Firen trotted up to the entrance of mining shaft twenty-two, where Supervisor Jacks raised an ID scanner to an ankle wallet on his left hind leg. The currents of ether carried the scent of oiled machinery to his nostrils and distant clanging to his ears.

“Cuttin’ it close today, lad,” said the veteran miner, eyeing the time on his scanner. He then opened his claws and proffered a canister of mage salt to the dragon.

“I can still make quota,” said Firen, popping his head through the loop of a canvas satchel and sweeping the canister into its depths. “Need to hustle, that’s all.”

Supervisor Jacks grunted, using one of his wing thumbs to pick at his teeth. “Like every other day, then.”

“Aye.”

Firen eyed the dragon, and something unsaid passed between them. Jacks was no stranger to Firen’s troubles, having worked his tail off for centuries in various mines, only to lose a hind leg in an accident that granted him a promotion to supervisor in the process.

The elder dragon could still pilot a mech, of course. A single limb lost here or there could easily be compensated for when a hulking steel mech did all the heavy lifting anyway.

The newer mechs employed on InBelt were said to have a direct mental interface, lowering the requirement of pilot motor functions altogether. Firen had never seen one, but apparently, they were so integrated with a pilot’s physiology that they could be ambulated by thought alone.

One step at a time. Save to get a mech of my own, then work on my heartfire.

Firen blinked and found the supervisor silently appraising him, his slitted pupils unnaturally still. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the old timer was reading his thoughts.

“Go on, then,” said the supervisor quietly, bobbing his chin at the mineshaft.

Firen launched across the room, gliding through the space to pivot on the ceiling and plunge into the mineshaft in the floor.

Intermittent lamps of dragoncoal lit the shaft, flashing their amber hues against Firen’s scales as he sped deep into Narmoroth’s bowels. He tucked his limbs in tight and subtly moved his shoulders to correct his flight. Even though his heartfire wasn’t lit, he was still a magical creature and could exert a small amount of force against the rushing ether to direct his descent.

Actually, when I’m falling like this, I bet I’m faster without a heartfire.

Landing was another matter, though. As the mineshaft widened into an impressive cavern, Firen had to backpedal his wings furiously to have any effect, barely slowing his approach before he collided with the floor in an explosion of dust.

The dragon shrugged off the impact, then leaped across the cavern in a single floating bound to the mech garrison at the other side.

Though it was still early for the civilians of the mining town, most of the other miners had already begun their shift long before Firen arrived. Only three mining mechs remained by now. As usual, they were ancient, dilapidated things, covered in deep gashes that haphazardly scored their metal plating, as if they’d been through the last monster war, an eon ago.

Perhaps they have.

Firen clambered atop his usual mech, marked with the mineshaft and registration number on its side: M22-03. The designation of zero-three denoted it was one of the oldest mechs in the shaft, only beaten in age by zero-one and zero-two—which, predictably, were the other two remaining machines. They were so run-down that they were barely serviceable, but at least number three had some talons left on its claws.

This was important because a mech’s quadruped feet would cling to the rock just like a real dragon, preventing it from drifting away and bumping into the walls. The talons of the other two aging mechs were so worn down that they tended to float off like that, and getting a clean cut through the ice was a nightmare. Firen had been forced to suffer it once, and he’d sworn: never again.

Each mech was modeled in the distinct shape of a dragon, except ten times the size, boasting an armament of murderous-looking mining tools atop either front shoulder. The machine’s sizable metal wings could be deployed in open areas to aid its flight.

However, the mech’s crowning achievement—at least in Firen’s opinion—was the rock cutter, where a fine stream of liquid fire would exude from its jaws. The tool was powered by the mech’s flame-breathing pilot within, siphoning their intense dragonfire into an intake funnel and focusing it into a bright arc fierce enough to slice through rock with astonishing precision.

The rock cutter was so incredibly effective that it actually made ice mining more difficult. A pilot needed masterful control over their dragonfire output; otherwise, substantial ice blocks would instantly convert to steam, scalding the unwary controller and vaporizing the precious element into space, where it would be lost forever.

Firen opened the hood to the mech’s energy converter and poured the canister of mage salt inside. He flared his flamelung and clenched down with the muscles at the back of his throat, hacking a fiery gob of spit into the container before wrenching its rusted lid closed.

