Late Winter, 2178

  Braelocke Hollow, Continental Authority

  The Crimson Hinge's roof offered the perfect vantage point for reconnaissance. Regal crouched at its edge, the bitter wind cutting through his coat as he studied the Union garrison across the square. Three nights had passed in careful preparation—mapping guard rotations, identifying security weaknesses, and memorizing the layout based on Nessa's surprisingly detailed intelligence.

  Late winter clung to Braelocke Hollow with stubborn fingers. The temperature still plunged after sunset, though the days had begun to hint at the coming thaw. Patches of stubborn ice glittered in the moonlight, and the occasional drip from melting icicles marked the slow transition from one season to the next.

  Captain Merrick's quarters occupied the northeastern corner of the compound. Second floor. Corner windows. Adjacent to his private study where, according to Nessa, he kept his "collection" secured in a reinforced cabinet.

  "Enjoying the view?" Nessa's voice materialized behind him. She moved like a shadow—there and not there, substantial only when she wished to be.

  Regal didn't turn. "Three guards at the main gate. Another two patrolling the perimeter. More inside, I'd wager."

  "Four," she confirmed, settling beside him with deliberate precision. "Two in the common room playing cards. One by the armory." She leaned closer than necessary, her shoulder brushing his. "One who checks the corridors every twenty minutes."

  Tonight, she was dressed for stealth—dark clothes cut close to her body, hair bound tight beneath a black cap, face smudged with something that dulled its natural sheen. Only her eyes remained unchanged, green enough to seem black in the darkness.

  "The captain's guests have been arriving for the past hour," she continued, maintaining the unnecessary proximity. "Five officers, plus his aide. They'll be occupied with their game for at least three hours, based on previous patterns."

  Regal shifted slightly, creating distance. "And the fragment?"

  "Displayed in his study. A piece roughly the size of your thumb, mounted in a glass case." Her eyes tracked his subtle withdrawal, a faint smile playing at the corner of her mouth. "It's small, but according to my source, it's genuine."

  "Your source being?"

  "Someone who's been in the captain's bed." The deliberate pause that followed invited speculation.

  "Yours?" Regal asked, refusing to rise to the bait.

  Nessa's smile widened a fraction. "Jealous?"

  "Professional curiosity," he said evenly.

  "Information comes from many sources." She turned her attention back to the garrison, though her posture maintained an awareness of him that went beyond the tactical. "Some more pleasant to extract than others."

  Regal returned his attention to the garrison. "Walk me through the approach again."

  She pointed to a narrow alley running along the western wall. "Service entrance. The lock is simple. From there, we take the back stairs to the second floor. There's a ten-second gap in visibility when the corridor guard turns the corner. That's our window to reach the captain's quarters."

  "And his office door?"

  "Locked, but nothing sophisticated. I can handle it in under thirty seconds."

  "If we're seen?"

  "We won't be." Her confidence was absolute. "But if things go wrong—no killing. These are just soldiers following orders. They're not our real enemy."

  Regal's jaw tightened. "They wear the Union uniform. That makes them part of the system that took my family."

  "And indiscriminate bloodshed makes you no different from them." Her voice hardened. "This is a precise extraction, not a revenge mission. Stick to the plan, or I walk."

  Their eyes locked in silent challenge. Finally, Regal nodded once. "No killing. Unless they leave no choice."

  "Fair enough." She rose smoothly to her feet, her movement as fluid as water. "One more thing. The vial?"

  Regal patted his inner pocket. "Secure."

  "Good. You'll want it close when we find the fragment. Their proximity can create interesting effects."

  "What kind of effects?"

  "You'll see." Her smile returned, secretive and knowing. "Ready?"

  Regal stood, checking his weapons one final time. The long knife at his belt. A smaller blade concealed in his boot. No firearms—too noisy for this kind of work, and ammunition was too precious to waste on anything but survival.

  "Lead the way," he said.

  They descended from the roof via a maintenance ladder that groaned under their weight. The streets of Braelocke Hollow had emptied as midnight approached, most citizens wise enough to stay indoors after dark. Only the occasional patrol of Union soldiers or clusters of hard-eyed mercenaries moved through the shadows.

