The shack’s gloom pressed in as Lynn paced, his boots scuffing the warped floorboards. Ella leaned against the wall, her ember snuffed out, her amber eyes tracking him like a hawk. Kael sprawled on a crate, picking at a splinter, his easy grin replaced by a furrowed brow. The spy’s shadow lingered in Lynn’s mind—a ticking clock they couldn’t outrun.

“We’ve got maybe a day before they come sniffing,” Lynn said, stopping mid-step. “Overseers don’t miss a cave-in—or two survivors who shouldn’t be walking.”

“So we hide,” Ella said, voice flat. “Same as always.”

“No.” Lynn turned to her, his jaw set. “Hiding’s what they expect. We move first. Hit them where it hurts.”

Kael sat up, eyes glinting. “The mines? You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” Lynn said. “That ore’s their lifeblood. We take it, we’ve got leverage—and fuel for something bigger.”

Ella’s lips thinned. “You’re dreaming, Greystone. They’ve got guards, whips, and Starborn snitches. One wrong step, we’re meat.”

“Then we don’t step wrong,” Lynn shot back. Those flashes—gears grinding, pistons pumping—burned in his skull, urging him forward. “We need a crew. People who can fight, think, build. Kael, you know the miners—who’s fed up enough to risk it?”

Kael rubbed his neck, thinking. “Thorn’s a brute—lifts ore like it’s feathers. Hates the Lords since they took his kin. And there’s Lyra, scribe who bolted last year. Brainy type, knows starfire better than most.”

“Starborn?” Lynn asked, glancing at Ella.

She nodded curtly. “Lyra’s one of us. Shapes ore into crystals—small stuff, but steady. Hides in the slums now.”

“Good,” Lynn said. “We start with them. Tonight.”

“Tonight?” Kael blinked. “Mate, we’re half-dead already.”

“No time,” Lynn said, voice hard. “They’ll lock the mines down by dawn. We move now or not at all.”

Ella pushed off the wall, her ember flaring back to life. “Your funeral. Where first?”

“Lyra,” Lynn decided. “If she knows starfire, she’s key. Lead the way.”

They slipped out into Ashhold’s dusk, the sky a bruise of purple and gray. The streets buzzed with weary miners trudging home, their lanterns casting jittery pools of light. Ella took point, her steps silent despite her limp, guiding them through twisting alleys to a shack even sorrier than Kael’s. The door hung crooked, patched with burlap, and a faint glow seeped from within.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Ella rapped twice, sharp and low. “Lyra. It’s me.”

A shuffle, then the door creaked open. A woman peered out—pale, mid-twenties, her dark hair pulled into a messy knot. Her hands shimmered with a faint sheen, like glass dust, and her gray eyes flicked over them, sharp and wary.

“Ella?” Lyra’s voice was soft, edged with surprise. “You’re alive. And—who’s this?”

“Lynn Greystone,” he said, stepping forward. “We need you.”

Her brow furrowed. “For what?”

“To fight,” Lynn said simply. “The Flame Lords, the mines, all of it. I’ve got a way to use starfire—real power, not their scraps. But I need hands that know it.”

Lyra’s gaze darted to Ella, then back. “You’re mad. They’ll crush you.”

“They’ll try,” Lynn said, leaning in. “I saw it down there—machines, engines, things that could light this town and shove the Lords off their thrones. Ella’s fire started it. You can shape it.”

Lyra hesitated, her fingers twitching. “I ran to stay free, not tangle with them again.”

“Free?” Ella snorted. “Hiding’s not free. It’s waiting to die.”

The words hit like a slap. Lyra’s jaw tightened, and she stepped aside. “Inside. Quick.”

The shack was a clutter of scrolls and glittering shards—starfire crystals, small but flawless, scattered across a rickety table. Lynn picked one up, its edges cool and sharp against his skin. “You made these?”

Lyra nodded, almost shy. “Focuses the energy. Makes it… stable.”

“Stable,” Lynn echoed, a grin tugging at his lips. Those visions clicked again—fuel, force, control. “That’s what I need. We’re building something—a machine. Starts with ore, ends with them running scared.”

Lyra’s eyes widened. “A machine? Like the old tales?”

“Better,” Lynn said. “But first, we hit the mines. Tonight.”

“You don’t waste time,” she muttered, then sighed. “I’ve got no love for the Lords. If Ella’s in, I’ll hear you out.”

“Good enough,” Lynn said. “Kael, get Thorn. Meet us at the east pit by midnight.”

Kael saluted lazily and darted off, leaving Lynn with the two Starborn. Ella crossed her arms, her ember casting a faint glow. “Still think this’ll work?”

“It’ll work,” Lynn said, more to himself than her. “It has to.”

They moved out as Ashhold’s lights dimmed, the tower’s red glare a constant threat. The east pit was a shallow scar in the earth, its guards pacing under torchlight—two brutes with whips and a Starborn snitch, his hands glowing faintly. Lynn crouched behind a slag heap, Ella and Lyra at his sides.

“Plan?” Ella whispered.

“Distraction,” Lynn said. “You flare up over there—draw ‘em off. I’ll slip in, grab what I can.”

“And me?” Lyra asked, clutching a crystal.

“Back me up,” Lynn said. “If it goes south, blind ‘em with that shine.”

Ella nodded, slipping away. Moments later, a fireball erupted fifty yards off, lighting the night with a roar. The guards shouted, charging toward it, and Lynn bolted for the pit. Crates of starfire ore glinted in the shadows—raw, unrefined, perfect.

He hefted one, straining under the weight, when a whip cracked behind him. “Thief!”

Lynn spun, facing the snitch’s glowing fist. Time slowed—and then Lyra’s crystal flashed, a blinding burst that sent the Starborn reeling. Lynn swung the crate, smashing it into the man’s skull with a dull crunch.

“Move!” Lyra hissed, and they ran, ore in hand, as Ella’s fire faded into the dark.