The flamespit would kickstart the reaction with the mage salt, providing around ten hours of power to the mech if Firen piloted conservatively. Unfortunately, conservative driving was a luxury he couldn’t afford. He had a daily quota to meet.

Firen swung around to the chest of the metallic dragon, landing deftly in the sunken cockpit, where he secured various straps to his torso. At the push of a button, the tempered glass blast shield lowered into place with a squeal from its hydraulic arm. A series of displays powered on, but the mech’s main viewport remained dark. He flicked a talon against the aging screen, and it flickered to life.

Come on, baby. Don’t fail me now.

He pumped an old steel lever several times to prime the mage salt with a splash of ether, then mashed the ignition button. The old mech responded by reluctantly choking out a cloud of dust with a tired sigh. Then, as the machine’s arcane engine got a taste of the rich magical fuel, it roared to life, rattling the loose bolts of the cockpit along with Firen’s gritted teeth.

He flung the throttle into overdrive without a second thought.

It’s go time.

***

“Very good, class,” said the teacher in a raspy voice. Today’s instructor was Tutor Kang, an elderly male with gray scales, a humped back, and ether-enhanced spectacles that clung precariously to his snout. “And who can tell me why dragons require ether?”

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A youngling male in the front row lifted an eager claw, and the teacher nodded at him to respond.

“Uh, uh, it’s what we breathe, sir!”

The teacher arched an eyebrow. “And?”

Tarly nearly lost her patience then and there. This lesson was so boring. They had been covering these same elementary facts for an entire turn of the inner belt. When would they get to the good stuff, like how to upgrade your mech and what weapons to use against the different monsters out there?

She looked at her peers in dismay, giving them several seconds to respond before reluctantly raising her claw.

The teacher nodded in her direction.

“We also need ether for our bodies to convert to heat. Otherwise, we’d freeze solid. It tops up any of the magic we spend when exercising. It helps us hear sound and smell things in the emptiness of space. It even helps us see, especially here on OutBelt where the sunfire is so weak. And if we’re ever lucky enough to light our heartfire, we’ll be able to use the ether to fly by beating our wings.”

“Excellent answer, as always, Tarly. Thank you. Yes, the ether of space is literally life-giving, not only to dragons but to the myriad other magical creatures inhabiting the three belts of the Sardis System.

“You also mentioned something very special, Tarly—lighting your heartfire. Class, how does a dragon light their heartfire?”

The broad hollow full of dragonlings appeared dumbfounded, and Tarly had to stifle a groan from escaping her jaws. Her father talked about this precise subject a lot.

Once again, when no one else ventured a guess, she raised a tentative talon and received the teacher’s nod.

“It depends, sir. Most of the time, dragons swallow big gulps of magma found on one of the volcano asteroids on InBelt. But only the richest dragons can afford the journey; plus, you have to be very special and receive an invitation, or the hive won’t let you in. Some people say the magic academy and the hive ships have their own ways of lighting your heartfire, but it’s even harder to get invited there than the volcanos.”

“Very, very good,” said Tutor Kang, giving her a bright smile. “And that is why an ignited heartfire is so exceedingly rare, especially out here on OutBelt. Thank you, Tarly.”

“You’re welcome, sir,” she responded with an exaggerated sigh.

The teacher peered over his spectacles at her display.

“Tarly, why don’t you come see me during the next learning period? I have a special project you might find worthwhile.”

Tarly bolted upright, nodding obediently with fresh interest. Tutor Kang was still gazing at her with a pursed smile, but he didn’t appear upset. It certainly didn’t feel like she was in trouble, although perhaps her melodramatic sigh was a bit much.

The more she thought about it, she really hoped she hadn’t overdone it. If her dad heard she’d caused trouble, she’d get extra chores, for sure.

A half-hour later, she wore an increasing frown as she scurried deeper into the warren. When she reached the entrance to Tutor Kang’s hollow, it took her several seconds to rally her courage. By the time she rang the bell that announced her presence, she was on the verge of tears. The filmy ether veil over the entrance dissipated, replaced by the head of the kindly elder a moment later.

“My dear, Tarly,” he said. “Whatever’s the matter? You’re not in trouble, girl.”

