Elias Varn's body screamed with every step through Ironhaven's fog, his shoulder and leg bleeding, the Gearheart's faint pulse against his chest barely keeping him conscious. Mara led the way, her orb dim at her belt, its runes silent, her satchel heavy with the blueprint and Silas's sigil, its red glow leaking through the seams. Her shoulder was soaked red, her bandaged arm stiff, but she moved with grim determination, her pistol tucked under her jacket. Silas limped beside her, his leg a mess of blood and rag, his scarred face etched with fear, muttering about Veyra and the Awakening. The steamheart's wounded pulse thrummed beneath the city, its rhythm erratic after the sanctum's crystal cracked, and the Gearheart's whisper haunted Elias: The Herald Comes.
"Keep moving," Mara said, her voice hoarse, guiding them into the Underworks' deepest alleys, where Ironhaven's slums met its sewers. The smuggler's dock—a forgotten airship berth buried in the city's underbelly—was their last chance for refuge after the tinkerer's den fell. "We're close. Stay quiet."
Elias nodded, his empty revolver a useless weight, his vision swimming from blood loss. The vision of Veyra in a hidden forge—new sigil glowing, automatons rising, **The Herald Comes**—gnawed at him, the Gearheart's chain pulling him toward a chamber he couldn't escape. "Veyra's tracking the sigil," he rasped, his throat raw. "We're walking into another trap."
"Then we spring it," Mara said, her eyes fierce, catching the sigil's glow. "We decode it, find her forge, end this."
The alley sloped downward, the air thick with oil and rot. The sigil flared, its runes pulsing, resonating with faint scratches on a rusted hatch ahead, etched with a cog's shadow. Mara's orb flickered, its runes aligning, and the sigil's light burned brighter, a star in the gloom. "This is it," she said, kneeling to pry the hatch open with her wrench. Steam hissed, the hatch groaning, revealing a dark stair spiraling into the dock's depths.
Silas backed away, his leg trembling. "She's down there," he whispered. "Veyra—she sees the sigil. She sees the Herald."
"Move," Elias growled, the Gearheart burning. A vision hit: the dock, airships rusted, Veyra's blade raised, the sigil unlocking a forge of fire. The Herald Comes, the voice roared, and Elias saw himself, bloodied, facing a darkness beyond gears. He staggered, Mara's hand steadying him.
"You're barely standing," she said, her voice sharp but soft, her smudged face close. "What'd you see?"
"The forge," Elias rasped, shaking off the vision. "Veyra's there, with another sigil. It's not over." He didn't mention the darkness, the Herald's weight crushing him.
Mara nodded, her orb dimming as she led them down the stair. The dock was a cavern of shadows, its ceiling crusted with rusted pipes, airships abandoned in their berths, their brass hulls pitted. The steamheart's pulse echoed, unsteady, and the Gearheart synced, its hum a lifeline. A faint clank sounded—mechanical, deliberate.
"Automatons," Elias whispered, his hand tightening on his revolver, useless but defiant. Mara doused her orb's light, the sigil's glow their only guide, drawing them to a derelict airship at the dock's heart.
The airship's hull was cracked, its deck littered with crates and chains. Mara climbed aboard, her wrench ready, Silas stumbling behind, his leg dragging. Elias followed, his wounds screaming, the Gearheart's warmth fading as pain took over. The sigil flared, resonating with runes etched into the airship's helm, a control panel glowing faintly red.
"This is Gearwright," Mara whispered, her voice awed. "The sigil's tied to it—maybe a smuggler's key." She set the blueprint on the helm, its runes matching the panel's, the sigil blazing beside it.
Silas collapsed against a crate, his eyes wild. "It's a trap," he stammered. "The sigil—it calls her. Veyra's coming."
Before Elias could respond, a clank rang out, and red lenses flared in the dock's shadows. Three automatons emerged, their blades humming, steam hissing from their joints. A cloaked figure followed, brass mask glinting—the Order's mark. "The sigil," the figure rasped, voice cold. "Give it, Herald."
Elias's head throbbed, the Gearheart roaring: The Herald Comes. "I'm no Herald," he growled, raising his revolver, bluffing. Mara fired her pistol, a weak pulse grazing an automaton's lens, sparking, but the machines advanced, their blades cutting through crates.
"Silas, the panel!" Mara shouted, shoving the sigil into his hands. "Activate it!" She fired again, slowing an automaton, her shoulder bleeding through her jacket.
Silas fumbled, pressing the sigil to the helm. The panel flared, runes blazing red, and the airship shuddered, gears grinding, its hull creaking as if waking. The steamheart's pulse surged, syncing with the sigil, and the dock trembled, pipes bursting steam.
Elias swung a chain from the deck, denting an automaton's arm, pain searing his wounds. The cloaked figure lunged, blade slashing his coat, grazing his ribs. A vision hit: the airship rising, flames below, Veyra's voice chanting, The Herald Comes. Elias gasped, dodging another blade, the deck snapping back.
Mara twisted a lever on the helm, the airship lurching, its engines coughing steam. "It's alive!" she yelled, her orb flaring, resonating with the panel. The automatons staggered, their lenses flickering, but the cloaked figure advanced, blade raised.
"You cannot stop The Awakening," they hissed, slashing at Silas. Elias tackled them, their bodies crashing into the helm, sparks flying. The mask fell, revealing a woman—not Veyra, but a fanatic, eyes wild. "The Herald serves!" she screamed, her blade grazing Elias's neck.
Mara fired, her pulse hitting the woman's chest, dropping her. The airship roared, lifting from the dock, gears grinding, steam flooding the cavern. The automatons lunged, their blades sparking against the hull, but the ship rose, crashing through a rusted ceiling, Ironhaven's fog swallowing them.
Elias collapsed, blood pooling, the Gearheart's warmth gone. Mara steadied the helm, the airship shuddering, its engines unstable. Silas clutched the sigil, its runes dimming, his leg useless. "The forge," he whispered. "The sigil's pulling us there."
Mara's face was grim, her shoulder soaked red. "The blueprint shows a forge below the steamheart," she said, checking the panel's runes. "The sigil's guiding us—Veyra's next crystal."
Elias's head screamed, a vision flickering: the forge, a new sigil glowing, Veyra's automatons rising, The Herald Comes. He saw himself, holding the Gearheart, facing a darkness that pulsed like the steamheart. "We're flying into her trap," he rasped, struggling to stand.
"Then we break it," Mara said, her voice fierce, her hand brushing his arm, a spark of trust amid the chaos. The airship groaned, fog swirling outside, Ironhaven's skyline a blur of brass and smog.
Silas panted, his eyes darting. "The Machine God—it's in the forge. Veyra's waking it, with or without us."
Elias gripped the Gearheart, its voice clear: The Herald Comes. The airship descended, the sigil's glow leading them to a rusted hangar buried in the Underworks, its runes matching the blueprint's. The steamheart's pulse roared, unsteady, and Veyra's shadow waited below, her Awakening closer than ever.
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