he'd said. Elias blinked, the chamber snapping back. "You killed him," he said, his voice low. "I saw it."
Veyra's smile didn't falter. "Visions, Varn? The Machine God speaks to you, does it? You're no herald—just a fool with a trinket." She raised a hand, and the automatons advanced, blades extending from their arms.
Mara fired her pistol, a blue pulse hitting one automaton. It staggered, sparks flying, but the second lunged at Elias. He dodged, firing at its lens, cracking it. The Gearheart pulsed, and a vision flashed: the blueprint's chamber, gears spinning, a crystal exploding in light. He stumbled, the automaton's blade grazing his arm.
"Elias!" Mara shouted, tossing her brass cube. It exploded in a burst of smoke, clouding the chamber. She grabbed the blueprint, pulling Elias toward a side tunnel. Veyra's voice cut through the haze: "You can't stop the awakening. The cogs turn."
They ran, the automatons' clanks echoing behind. The tunnel twisted, pipes bursting steam, and Mara's orb flickered, guiding them to a ladder. They climbed, emerging in an alley behind the temple, Ironhaven's fog swallowing them. Elias's arm bled, but he clutched the Gearheart, its warmth steadying him.
Mara panted, clutching the blueprint. "Veyra's with the Order," she said. "She's covering her tracks."
"Or setting us up," Elias said, his mind on the vision. Veyra's hands, Thane's blood—it was too clear. But why let them live? "We need to decode that blueprint. It's the key to their plan."
Mara nodded, tucking the blueprint into her satchel. "My shop's compromised. We need a safehouse."
Elias thought of Harrow's warning, the Council's eyes on them. "I know a place," he said, leading her into the fog. The Gearheart hummed, and a voice whispered, The cogs turn. Find the chamber. Ironhaven's pulse beat beneath his feet, and the Machine God's shadow grew longer.
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