Elias Varn's heart pounded as the red lenses of automatons glowed in Joren's warehouse, their mechanical clanks echoing off the rusted walls. The Gearheart burned against his chest, its runes pulsing with a warning he couldn't ignore. Mara stood beside him, her pistol raised, her orb flickering at her belt, its dim glow barely cutting Ironhaven's shadows. Silas cowered behind them, clutching his glowing cog, his scarred face pale with terror. Joren's body lay slumped by the table, the note in his hand—Veyra knows. Run.—a final warning from a man who'd paid for their trust. The steamheart's pulse thrummed beneath the city, too alive, too close, as the Order of the Cog's trap snapped shut.
"Back door," Elias hissed, his revolver steady despite the blood seeping from his arm. The warehouse was a maze of crates and scrap, but the automatons were moving, their blades humming with steam-powered menace. Veyra's enforcers weren't far behind, and the Gearheart's whisper, The Herald Comes, gnawed at his mind.
Mara nodded, grabbing Silas's arm. "Move, now!" she snapped, pulling him toward the rear. Her satchel, with the blueprint inside, bounced against her hip, a prize the Order would kill for.
Elias led, his lantern doused, relying on the Gearheart's faint glow and Mara's orb. The warehouse's shadows danced, hiding the automatons' precise steps. A blade slashed from the dark, grazing Elias's coat, and he fired, the bullet sparking off brass armor. "Faster!" he shouted, dodging a second swing.
The back door loomed, a rusted slab half-open. Mara reached it first, kicking it wide, but red lenses flared outside—more automatons, blocking the alley. "Ambush!" she yelled, firing a blue pulse from her pistol, cracking a lens. The automaton staggered, but three more advanced, their blades spinning.
Silas froze, his cog glowing brighter, runes matching the Gearheart's. "They're here for this," he stammered, backing into a crate. "Veyra—she wants it!"
"Shut up and run!" Elias growled, shoving Silas toward a side passage cluttered with airship parts. The Gearheart burned, and a vision hit: Joren's blood pooling, Veyra's masked figure watching, chanting, The Herald Comes. Automatons surrounded them, their red eyes a sea of fire. Elias gasped, the warehouse snapping back, his head throbbing.
Mara fired again, her orb flaring, its runes resonating with the automatons' gears. One machine seized, gears grinding, but the others pressed closer, their blades cutting through crates like paper. "My orb's dying!" she shouted, her bandaged arm trembling. "We're boxed in!"
Elias scanned the passage, spotting a ladder to a catwalk above, leading to a skylight. "Up there!" he said, pushing Silas toward it. The ex-Gearwright climbed, his cog clutched tight, its glow drawing the automatons like moths. Elias fired, covering Mara as she followed, her satchel catching on a rung.
An automaton lunged, its blade grazing Elias's leg, drawing blood. He cursed, firing point-blank into its lens, shattering it. The machine collapsed, but more closed in, their clanks drowning the steamheart's pulse. The Gearheart roared, and a vision consumed him: the skylight, fog beyond, Veyra's voice laughing, The Herald Comes. He saw himself falling, bloodied, Silas's cog in his hand. He blinked, climbing after Mara, pain searing his leg.
The catwalk swayed, rusted bolts groaning under their weight. Mara reached the skylight, smashing it with her pistol's butt, glass raining into the fog. "Out!" she yelled, helping Silas through. Elias followed, his revolver nearly empty, the automatons scaling the ladder below.
They emerged onto the warehouse roof, Ironhaven's fog thick, airships droning overhead. The city's skyline gleamed faintly, brass and smog under gaslight. Mara's orb dimmed, its runes fading, but Silas's cog glowed brighter, a beacon in the haze. "Put that thing away!" Elias snapped, his leg bleeding, his arm numb.