He beckoned her inside with an outstretched wing, where she discovered Tutor Shessar already there, lounging on a cushion made from rockling leather that was secured to the floor. The teacher’s four feet clutched the cushion to keep her from drifting away. In front of her stood a narrow metal obelisk about as tall as Tarly’s knees. The youngling’s brow furrowed as she settled down beside her, opting to clasp onto a simple foothold in the floor rather than one of the cushions reserved for tutors.

“What’s this about?” asked Tarly, eyeing the device.

“Why, it’s my special project,” said Tutor Kang, reclining on his own cushion, a ratty, threadbare thing that exuded dust.

“This device is very old and very special,” said Shessar, pointing the tip of her wing at the obelisk. “It’s a compendium of monsters from a distant time, filled with knowledge from a bygone age.”

Shessar nodded at Tutor Kang, who eagerly elaborated. “You simply activate it by applying pressure to this dial, then rotate it in a given direction to spin through every monster in the entire compendium. Some of the beasts are truly extraordinary!”

“That’s amazing,” said Tarly, her eyes wide with wonder. “Does it have every monster in the system? How many monsters are there? Where did you find this?”

Kang chuckled and dismissively waved a claw. “I can only answer the last question. A former teacher used it to demonstrate his lessons. He accepted a professorship at the magic academy on InBelt and donated the device to the warren here when he left.”

“Like I said, it’s very special,” said Shessar. “It also needs to be brought up to date. We’ve been meaning to go through the news feeds from the last hundred or so belt years and add any newly discovered species to the device, but we never seem to have the time. Your teachers tell me you seem rather bored with the lessons lately.”

When Tarly didn’t respond to the implied question, Shessar continued. “After some deliberation, we thought you might like to attempt the project. Perhaps slowly at first, until you learn how the information is stored; then, you could decide how much time you want to devote—”

“I’ll do it,” said Tarly, her eyes gleaming with a fierce hunger for knowledge.

Finally, a challenge.

Shessar’s lips curled into a sideways grin. “Now, just to be clear, you’ll only get to take it home for brief stints at a time.”

“You’re letting me take it home?!” said Tarly.

Kang abruptly interjected, “Shessar, the artifact is priceless. We should talk privately about this. If anything were to happen—”

“I will personally vouch for it, Tutor Kang,” said Shessar, raising her voice slightly before tilting her head at Tarly. “Needless to say, I’ll have to inspect where young Tarly will be storing it to ensure it is suitably secure.”

Tarly’s eyes narrowed. She sensed a trap.

“So this is what we’ll do,” said Shessar, holding three red tokens in her talons and twirling them in a circle. The action was distinctly reminiscent of a doom spider weaving its web to catch prey. “These tickets to the mech battle tonight will go to waste unless someone uses them. That someone will be you, your father, and I. We can also pick up a bite to eat somewhere before finally returning to your homestead, where I will perform a thorough … inspection to ensure the device will be safe there. In return, you may keep it for one entire inner belt week.”

There were clearly some things Shessar was leaving unsaid. But Tarly was a bright girl and could read between the lines.

Tarly stared achingly at the obelisk, barely concealing her desire. Her yearning could almost silence the warning alarms in her head as Shessar continued to twirl the red tokens.

Almost.

“Do you understand?” asked Shessar, locking eyes with the girl.

“Tutor Shessar,” said Kang, “I really must insist—”

Shessar flung out a claw to clamp down on the elderly teacher’s wrist, applying enough pressure to silence him immediately. Tarly thought she heard bones creaking.

Shessar’s glare intensified, a trace of danger entering its depths. She then grinned crookedly, revealing a single glistening fang from the left half of her jaws. As if that wasn’t enough, her forked tongue flicked out and pointedly licked the fang.

Tarly’s eyes swelled, fixated on the glistening tooth.

“I’ll ask again, little Tarly: Do. You. Understand?”

When the youngling appeared frozen with her jaw agape, Shessar squeezed Tutor Kang’s wrist.

The elderly teacher let out a whimper.

Tarly’s wings quaked, betraying the thin veneer of confidence she’d plastered on her face.

Was she always this terrifying?

“Perfectly,” she said out loud.