Lynn’s breath stung his lungs as they raced through the gorge, the west pit’s glow a beacon in the night. Thorn lugged the stolen crate like it was kindling, his strides shaking the ground, while Ella’s ember lit their path, a faint flicker against the dark. Kael scouted ahead, his wind-whipped coat flapping, and Lyra clutched her crystal, her steps uneven but determined. The guards’ shouts faded behind them, but Lynn knew it was a fleeting reprieve—the Flame Lords’ dogs never stopped hunting.

The west pit sprawled wide, a gaping wound in Aetherlan’s skin, its edges bristling with torches and armed silhouettes. Crates of starfire ore glinted under guard—ten times the haul from the east pit, enough to fuel Lynn’s half-formed dreams. His mind buzzed with those visions—steel churning, power surging—but they’d need more than grit to pull this off.

“Six guards,” Kael whispered, crouching beside him behind a ridge. “Two with whips, four with blades. And a Starborn—hands glowing, sniffing for trouble.”

“Snitch,” Ella spat, her ember flaring. “They always keep one to rat us out.”

Lynn nodded, sizing it up. “We split ‘em. Ella, light a fire south—draw half off. Thorn, you and Kael hit the rest. Lyra, you’re with me—we grab the ore.”

Thorn cracked his neck, a low rumble in his chest. “I’ll crack more than that.”

“Keep it quiet ‘til it’s not,” Lynn warned. “We’re in, out, gone.”

Ella darted off, her ember blazing into a fireball that roared fifty yards south, painting the night red. Three guards peeled away, shouting, their torches bobbing like fireflies. Thorn charged the rest, a bull in the dark, slamming a fist into the nearest blade-man’s gut. The guard crumpled, gasping, as Kael’s wind gust knocked another off his feet, blade clattering.

Lynn bolted for the crates, Lyra at his heels. He pried one open—raw starfire, glinting crimson—and slung it over his shoulder. Lyra grabbed another, her thin arms trembling under the weight. “Too heavy,” she hissed.

“Drop it if you have to,” Lynn said, hauling a second. “We’ve got—”

A glow cut him off—pale, cold, not Ella’s fire. The Starborn snitch stepped from the shadows, hands shimmering like frost, eyes locked on them. “Thieves,” she said, voice soft but deadly. “You’ll pay.”

Lynn froze. She was young—barely twenty, frail in a gray cloak—but that glow meant power, and he’d seen Starborn turn mines to ash. “We’re taking what’s ours,” he said, stalling. “Join us or step aside.”

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Her lips parted, hesitating, when Thorn’s roar split the air. He’d downed the whip-guards, but the south trio was back, blades drawn. “Greystone!” he bellowed, hurling a crate at them. It smashed one flat, ore spilling like blood.

The snitch flinched, her glow dimming. Lynn seized the moment, lunging with his crate. She dodged, quick as a cat, and her hand grazed his arm—a chill seared through him, numbing to the bone. He staggered, dropping the ore, but Lyra’s crystal flashed, blinding her. The snitch yelped, shielding her eyes.

“Run!” Lynn barked, grabbing Lyra. They sprinted for the gorge, Thorn and Kael hauling crates behind. Ella emerged from the south, her face streaked with soot, and fell in beside them. The snitch’s glow faded as guards swarmed the pit, too late to catch them.

They collapsed in the creek bed, chests heaving, three crates between them. Kael laughed, wild and sharp. “That’s a haul, mate! Lords’ll be spitting fire!”

“Worth it,” Lynn panted, rubbing his numb arm. That Starborn—her touch lingered, icy and strange. “Who was she?”

“Seryn,” Ella said, her voice tight. “Senses ore like a hound. Sells out her own for scraps.”

“Could’ve fried us,” Lyra said, clutching her crystal. “Why didn’t she?”

“Dunno,” Lynn muttered. Her hesitation gnawed at him—fear, doubt, something else? “Might be useful.”

“Useful?” Ella’s ember flared. “She’s a snake. Next time, we end her.”

“Maybe,” Lynn said, but his mind was elsewhere. Three crates—enough to start, not enough to win. They needed more, and Seryn knew it.

Thorn flexed his bruised fists. “Next time, I’ll snap her twig neck.”

“Save it,” Lynn said, standing. “We’ve got ore. Now we build.”

“Build what?” Kael asked, grin fading. “You keep talking machines, but what?”

Lynn crouched by a crate, pulling out a starfire chunk. Its glow pulsed, warm against the cold. “An engine,” he said, the word solidifying those visions—gears, heat, force. “Something to move, to fight. Ella lights it, Lyra steadies it, you and Thorn keep it running.”

“Fight?” Thorn’s scowl softened, intrigued. “Like a war cart?”

“Bigger,” Lynn said, eyes gleaming. “A beast they can’t stop.”

Lyra frowned, tracing her crystal. “It’ll take time. Starfire’s wild—crystals can tame it, but not fast.”

“Then we work fast,” Lynn said. “Hide this stash, find a spot—somewhere they won’t look.”

“Old smelter,” Kael suggested. “Rusted out, half-buried. No one goes there.”

“Good,” Lynn said. “We start tonight.”

Ella’s ember dimmed. “You’re pushing too hard, Greystone. We’re not soldiers.”

“Not yet,” he said, meeting her gaze. “But we will be.”

A distant horn blared—Ashhold waking to their theft. The tower’s red lights flared brighter, a predator roused. Lynn’s crew tensed, but he felt it—a spark, growing, feeding on their defiance.

“Move,” he said, hefting a crate. Thorn grabbed the rest, and they slipped into the dark, the smelter’s silhouette their new north star. Seryn’s face flashed in Lynn’s mind—those hesitant eyes, that icy touch. Snake or not, she’d faltered. And faltering meant cracks—cracks he could pry open.

The pit’s edge was theirs now, a line drawn in ash. They’d crossed it, and there was no going back.