Elias Varn's body trembled as he trudged through Ironhaven's Outer Wards, the Gearheart's faint pulse against his chest a dwindling spark against the cold fog. Blood crusted his shoulder, leg, and neck, each wound a throbbing agony, but the sigil's red glow in Mara's satchel kept him moving, its runes a relentless pull toward Veyra's next forge. Mara walked beside him, her side bleeding through her jacket, her new orb dark at her belt, the blueprint and sigil safe in her satchel. Her face was pale, smudged with soot, but her eyes burned with defiance, her pistol hidden but ready. Silas limped behind, his leg a bloody ruin, his scarred hands clutching his coat, whispering about the Awakening and Veyra's shadow. The steamheart's wounded pulse thrummed beneath the city, its erratic rhythm a warning, and the Gearheart's voice echoed in Elias's mind: The Herald Comes.
"Keep up," Mara said, her voice hoarse, leading them through the Outer Wards' desolate sprawl—crumbling factories and shanties where Ironhaven's outcasts scraped by. The scavenger's camp, a nomad haven free of Council eyes, was their last shot at refuge after the smuggler's dock fell. "We're almost there. Stay low."
Elias nodded, his empty revolver holstered, his vision blurring from blood loss. The vision of Veyra in a hidden chamber—new crystal glowing, automatons marching, **The Herald Comes**—felt like a blade at his throat, the Gearheart chaining him to a fate he couldn't escape. "The sigil's a beacon," he rasped, his breath fogging. "Veyra's tracking us."
"Then we turn it against her," Mara said, her eyes catching the sigil's glow. "Decode it, find her forge, break her Awakening for good."
The ground sloped into a junkyard, littered with rusted airship parts and broken gears. The sigil flared, its runes pulsing, resonating with faint scratches on a salvaged hull ahead, etched with a cog's shadow. Mara's orb flickered, its runes aligning, and the sigil's light burned brighter, a flare in the gloom. "This is it," she said, stopping at a camouflaged tent, its canvas patched with metal plates, runes glowing faintly under her touch.
Silas backed away, his leg trembling. "She's watching," he whispered, eyes wild. "Veyra—she feels the sigil. The Herald's marked."
"Enough," Elias growled, the Gearheart burning. A vision hit: the camp in flames, automatons crashing through, Veyra's blade raised, **The Herald Comes**. He saw himself, bloodied, holding the sigil, facing a darkness beyond gears. He staggered, leaning against a scrap pile, Mara's hand steadying him.
"You're barely alive," she said, her voice sharp but warm, her smudged face close. "What'd you see?"
"The forge," Elias rasped, shaking off the vision. "Veyra's there, with another crystal. The sigil's leading us to her." He didn't mention the darkness, the Herald's weight crushing him.
Mara nodded, knocking a pattern on the tent—three quick, one slow. The flap opened, revealing a grizzled man, his face scarred, a glowing gear-shaped pendant at his neck, runes like Mara's orb. "Kade," he said, eyeing Mara, then Elias and Silas. "You bring death here?"
"Hope not, Ryn," Mara said, her voice steady. "Need shelter. Council's hunting us, and worse."
Ryn's gaze lingered on Elias's bloodied coat, the Gearheart's glow faint but visible. "Inside," he said, stepping aside. "But if trouble follows, you fight or flee."
The tent was a workshop, cluttered with scavenged tech—gears, wires, half-built machines humming with blue runes. Scavengers glanced up, their tools sparking, eyes wary but curious. The air smelled of rust and ozone, the steamheart's pulse faint but alive. Ryn led them to a corner, a tarp shielding a table, a cot, and a stove hissing steam. "Patch up," he said, tossing Mara a medkit. "Then explain."
Elias collapsed onto the cot, wincing as Mara cleaned his neck wound, her hands steady despite her own blood. Silas sat, clutching his leg, his eyes darting to the sigil in Mara's satchel. "She's coming," he whispered. "Veyra—she knows the Herald."
"Quiet," Mara snapped, spreading the blueprint on the table, its runes glowing faintly, depicting the steamheart's forge and a crystal amplifier. "Silas, the sigil's pulling us. Where's Veyra's new chamber?"
Silas shook his head, his hands shaking. "I don't know," he rasped. "The sigil—it feels the Machine God. The forge is below the core, deeper than before. Veyra's rebuilding—faster now."