  Slush crunched beneath their boots as they navigated the narrow streets. Unlike the solid ice of deep winter, late season snow created treacherous footing—partially melted during day, refrozen at night into a patchwork of ice and mud. The scent of woodsmoke hung in the air, mingling with the distinctive odors of Braelocke: old steel, unwashed bodies, and the ever-present undercurrent of fear.

  Nessa navigated the warren of back alleys with the familiarity of someone who had spent years mapping every corner of the settlement. She moved with extraordinary efficiency—no wasted motion, no hesitation at intersections, just fluid purpose carrying her forward.

  "How long have you been in Braelocke?" Regal asked as they paused in a doorway, waiting for a patrol to pass.

  "Long enough to know its secrets," she replied. "Not long enough to grow comfortable."

  "And before that?"

  Her eyes flicked to his, sharp despite the low light. "Careful, Eldain," she murmured, soft enough to make him wonder if he'd misheard. "Personal questions suggest interest beyond our arrangement."

  The name landed with deliberate weight, unexpected and intimate. Regal didn't flinch, but something in his posture shifted—tightened. She noticed.

  "How do you know my family name?" His voice remained level, betraying nothing of the alarm pulsing through him.

  "I wouldn't be much use to you if I didn't do my research." She stepped closer, close enough that he could smell the faint trace of oil and metal that clung to her clothing. "I know more than just your name, Regal Eldain. I know where you've been. What you've done." Her eyes held his, testing. "Who you've lost."

  Regal's hand drifted subtly toward the knife at his belt. "That information isn't freely available."

  "Nothing valuable ever is." She maintained the proximity for a beat longer than necessary before stepping back. "Does it bother you? Being known by someone who remains a mystery to you?"

  "Professional curiosity," he said evenly, echoing her earlier words, his hand returning to his side.

  "You're working with someone who can get you what you want." She let the moment hang, then turned, slipping into motion just as the patrol passed. "The rest is irrelevant."

  Regal followed, noting how quickly she'd shifted from intimate provocation to businesslike efficiency. Another test passed—or failed. With Nessa Kaine, he couldn't be sure which response she'd been looking for.

  The garrison loomed ahead, a gray stone structure that had once been a government administrative building before the collapse. The Union had reinforced it with metal plating at strategic points, added watchtowers at each corner, and surrounded it with a twelve-foot fence topped with barbed wire.

  They approached from the western side, using the shadow of an abandoned warehouse for cover. The service entrance Nessa had identified was a narrow door partially concealed by supply crates and neglected equipment.

  "Wait here," she whispered, then darted across the open space with impossible speed.

  Regal watched as she reached the door, produced something from her sleeve, and began working the lock. Traditional pin and tumbler design, but the Union used higher quality mechanisms than most. Still, in Nessa's hands, it surrendered within thirty seconds, allowing her to beckon him forward.

  They slipped inside, easing the door closed behind them. The narrow corridor smelled of old grease and military-grade disinfectant. Pipes ran along the ceiling, occasionally dripping condensation that echoed in the silence.

  Nessa led the way, her steps unnaturally quiet against the stone floor. They climbed a cramped stairwell, freezing at the sound of voices above. Two soldiers passed by, their conversation fading as they turned a corner.

  "Ten minutes until the corridor guard makes his next round," Nessa breathed. "We need to be in position."

  They emerged onto the second floor, pressing themselves against the wall as they edged toward the captain's quarters. From somewhere nearby came the sound of male laughter, punctuated by the slap of cards hitting a table. The game was well underway.

  Nessa held up her hand, signaling Regal to stop. Footsteps approached—measured, regular—the corridor guard making his rounds. They flattened themselves in the shadow of a supply cabinet, scarcely breathing as the guard passed within arm's reach, his gaze fixed ahead.

  When he disappeared around the corner, Nessa tapped Regal's arm. "Now. Ten seconds."

  They moved with practiced coordination, reaching the captain's door just as the guard's footsteps faded. Nessa immediately set to work on the lock with a set of slender metal tools that appeared in her hand as if conjured.

