Sylas Korr stepped out of the Veil's rift, silver hair catching the flicker of Ironhaven's dying Aether lanterns. The slums stretched before her—a sprawl of rusted shacks, cracked pavement, and faces carved by hunger and fear.
Her eyes weren't on any of that.
They were locked on the rooftop.
The same one where the cloaked figure had vanished.
Her ember-lit runes pulsed faintly across her skin, and the Ecliptic Codex hummed in her chest like it had a heartbeat of its own.
She smirked. All teeth. All gangster swagger.
"Think you can creep on me, shadow?""I'm comin' for you."
Veyra Sol followed, quiet and cold as always, her Aether-forged sword sheathed but never far. "That Behemoth kill…" she said under her breath, "It'll draw attention. Sentinels don't like Scavengers playing hero."
Sylas snorted, brushing ash off her torn cloak. "Let 'em come. I'm done duckin' punches."
Inside, though, her thoughts churned.The Codex.Voidstep. Emberclad. Her sudden strength.
That power was electric. Addictive. But every surge came with whispers.
A voice too smug.
Too amused.
Too knowing.
"Smart to worry, spark," the Codex purred."Shadows hide teeth."
Trial Three: Find the watcher.Reward: Eight Ecliptic Marks. Fail, and you'll learn fear.
"More cryptic nonsense," Sylas muttered, but her gut twisted.
She wasn't just leveling up. She was being played.
And still—she wasn't the "Silver Weakling" anymore. She'd burned that name to ash.
As they weaved through the alleyways, whispers followed. Slum kids peeked from broken windows, eyes wide. One of them—a bruised boy clutching a vial she'd left him—waved. Sylas winked.
"Stay tough, runt," she said."Don't let 'em take what's yours."
She saw herself in his dirt-streaked face.And Elias.
Always Elias.
Veyra glanced at her. "You're soft on the weak," she said, like it was an accusation.
Sylas shrugged, her smirk lazy. "What, I can't be badass and nice?"
But it wasn't a joke. Not really.
Kindness in Ironhaven was rare.
Keeping it alive? A revolution.
A shout snapped through the crowd."Silver Weakling!"
Gorran. Scarred. Furious. And not alone. Two new thugs flanked him, fists clenched, eyes hungry for a fight.
"You think you're tough now?" he growled, raising a spiked club. "That fire trick won't save you."
Sylas cracked her neck. Ember runes flared along her arms.
"Oh, Gorran…""You're dumber than you look."
The crowd stilled. Silent. Watching.
Veyra stepped back. "Handle it," she said coolly. "But don't kill them. The Sentinels are watching."
Sylas grinned. That same razor grin.
"No promises."
Gorran charged. The club swung wide. Sylas Voidstepped, a flicker of motion—and slammed her fist into his gut. Emberclad sparked. Gorran folded.
His boys came fast. One swung; Sylas ducked, then hurled him into a wall with a grunt. The other lashed a chain.
Voidstep.Behind him.A burst of fire.
Gone.
"Three defeated. Five Marks gained," the Codex said, smug."You're a natural, spark."
The alley exploded with cheers. The slum kids whooped, eyes wide. Sylas tossed a shard to a skinny girl in the back.
"For you. Don't let 'em take it."
She turned to Veyra, breathless, smirking.
"Still think I'm just trouble?"
Veyra gave her a look. "Maybe the good kind."
But then—clang.
Metal boots. Aether blades.
Sentinels.
Three of them. Armor humming. Eyes hard.
Their leader, tall and sneering, pointed straight at Sylas. "Scavenger," he barked. "You're under suspicion for unauthorized Veil activity. Come quietly."
Sylas didn't even blink.
"Drag me, then.""I dare you."
Her runes flared.
Veyra's hand gripped her arm. "Don't," she whispered. "They're not slum bullies. They'll kill you."
Sylas yanked free. Jaw tight.
I don't bow to nobody.
But the Codex whispered again.
"The watcher's close, spark.""Find them before the Sentinels lock you away."
Sylas's eyes snapped upward.A shadow.A flicker of movement across the rooftops.
There.
"Veyra," she muttered. "Cover me."
"What are you—?"
Voidstep. Gone.
She flickered up onto the rooftops, silver hair trailing like a comet.
The cloaked figure ran.
Fast. Silent.
Sylas chased, her body alive with Codex-fueled strength. Her boots slammed tiles. The slums blurred beneath her.
The figure ducked into an abandoned shack. Aether glinted inside.
Sylas didn't hesitate.
She kicked the door open.
"No more running, shadow.""Talk, or I burn that cloak off you."
The figure raised his hands.
A boy. Pale. Sharp-featured. Obsidian eyes.Toren.
Her friend.The tinkerer who'd vanished months ago.
"I'm Toren," he said."And you're the one the Codex chose."
Sylas's blood ran cold.
Trial Three complete. Eight Marks awarded.But the real game's just begun, spark.
Outside, Sentinel boots slammed closer.
Toren's eyes darted to the door. "We need to move," he said. "They're not just after you."
He held up a glowing device—sleek, unfamiliar, powerful.
"They're after the Codex."
Sylas's grin returned, sharp and ready.
"Then they're in for a bad day."
But the sky split.
A pulse of violet Veillight tore across the horizon—bigger than any rift she'd ever seen. The air trembled.
Sylas froze.
Something was coming.
Something worse than a Behemoth.