Elias's head throbbed, the Gearheart's voice clear: The Herald Comes. "She called me Herald," he said, his voice low. "Thinks I'm part of her Awakening. Why me?"
Ryn leaned in, studying the sigil, its red light pulsing in Mara's hand. "That's core tech," he said, his pendant glowing. "Older than Ironhaven, tied to the steamheart's heart. Your pendant's the same, Varn. It marks you."
Mara's eyes narrowed. "You knew about the sigil?"
Ryn shrugged. "Seen its kind in ruins. Scavengers don't poke Gearwright secrets, but that sigil's alive. It wants the forge." He tapped the blueprint. "This chamber—it's the steamheart's soul. Veyra's waking something beyond machines."
Elias stood, pacing, his wounds screaming. "We need to find it," he said. "Veyra's got another crystal. We don't stop her, Ironhaven's done."
Mara nodded, her orb flickering as she traced the blueprint's runes. "The sigil's our guide," she said. "We follow its pull, decode its runes, hit Veyra before she finishes."
Before Ryn could respond, a clank echoed outside—sharp, mechanical. Scavengers froze, their tools silencing, and Ryn's pendant flared. "Automatons," he whispered, grabbing a rune-etched rifle from a crate. "You led them here."
Elias's gut twisted, the Gearheart burning. A vision hit: the camp burning, red lenses blazing, Veyra's voice chanting, The Herald Comes. He grabbed his revolver, useless but a bluff, and pulled Mara to the table. "Ryn, escape route?"
"Under the tent," Ryn said, his voice grim, lifting a trapdoor to a tunnel below. "Leads to the sewers. Move fast." He handed Mara a charged orb, its runes glowing blue. "Take this. It's stronger."
Mara swapped her orb, the new one flaring, resonating with the sigil. The tent shook, scavengers shouting, sparks flying as automatons crashed through the junkyard, their blades humming. Enforcers followed, lanterns flooding the camp, voices barking, "Varn! The sigil!"
Elias kicked over a crate, shielding them. Mara fired, her new orb's pulse shattering an automaton's lens, sparks flying. "Tunnel!" she shouted, grabbing Silas, the blueprint and sigil in her satchel.
Ryn swung his rifle, its runes flaring, denting an automaton's chest. "Go!" he yelled, covering them as enforcers fired, bullets sparking off metal. Elias led, revolver raised, into the tunnel, the steamheart's pulse roaring, the Gearheart syncing, its voice relentless: The Herald Comes.
The tunnel was damp, pipes hissing, runes glowing faintly red. Mara's orb lit the way, its blue clashing with the sigil's red, a beacon in the dark. Silas limped, his leg bleeding, muttering, "She sees us. The Machine God sees."
"Keep moving," Elias growled, his neck wound reopening, blood slicking his coat. The automatons' clanks echoed, their lenses piercing the tunnel's haze. A vision hit: the sewer flooding, Veyra's blade raised, the sigil glowing, The Herald Comes. Elias staggered, Mara catching him.
"Stay with me," she said, her voice fierce, her hand warm on his arm. Her bloodied face was close, her eyes a spark in the gloom, trust holding them together.
The tunnel ended at a grate, Ironhaven's sewers beyond. Elias kicked it open, pain searing his leg, and they stumbled into the muck, the city's fog seeping above. Ryn's shouts faded, the camp's collapse muffling the automatons. Silas collapsed, panting, his leg soaked red.
"We can't outrun her," Mara said, her orb dimming, the sigil blazing in her satchel. "The sigil's pulling harder. The forge is close."
Elias's head screamed, a vision flickering: Veyra in a molten chamber, a new crystal pulsing, automatons guarding her, The Herald Comes. He saw himself, holding the Gearheart, facing a darkness that burned like the steamheart. "We follow it," he rasped, struggling to stand. "Find the forge, end Veyra."
Mara helped him up, her hand steady despite her blood. "The sewers lead to the steamheart's core," she said, checking the blueprint. "The sigil's our map now."
Silas clutched his leg, eyes wild. "The Herald—it's you, Varn. The Machine God wants you."
Elias gripped the Gearheart, its voice clear: The Herald Comes. The sewer's fog swallowed them, the sigil's glow a chain, pulling them deeper into Ironhaven's wounded heart, where Veyra's Awakening pulsed, unbroken.
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