  The lock yielded with a subtle click. She eased the door open just enough for them to slip through, then closed it silently behind them.

  Moonlight filtered through half-drawn curtains, illuminating Captain Merrick's surprisingly austere quarters—a standard military bunk, a writing desk, and a polished wood wardrobe that seemed at odds with the surroundings.

  "The study," Nessa whispered, pointing to a door on the far wall.

  This lock proved more challenging, requiring nearly a full minute of Nessa's focused attention before it surrendered. The door swung open to reveal a smaller room lined with bookshelves. Unlike the bedroom, this space spoke of wealth and privilege—leather-bound volumes, a crystal decanter of amber liquid, and a desk of polished mahogany.

  And against the far wall, a glass-fronted cabinet illuminated by a single oil lamp left burning low.

  "There," Nessa breathed. "The collection."

  The cabinet held an assortment of items arranged with meticulous care—a dented Union medal, a rusted pocket watch, an ancient pistol that predated the collapse, and various objects Regal couldn't immediately identify.

  But there, on the central shelf, rested exactly what they sought—a fragment of steel with the distinctive blue-gray sheen that marked genuine Rodaerim material. It sat on a velvet cushion within a glass case, roughly the size of a man's thumb, jagged where it had broken from some larger piece.

  Even at this distance, Regal felt an inexplicable pull toward it—a subtle pressure behind his eyes, a faint humming that seemed to emanate not from the fragment but from somewhere inside his own skull.

  "Feel it?" Nessa asked quietly. "That's the resonance. Even dormant, Rodaerim steel calls to those sensitive to its properties."

  "And the Thermecine amplifies it?"

  "Exponentially." She moved to the cabinet, examining the lock mechanism. "This one's more sophisticated. Mechanical pressure plate beneath the base, connected to an alarm system. Cut the wrong wire, and we'll have the entire garrison down on us."

  "Can you disarm it?"

  "Of course." She knelt, producing a different set of tools from a pouch at her belt. "But it will take time. Keep watch."

  Regal positioned himself by the door, listening for any sound from the corridor as Nessa worked. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the silence broken only by the occasional clink of her tools against metal.

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  "Almost there," she murmured. "The secondary circuit is...yes."

  A soft click. The cabinet door swung open a fraction of an inch.

  "We're in," Nessa said, satisfaction evident in her voice. "Now for the case itself."

  The case proved simpler—a basic latch that yielded to gentle pressure. Nessa carefully lifted the glass, setting it aside with exquisite care.

  "Your vial," she said, holding out her hand. "It's time for a demonstration."

  Regal hesitated, then withdrew the metal vial from his pocket. The murky liquid inside seemed to shift and swirl as it neared the fragment, the suspended particles moving with apparent purpose.

  "Observe," Nessa instructed. She took the vial, uncapped it carefully, and held it near—but not touching—the Rodaerim fragment. "Watch the reaction."

  The Thermecine began to churn, darkening to a deeper green, then lightening to an almost luminous emerald. The suspended particles aligned themselves in patterns that reminded Regal of iron filings near a magnet.

  "The catalyst preparing itself," Nessa explained. "Even proximity creates resonance. But direct contact initiates the process." She tipped the vial, allowing a single drop to fall onto the steel fragment.

  The effect was immediate and startling. The fragment began to glow from within, pulsing with a cold blue light that cast sharp shadows across the room. The drop of Thermecine sizzled upon contact, releasing a thin wisp of vapor with a scent like ozone after lightning.

  "What's happening?" Regal whispered, unable to look away.

  "Energy extraction." Nessa's face was transformed in the blue glow, her eyes reflecting the light like a predator's. "The Thermecine draws out the potential stored within the steel. What happens next depends on the user's intent and knowledge."

  She capped the vial and returned it to Regal. "That was just a taste. A single drop, without purpose or direction. Imagine what could be accomplished with proper application."

  The fragment's glow was already fading, returning to its dormant state. Nessa reached for it—then froze at the sound of approaching footsteps.

  Heavy. Measured. Not the corridor guard's patrol. Someone else.