Silas fumbled, tucking the cog under his coat, but the damage was done. A clank sounded from the roof's edge—an automaton, its red lenses piercing the fog, blades extended. Behind it, a cloaked figure appeared, brass mask glinting, the Order's mark. "The cog," the figure rasped, voice cold, mechanical. "Give it, Herald."
"I'm no Herald," Elias growled, raising his revolver, one bullet left. The Gearheart burned, and a vision flickered: the masked figure unmasked, Veyra's face, her blade raised, The Herald Comes. He shook it off, firing, the bullet denting the automaton's chest.
Mara fired her pistol, a weak pulse grazing the figure's mask, sparking. The automaton lunged, and Elias tackled Mara, the blade missing her by inches. Silas screamed, scrambling back, his cog falling to the roof, its runes blazing red. The masked figure dove for it, but Mara kicked it away, the cog skittering toward the roof's edge.
"Get it!" Elias shouted, grappling the automaton. Its blade slashed his coat, grazing his ribs, but he drove his revolver's butt into its lens, cracking it. The machine staggered, and Mara grabbed the cog, tucking it into her satchel with the blueprint.
The masked figure hissed, raising a hand. The roof shook, steam vents below erupting, clouding the air. "You cannot stop The Awakening," they said, vanishing into the fog. The automaton collapsed, its gears seizing, but more clanks echoed—reinforcements climbing the warehouse.
"We need off this roof!" Mara yelled, her orb dark now, her pistol empty. Silas cowered, muttering about Veyra, the Awakening, the steamheart.
Elias scanned the fog, spotting an airship dock nearby, its platform jutting from a factory. "There," he said, pointing. "We jump."
"You're mad," Mara said, but her eyes flicked to the approaching lenses. "Fine. Silas, move!"
They ran, the catwalk's edge crumbling under their weight. Elias's leg screamed, blood soaking his trousers, but the Gearheart's warmth pushed him on. They reached the roof's end, the dock ten feet below, fog swirling. Automatons clanked closer, their blades gleaming.
"Jump!" Elias shouted, leaping first, pain exploding as he hit the platform, rolling. Mara followed, landing hard, her satchel safe. Silas hesitated, then jumped, crashing beside them, gasping. The automatons reached the roof, their lenses locking on, but the fog hid them as Elias pulled Mara and Silas into the dock's shadows.
The airship was gone, but a maintenance hatch led to a factory below. Elias pried it open, the steamheart's pulse louder now, vibrating through the metal. "Inside," he said, helping Silas down. Mara followed, her face grim, her orb flickering once more.
The factory was a maze of conveyor belts and gears, dormant but warm, as if waiting. Elias's lantern flickered, revealing runes on the walls—faint, ancient, like the sewer's. Mara's orb pulsed, its runes matching, and Silas's cog glowed in her satchel, a dangerous light.
"We can't keep running," Silas whispered, his voice shaking. "Veyra's everywhere. The cog—it's the key to the chamber, but she'll kill us for it."
"Then we use it," Elias said, his voice low. The Gearheart hummed, and a vision hit: the chamber, gears spinning, a crystal blazing, Silas's cog unlocking a door. Veyra's voice chanted, The Herald Comes, and Elias saw himself, bloodied, facing her. He blinked, the factory snapping back.
Mara studied him, her eyes narrowing. "You saw something. What?"
"The chamber," Elias said, his throat dry. "Silas's cog opens it. We need to find it before Veyra does."
Mara nodded, pulling the blueprint from her satchel. Its runes glowed faintly, matching the factory's walls. "This factory's old Gearwright," she said. "Might be a tunnel to the steamheart. Silas, you know this place?"
Silas shook his head, his eyes darting. "I built cogs, not factories. But the runes—they're sacred. The Machine God's script."
Elias's head throbbed, the Gearheart's voice clear: The Herald Comes. He led them deeper, the factory's gears creaking, as if waking. A clank sounded behind—a single automaton, its red lenses glowing, Veyra's shadow trailing them. The trap wasn't over, and Ironhaven's pulse beat like a countdown.
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