Midnight draped Ashhold in a shroud of ash and shadow as Lynn’s crew crept toward the forge, its smokestacks clawing the sky. The west gate loomed—a slab of iron flanked by torchlit guards, their blades glinting like fangs. Lynn crouched behind a slag heap, Ella’s ember a faint glow beside him, while Kael’s wind rustled ahead, scouting. Thorn gripped a steel bar, his bulk coiled, and Lyra clutched her crystals, her breath quick and shallow.

“Ten guards,” Kael whispered, slipping back. “Two Starborn—one’s Seryn. Forge is packed—plates, rods, the works.”

“Seryn,” Ella hissed, her ember flaring. “She’s baiting us.”

“Or breaking,” Lynn said, eyes on the gate. “We’ll see. Ella, flare south—split ‘em. Kael, Thorn, hit the rest. Lyra, with me—we grab the steel.”

Ella nodded, darting off, her ember igniting a fireball that roared fifty yards south, a beacon of red fury. Four guards bolted toward it, shouting, their torches streaking the dark. Thorn charged the gate like a landslide, his bar smashing a guard’s skull with a wet crunch. Kael’s wind blasted another off his feet, blade spinning into the dirt.

“Go!” Lynn barked, sprinting with Lyra. They slipped through the chaos, the forge’s heat slamming them as they breached the gate. Inside, steel gleamed—plates stacked high, rods thick as arms—more than Lynn had dared hope. He grabbed a plate, its weight solid, real, while Lyra stuffed crystals into her coat, her hands shaking.

“Too much,” she gasped, hauling a rod. “We can’t carry it all.”

“Take what we can,” Lynn said, stacking plates. His visions flared—wheels spinning, a beast rising. This was its bones.

A glow cut through the smoke—Seryn, her hands shimmering, stepping from the shadows. Another Starborn flanked her, his fists sparking with green flame. “Drop it,” Seryn said, voice tight. “Last chance.”

Lynn froze, plates clanking. “You don’t want this fight, Seryn. Help us.”

Her glow wavered, but the green-flame Starborn sneered. “Traitor’s dead anyway.” He lunged, fire streaking toward Lynn.

Lyra’s crystal flashed, blinding him mid-step, and Lynn swung a plate, cracking it into his jaw. The Starborn crumpled, flames dying, but Seryn’s glow spiked—ice lashed out, grazing Lynn’s shoulder, numbing it cold. He staggered, cursing, as Lyra hurled a rod—Seryn dodged, quick and silent.

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“Stop!” Seryn snapped, her voice cracking. “I—I can’t—”

“Then don’t!” Lynn roared, clutching his arm. “Choose, damn it!”

She hesitated, eyes darting—then bolted, vanishing into the forge’s depths. Lynn cursed, grabbing the plates. “Move, Lyra!”

Outside, Thorn wrestled a guard, snapping his whip like a twig, while Kael’s wind pinned another to the gate. Ella sprinted back, her face flushed, ember low. “More coming—horn’s up!”

“Fall back!” Lynn yelled, hauling steel. The crew stumbled out, Thorn dragging a rod, Kael lugging plates, Lyra and Ella behind. Guards swarmed the forge, blades flashing, but the team hit the alleys, weaving through Ashhold’s maze.

They collapsed in a dry culvert, steel clanking beside them, chests heaving. Kael laughed, ragged. “That’s a haul—Lords’ll choke on it!”

“Worth it,” Lynn panted, flexing his numb shoulder. Seryn’s face burned in his mind—running, not fighting. “She let us go again.”

“Snake’s playing both sides,” Ella said, her ember dim. “Next time, I burn her.”

“Maybe,” Lynn said, unconvinced. “Or she’s cracking wider.”

Thorn grunted, inspecting a dented rod. “Good steel. Teeth?”

“Soon,” Lynn said, hefting a plate. It was heavy, perfect—his beast’s spine. “Back to the smelter. We build now.”

Lyra frowned, clutching a crystal. “Guards saw us—Seryn too. They’ll hunt harder.”

“Then we work faster,” Lynn said, standing. “Kael, Thorn, carry this. Ella, Lyra, scout ahead.”

They moved, the steel’s weight a promise in their hands. The smelter welcomed them with its rusted embrace, and Lynn dumped the plates by the forge, his mind racing—gears, joints, a frame to hold the fire. Ella lit the ore, her ember steady, while Lyra shaped a crystal, tighter this time, its glow sharp and clean.

“Pipe’s shot,” Kael said, kicking the cracked shell. “This steel’s better—build new?”

“Yeah,” Lynn said, fitting a plate to a rod—crude, but solid. “Smaller core, braced tight. Ella, slow burn—Lyra, lock it.”

The fire curled in, the crystal pulsed, and a hum rose—low, steady, no cracks. The steel glowed, heat rippling out, and Lynn’s grin broke free. “That’s it—the beast’s waking.”

Thorn rapped the frame, nodding. “Teeth coming.”

Kael laughed. “Lords won’t know what hit ‘em.”

Ella’s ember dimmed, her eyes on Lynn. “Still a gamble. Seryn’s out there.”

“Let her come,” Lynn said, voice hard. “She’ll pick a side—or we’ll pick it for her.”

A horn blared—close, sharp—Ashhold’s pulse quickening. Lynn’s crew tensed, the smelter’s heat wrapping them tight. The steel hummed, alive, a spark turned flame, and Lynn felt it—his beast stirring, hungry. Those visions burned clear—wheels, power, a roar to shake the tower.

“Keep at it,” he said, grabbing a rod. “They’re mad now—we make ‘em scared.”

The crew nodded, ragged but fierce—Ella’s fire, Kael’s wind, Lyra’s crystal, Thorn’s stone. Lynn drove them on, the forge’s steel fusing with their will. Seryn’s shadow lingered in his mind—cracks, yes, but whose side? The horn blared again, and he gripped the frame tighter. Time was slipping—but the beast was rising, and it wouldn’t wait.