  "Company," she hissed, snatching the fragment and tucking it into a pouch at her belt. "The glass."

  Regal replaced the case just as Nessa closed the cabinet. They pressed themselves against the wall beside the door, barely breathing as the footsteps stopped outside.

  A key turned in the outer lock. The bedroom door opened.

  "—just need to check my notes," a male voice said. "Won't be but a moment, gentlemen."

  Captain Merrick. Returning from his card game for something in his quarters.

  Nessa caught Regal's eye, then pointed toward the window. He nodded, understanding immediately. Their only escape route.

  The study door remained closed, but it wouldn't stay that way for long. They moved silently to the window, Nessa testing the latch. It slid open with minimal effort, revealing a twelve-foot drop to the alley below.

  Regal went first, lowering himself from the sill and dropping to the ground with practiced silence. Nessa followed, landing beside him with catlike grace.

  They had barely pressed themselves into the shadow of a supply crate when light spilled from the window above. Captain Merrick had entered his study.

  "Three, two, one..." Nessa mouthed.

  On cue, a shout erupted from above. The captain had discovered the theft.

  "Time to run," Nessa said, already in motion. "Stay close."

  They fled through the warren of back alleys as an alarm bell began to ring from the garrison. Shouts echoed behind them, followed by the pounding of boots as guards mobilized to search.

  Nessa led them through a dizzying series of turns, down a half-collapsed drainage tunnel, and finally through a concealed door in what appeared to be a solid wall. Beyond lay a small chamber lit by a single oil lamp—a safe house of some kind, judging by the provisions stacked against one wall.

  "We should be clear," she said, bolting the door behind them. "This place isn't on any map, and the entrance is well-concealed."

  Regal caught his breath, the adrenaline of the escape still coursing through him. "The fragment?"

  Nessa produced it from her pouch, holding it up to the lamplight. The blue-gray steel caught the glow, seeming to absorb and transform it.

  "Genuine Rodaerim steel," she confirmed. "Small, but potent. More than enough for your first lessons."

  Regal reached for it, but she pulled it back slightly. "Patience, Eldain. First, we need to establish something."

  Her expression hardened, all business now. "You've passed the test. You've proven you can follow instructions and work effectively under pressure. But this," she held up the fragment, "is power. And I need to know what you intend to do with it."

  Regal met her gaze steadily. "I told you. I want to understand how it works."

  "Understanding is just the first step," she pressed. "What comes after? What drives a man to break into the Ossuary, risk his life for a girl, then seek out the very tools his enemies use?"

  For a long moment, Regal was silent, weighing how much to reveal. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and measured.

  "Someone close to me." The words emerged with careful restraint. "She was... different. Special. Shori Ashford's team took her from our home. They weren't there to arrest her or question her. They were there to harvest her."

  His hand tightened around the fragment, knuckles whitening. "I found her strapped to a table in the Ossuary. Tubes in her arms. Machines drawing her blood. They treated her like a resource, not a person. Like she was nothing but the elements in her veins."

  Something in his expression shifted—a glimpse of the rage he kept carefully contained. "I got her out. But what they did to her... it can't be undone. And now I need to understand their methods, their weapons. Not just for vengeance, but because without that knowledge, I have no hope of stopping them from doing it again. To others like her."

  "And your target?" Nessa asked quietly.

  "Shori Ashford. She led the operation."

  Nessa's eyebrows rose slightly. "Ashford? The Union operative? Interesting." She tapped her fingers against the table, considering. "She's protected by the Continental Authority. Has connections beyond her rank. Access to resources most agents only dream about."

  "You know of her."

  "I make it my business to know Union operatives who matter." She studied him carefully. "Taking on someone like Ashford isn't just dangerous. It's practically a death sentence. She has the backing of powerful people in the Council."

  Regal's gaze fell to the fragment in her hand. "That's why I need this. Something they don't expect. Knowledge they keep hidden. Power they think is theirs alone."

  A slow smile spread across Nessa's face, not warm but appreciative, like someone recognizing a kindred spirit.

  "Ambitious," she said. "Possibly suicidal. But at least you're honest about it." She extended her hand, offering the fragment. "Very well, Eldain. Let's begin your education."

