Lynn’s boots crunched on frost-crusted gravel as he and Ella staggered down the slope from the mine’s jagged maw. The cold bit deep, a stark slap after the suffocating heat of the collapse, but he welcomed it—anything was better than that tomb. Below, Ashhold sprawled like a festering wound against the gray plains of Aetherlan: crooked huts patched with scrap, smoke curling from crooked chimneys, and the distant clang of picks echoing from the pits. It was home, or the closest thing he’d ever had to one.

Ella stumbled beside him, her breath a faint plume in the chill. Her ember flickered low in her palm, casting shadows across her dirt-streaked face. She hadn’t said a word since they’d broken free, but her eyes darted—wary, like a cornered animal sizing up a trap.

“You’re bleeding,” Lynn said, nodding at the gash on her arm where a rock had grazed her.

She shrugged, barely glancing at it. “Been worse.”

“Tough as nails, huh?” He smirked, but it faded fast. Tough didn’t mean invincible, and they were both running on fumes. He needed her—her fire, her spark—if he was going to turn those flashes of memory into something real.

Ashhold’s outskirts came into view: skeletal figures hauling ore carts, overseers barking orders, their whips cracking like thunder. Above it all loomed the Flame Lords’ tower—a slab of black iron stabbed into the earth, its windows glowing red like predator eyes. Lynn’s gut tightened. He’d seen that tower every day of his life, a reminder of who owned this place, who owned them. Not anymore, he vowed silently. Not if he could help it.

“Greystone!” A voice cut through the haze, sharp and gravelly. Kael jogged toward them, his lanky frame bundled in a patched coat. The miner’s grin faltered as he took in their state—Lynn bloodied, Ella swaying. “Hell’s bells, what happened? Heard the boom from here.”

“Cave-in,” Lynn said, keeping it short. “We got out. Others didn’t.”

Kael’s hazel eyes darkened, but he nodded, no stranger to loss. “Overseers are already buzzing. Said the Flame Lords’ll dock us double for the downtime. Bastards don’t care who’s dead, just the ore count.”

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“Let ‘em try,” Lynn muttered. His mind churned—gears, pistons, engines humming in those alien visions. Something clicked. “Kael, you still got that knack for rigging junk?”

Kael raised a brow. “Aye, if it’s broke, I can patch it. Why?”

“Later,” Lynn said, glancing at Ella. She was watching him now, her ember pulsing faintly. “First, we need a place to breathe.”

They slipped through Ashhold’s alleys, dodging the overseers’ patrols. Kael led them to a shack on the edge of town—a crooked lean-to of scavenged metal and wood, barely standing. Inside, the air smelled of rust and stale bread, but it was shelter. Lynn eased onto a crate, wincing as his bruised ribs protested, while Ella slumped against the wall, her flame dimming to a spark.

“You’re not just a miner,” she said again, her voice low but firm. “That blast—you knew what you were doing.”

Lynn met her stare. “I don’t know what I am anymore.” He rubbed his temple, where those memories throbbed like a second pulse. “But I saw things down there. Machines. Power. Stuff that could change this place.”

“Change?” Ella snorted, bitter. “Flame Lords own everything—the ore, the Starborn, the dirt we walk on. You think they’ll just let you tinker us free?”

“No,” Lynn said, leaning forward. “They won’t give it up. We’ll take it.”

Kael whistled low. “You’re talking rebellion, mate. That’s a quick way to a shallow grave.”

“Maybe,” Lynn said. “Or a way out. That ore you ignite, Ella—it’s not just heat. It’s force. Energy. I’ve seen it used to move steel, lift cities. If we can harness it—”

“Harness it?” Ella cut in, her eyes narrowing. “You sound like them. The Lords. Always wanting more from us.”

Lynn held up a hand. “Not from you—for us. All of us. No more whips, no more quotas. A town that’s ours.”

She didn’t reply, but her ember flared briefly, a sign she was listening. Kael scratched his chin, a grin creeping back. “Crazy as a frostbit fox, but I’m in. What’s the first step?”

Lynn’s gaze drifted to the shack’s lone window, where the tower’s red glow stained the sky. “We need more hands. Starborn, miners, anyone who’s sick of bowing. And we need ore—enough to build something they can’t ignore.”

“Steal from the mines?” Kael asked, half-laughing. “They’ll string us up.”

“Not if we’re smart,” Lynn said. “Ella, how many Starborn are out there, hiding what they can do?”

She hesitated, then muttered, “Plenty. Scattered. Scared.”

“Then we find them,” Lynn said, standing despite the ache in his bones. “We start small—light a fire they can’t put out.”

A shadow moved outside the shack, quick and deliberate. Lynn froze, peering through the cracked window. A figure in a gray cloak slipped away—an overseer’s spy, maybe, or worse. His jaw tightened. Time was already running thin.

Ella extinguished her ember, plunging them into gloom. “You’re playing with death, Greystone.”

“Already did,” he shot back, a grim smile tugging at his lips. “And we won.”

Kael chuckled, but it was Ella’s faint nod that sealed it. The spark was lit—now they’d see how far it could burn.