Elias Varn led Mara through Ironhaven's fog, the Upper Wards' polished streets giving way to the Lower Wards' tangled alleys. His arm stung where the automaton's blade had grazed him, blood soaking his sleeve, but the Gearheart's steady pulse kept him moving. Mara followed, her satchel clutched tight, the stolen blueprint inside it a dangerous prize. Her orb hung dark at her belt, its runes silent since the temple fight. The city's steamheart thrummed faintly beneath their feet, a reminder of the Machine God's growing presence. Elias's head ached, the vision of Councilor Veyra standing over Thane's body—her hands bloody, her voice cold—looping in his mind. The cogs turn, she'd said. He wasn't sure what scared him more: her involvement with the Order of the Cog, or the fact that she'd let them escape.
"Keep up," Elias said, glancing back. Mara's face was pale, her bandaged arm stiff, but her eyes were sharp, scanning for enforcers or worse. The temple ambush had been too close, and Veyra's automatons wouldn't be far behind.
"Where are we going?" Mara asked, her voice low, edged with suspicion. "Your captain's already half in the Council's pocket. If this is a precinct safehouse, I'm out."
"Not the precinct," Elias said, turning down a narrow street lined with shuttered shops. "Old friend's place. Off the grid, no Council ties." He didn't mention that "friend" was a stretch—Joren was a smuggler, a relic from Elias's days as an inventor, before the Council crushed his dreams. Joren owed him, but trust was a rusted gear in Ironhaven.
The alley ended at a battered warehouse, its iron walls pocked with rust. Elias knocked a pattern—three quick, two slow—and the door creaked open. Joren stood there, a wiry man with a scarred face and a mechanical eye that whirred as it focused. "Varn," he said, his voice rough. "You look like hell. Who's the tinkerer?"
"Mara," she said before Elias could answer, stepping inside. Her hand hovered near her pistol, sizing Joren up. "You his snitch?"
Joren laughed, a dry rasp. "Not tonight, sweetheart. Come in, before the fog eats you."
The warehouse was a maze of crates and scrap, lit by flickering lanterns. Machines—half-built airship engines, smuggled automatons—lined the walls, their gears silent but ominous. Joren led them to a back room, a cluttered den with a table, a cot, and a stove belching steam. "Safe as it gets," he said, tossing Elias a bottle of cheap whiskey. "What's the trouble?"
Elias caught the bottle, wincing as he sat. "Council trouble. Gearwright trouble. You don't want details." He took a swig, the burn dulling his pain. Mara set her satchel on the table, pulling out the blueprint. Its lines glowed faintly under the lantern, runes scrawled around a chamber of gears and a crystal core.
Joren whistled, his mechanical eye zooming in. "That's Gearwright work. Forbidden stuff. You steal this from the temple?"
"Something like that," Mara said, her tone guarded. She spread the blueprint, pointing to the crystal. "This is a steamheart amplifier. The Order of the Cog's building it to wake something—something big."
"The Machine God," Elias said, the words heavy. Joren's eye whirred, but he didn't laugh. Smugglers knew better than to mock Gearwright faith, not when the steamheart powered their trade.
Mara traced a rune on the blueprint. "These match my orb. If the Order finishes this, they could control the steamheart—or destroy it."
Elias's head throbbed, the Gearheart pulsing. A vision hit: the chamber from the blueprint, gears spinning, a crystal blazing red, Veyra's voice chanting, The god rises. Thane's body lay in the corner, a cog in his hand, his eyes wide with betrayal. Elias gasped, gripping the table, the room snapping back.
"You alright?" Joren asked, his hand on a hidden blade under his coat.
"Fine," Elias lied, his voice hoarse. Mara's eyes locked on the Gearheart, glowing through his shirt. "What'd you see?" she asked, softer than usual.
"Thane," Elias said, forcing the words out. "In that chamber, with the crystal. Veyra was there. She killed him, took a cog like this one." He pulled Thane's cog from his pocket, its runes matching the blueprint's.
Joren leaned back, his eye whirring. "Veyra's high Gearwright. If she's with the Order, you're not just chasing a killer—you're poking a hornet's nest. The Council won't let you touch her."
"They won't have a choice," Elias said, his jaw tight. The Gearheart burned, its warmth spreading to his chest. The visions weren't just memories—they were warnings, pieces of a puzzle the Machine God wanted him to solve. Or manipulate.