  Regal took the Rodaerim steel, feeling its strange weight—heavier than its size suggested, yet somehow balanced, as if it had been crafted specifically for his palm.

  "Lesson one," Nessa said, taking a seat on a nearby crate. "What you hold is not just a weapon, not just a tool. It's a key to understanding the fundamental changes that reshaped our world after the impact at Eilsburg."

  "The Rodaerim Event," Regal said. "Twenty-seven twenty-seven."

  "You know your history. Good." She nodded toward the vial in his pocket. "The Thermecine is your catalyst—the medium through which Rodaerim energy can be extracted and directed. But without knowledge, without precise intention, it's just an uncontrolled reaction. Impressive but ultimately useless."

  She reached into her own coat and withdrew a slender metal case. Opening it revealed six cartridges, each the size of a finger joint, crafted of brass and glass. Inside each, a different fragment of material suspended in a clear fluid.

  "Properly prepared Thermecine cartridges," she explained. "Each containing a specific mixture calibrated for a particular effect. This is how practical application works—controlled, precise, portable."

  "And you'll teach me how to make these?"

  "Eventually. If you prove capable." She selected one cartridge, holding it up to the light. Inside, the liquid had a faint amber tint. "But first, you need to understand the principles. The relationship between the steel, the catalyst, and the wielder's intent."

  "Intent?"

  "The difference between chaos and control." She returned the cartridge to its case. "Raw Thermecine on Rodaerim steel creates energy, but it's the wielder who shapes that energy into something useful. Some call it focus. Others, will. The Arcane Accord has more mystical terminology."

  Regal's eyes narrowed at the mention of the secretive organization. "You know the Accord?"

  Nessa's smile was cryptic. "I know of them. Their knowledge of Rodaerim phenomena is unmatched, though they guard it jealously. Few outsiders ever learn their deeper secrets."

  "And you're one of those few?"

  "I've picked up things here and there." She shrugged, a graceful motion that momentarily softened her otherwise precise demeanor. "Enough to get you started, at least. The rest, you'll have to earn—either from me or from them."

  "How?"

  "One step at a time." She stood, taking the fragment back from him. "For now, we focus on basics. Small-scale application. Control before power."

  From a shelf along the wall, she retrieved a wooden box. Inside were various tools—slender metal instruments, small glass vials, a precision scale, and other apparatus Regal didn't recognize.

  "Your homework," she said, setting the box on a table. "I'll show you how to prepare a basic extraction mixture. By tomorrow, I want you to replicate it without my help. Success means we continue. Failure means..." She shrugged. "Well, failure has its own consequences where Thermecine is concerned."

  For the next hour, Nessa demonstrated the careful process of preparing a Thermecine mixture—precise measurements, specific temperatures, the introduction of stabilizing agents that she called "binding elements." Her hands moved with the confidence of someone who had performed these actions countless times, each motion economical and exact.

  "The Union scientists treat this as mere chemistry," she explained as she worked. "A physical process with predictable outcomes. But it's more than that. There's an art to it—a sensitivity you develop over time."

  When the demonstration was complete, she had produced a small vial of Thermecine subtly different from what Regal had acquired at the Ossuary—clearer, with a faint blue tint that seemed to pulse in proximity to the Rodaerim fragment.

  "Tomorrow night," she said, packing up the equipment. "Same location. Bring what you've prepared, and we'll test it."

  "And if it works?"

  "Then we move to practical application." She handed him the wooden box and a small leather pouch containing the fragment. "Keep these secure. If the Union discovers you have them—"

  "I know how to stay hidden," Regal interrupted. "I spent two years tracking my her through Union territory without being caught."

  "Until you were," Nessa pointed out. "The knife wound in your side suggests you're not as ghost-like as you believe."

  Regal's hand moved unconsciously to his still-healing injury. "That was different. I was protecting someone else."

  "And now you're alone." She studied him, head slightly tilted. "Simpler in some ways. More dangerous in others. Solitude breeds carelessness."

  "I'm not alone at the moment," he observed.

  Nessa's smile was thin. "Don't mistake professional arrangement for companionship, Eldain. I have my own objectives in this partnership."

  She stretched, a deliberate motion that wasn't strictly necessary. The movement revealed subtle curves beneath her practical clothing, a reminder that beneath the competence and calculation was a woman—something easy to forget in the intensity of their work.

  "Which are?" he asked, gaze returning to her face.

  "Not relevant to your training." She moved to the door, checking through a concealed peephole before turning back to him. "The garrison will be on high alert. It's safer if we separate and return to our respective quarters by different routes."

  "Where can I find you if something goes wrong?"

  "You don't," she said simply. "I find you. That's how this works."

  Without waiting for a response, she slipped out the door, leaving Regal alone with his newly acquired tools and the weight of everything he'd just committed to.

  He examined the fragment once more before securing it in its pouch. So small, yet it represented the first tangible step toward his goal. Toward Shori Ashford and the justice she had evaded for too long.

  The route back to the Crimson Hinge took Regal through the deserted market district, past shuttered stalls and darkened windows. Union patrols were out in force, moving in tight formations through the main thoroughfares, forcing him to stick to the shadows and back alleys.

  Near the edge of the Fractured Bazaar, he paused at the sound of voices—a Union patrol questioning a street vendor who had the misfortune to be closing his stall late.

  "—any suspicious characters in the area," one soldier was saying. "Particularly anyone showing interest in Union personnel or facilities."

  "I mind my own business," the vendor replied, nervous but firm. "Don't much care what others do, long as they pay for what they take."

  "Well, start caring," the soldier advised. "There's steel chits for information leading to arrests. Could be profitable for a man in your position."

  Regal pressed deeper into the shadows, waiting until the patrol moved on before continuing his journey. The garrison theft would have the entire settlement on edge for days. He'd need to be cautious, keep a low profile.

  When he finally reached the Crimson Hinge, he entered through a side door, avoiding the handful of patrons still nursing drinks in the common room. His own room was as he'd left it, untouched as far as he could determine.

  The warmth inside was a stark contrast to the lingering winter chill outside. A small brazier still glowed with embers in the corner, testimony to the building's aged construction that let drafts seep through every crack. Outside, icicles began their nightly reformation along the eaves, dripping during day only to freeze again after sunset – nature's own measurement of winter's reluctant retreat.

  He secured the door, then carefully arranged his new acquisitions on the small table. The fragment. The Thermecine vial. The wooden box of tools. The beginning of something that had been building inside him since that night two years ago when flames consumed his home and Union forces tore his family apart.

  Sleep did not come easily. When it did, his dreams were filled with strange blue light, the scent of ozone, and Nessa's knowing eyes watching him from the shadows.

  In the darkness before dawn, he woke abruptly, certain he'd heard movement outside his door. He lay motionless, hand on the knife beneath his pillow, listening intently.

  Nothing.

  Yet the sensation of being watched lingered, raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

  Regal rose silently, crossing to the window to peer through a gap in the curtains. The street below was empty save for a stray dog picking through refuse. A thin layer of frost had formed on the muddy street, testament to winter's last desperate hold before spring's inevitable arrival. The first pale hints of dawn touched the eastern sky, though true morning remained an hour away.

  But there—on a rooftop across the way—a figure stood motionless in the pre-dawn gloom. Too distant to make out features, just a silhouette against the lightening sky.

  Watching. Waiting.

  Friend or foe? Union agent or something else entirely?

  The figure remained for several minutes, then turned and walked away, disappearing as suddenly as it had appeared.

  Regal returned to the table, examining the Rodaerim fragment once more. In the dim light, it seemed to absorb rather than reflect, a void in the shape of steel.

  Whatever path he had set upon led through darkness before reaching light. But there was no turning back now. Not with golden eyes still haunting his dreams. Not with the debt of vengeance still unpaid.

  Tomorrow night, he would meet Nessa again. Tomorrow night, he would take another step toward the power he needed to challenge Shori Ashford and the system she controlled.

  One piece at a time. One fragment of truth extracted from a world built on lies.

  He would forge himself into a weapon they never saw coming.