Mara studied the blueprint, her fingers lingering on the crystal. "This chamber's deep in the steamheart, below the core we saw. The Order's got a head start. We need to find it before they finish the amplifier."
"First, we need to know what we're up against," Elias said. "Joren, you've got ears in the Upper Wards. What's the word on Veyra?"
Joren hesitated, his eye clicking. "She's untouchable. Runs the Gearwrights' inner circle, controls access to the steamheart. Word is, she's been meeting with rogue inventors, buying forbidden tech. Nobody knows why."
"Thane knew," Mara said, her voice sharp. "And it got him killed."
Elias stood, pacing the cramped room. The Gearheart hummed, and another vision flickered: a forge, molten steel shaping a cog, Veyra's hands guiding it, her voice whispering, The herald comes. He shook it off, his side aching. "We need to get to that chamber. If Veyra's building this amplifier, it's our only lead."
Joren snorted. "You're mad, Varn. The steamheart's core is a death trap—sentries, traps, Gearwright locks. You'll need more than a gun and a tinkerer's toy."
Mara bristled, but Elias cut in. "You got a better idea?"
Joren grinned, his scar twisting. "Maybe. I've got a contact—an ex-Gearwright, gone rogue. Knows the steamheart's layout. Costs a fortune, but he's your best shot."
"Set it up," Elias said. "Tonight."
Joren nodded, slipping out to make the call. Elias turned to Mara, who was studying her orb, its runes faintly stirring. "You're sure about this?" he asked. "Veyra knows we have the blueprint. She'll come for us."
"Let her," Mara said, her eyes fierce. "I've been running from Gearwrights my whole life. I'm done."
Elias saw something new in her—anger, yes, but also pain. "What'd they do to you?" he asked, softer than he meant.
Mara's gaze dropped. "Later, detective. We've got bigger problems." She tucked the orb away, but her hand lingered on the blueprint, as if it held answers she wasn't ready to face.
The door creaked, and Joren returned, his face grim. "Contact's meeting us at the Drowned Gear, a tavern in the Underworks. One hour. But there's a catch—he's being watched. Council enforcers, maybe Order spies."
Elias's hand rested on his revolver. "Then we move fast."
They left the warehouse, the fog thicker now, airships droning above. The Drowned Gear was a dive, buried in the Underworks' deepest slums, a haven for smugglers and outcasts. Elias led the way, his lantern barely cutting the haze. Mara's silence was heavy, her orb flickering as they descended into the tunnels.
The tavern was a cavern of noise and smoke, its tables packed with rough types—mechanics, thieves, rogue inventors. Joren pointed to a corner booth, where a man sat, his face hidden under a hooded cloak. "That's him," Joren said. "Name's Silas. Don't spook him."
Elias approached, Mara at his side. Silas looked up, his eyes sunken, his hands scarred from years at a forge. "Varn?" he rasped. "You're the one chasing the Order?"
"Maybe," Elias said, sliding into the booth. "You know the steamheart's core?"
Silas nodded, his fingers twitching. "Used to build its locks. The Order's got a chamber there, hidden even from Gearwrights. They're building something—something alive."
"The amplifier," Mara said, laying the blueprint flat. Silas's eyes widened, recognizing the runes.
"You've got their plans," he whispered. "Dangerous. Veyra's running the show. She's not just Gearwright—she's their prophet. Says the Machine God chose her to wake it."
Elias's head throbbed, the Gearheart pulsing. A vision hit: Silas in a forge, crafting a crystal, Veyra watching, her voice commanding, The herald will carry it. Elias blinked, the tavern snapping back. "You built this?" he asked, pointing to the blueprint's crystal.
Silas paled. "Part of it. Quit when I saw what they wanted. The Machine God—it's not just faith. It's real, Varn. And it's angry."
Before Elias could press, the tavern's doors slammed open. Enforcers stormed in, brass badges gleaming, automatons at their heels. "Varn!" one shouted. "Surrender the tinkerer and the blueprint!"
Mara cursed, grabbing the blueprint. Silas bolted, vanishing into the crowd. Elias drew his revolver, the Gearheart burning. "Run," he told Mara, firing a shot into the ceiling. The tavern erupted in chaos, patrons scattering.
They dove through a back door, enforcers shouting behind. The Underworks' tunnels swallowed them, but the automatons' red eyes glowed in the dark, closing in. The Machine God's voice whispered in Elias's skull: The cogs turn. You cannot escape.
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