The training yard baked under Solvaris's midday glare, its sand shimmering like molten glass. Tomas sparred with Elara, her breezes testing his footwork, his pickaxe swinging in tight arcs. The Etherstone chunk pulsed at his belt, its hum a steady beat beneath their grunts and laughter. Gavric watched from a distance, shadow Spark coiled, but Tomas ignored him. Elara's doubt from yesterday lingered—Sparks given, not born—and he couldn't shake it, not with the chunk's glow nagging his gut.
A low rumble rolled in, the horizon darkening. Trainees paused, staring as a wall of dust surged from the wasteland below, a freak sandstorm clawing toward Solvaris. The air thickened, grit stinging Tomas's eyes. "Inside!" someone shouted, but the wind hit fast, howling through the yard, grounding platforms with a screech of metal. Tomas grabbed Elara's arm, pulling her close. "Stay with me!"
They stumbled against the gale, his pack shielding her from flying debris. The city blurred, golden spires swallowed by sand. "This way!" he yelled, memory guiding him—a ruined Etherstone tower he'd spotted days ago, its jagged silhouette barely visible. They ran, wind tearing at them, until they ducked inside, collapsing against cracked stone walls. Dust roared outside, a beast clawing to get in.
Tomas caught his breath, the tower's gloom settling around them. Elara coughed, her Spark flickering as she lit a faint breeze to clear the air. "Never seen a storm hit up here," she said, voice shaky. "Something's off."
He nodded, scanning the walls. Carvings etched the stone—faded, ancient, but clear: Gifted figures, robed and stern, dosing infants with glowing liquid from Etherstone vials. The babies' eyes flared, Sparks igniting. Tomas traced the lines, his fingers trembling. "This… this is it," he muttered. "What you said yesterday. They're making Sparks."
Elara knelt beside him, her breath catching. "Not born. Chosen. But why hide it?"
"Dunno," he said, the chunk's hum loud now, warm against his hip. "Power, maybe. Control." He pulled it out, its glow mirroring the carvings' light. "This ties in—feel it."
She touched it, then pulled back. "It's alive, almost. Like it's… watching."
The storm raged on, sand battering the tower. Tomas's mind raced—Dustcrag's mines, Solvaris's wealth, all built on Etherstone. If Sparks were a lie, what else was? He met Elara's gaze, her hand brushing his as she stood. "We're in this together," he said, voice firm. "Whatever it means."
"Together," she echoed, a flicker of warmth in the dark.
Footsteps crunched outside—Gavric, his silhouette cutting through the dust. "Lost, are we?" he called, stepping in, shadows curling. "Thought I'd save you—heroic, right?"
Tomas stood, pickaxe ready. "Followed us, more like. What's your game?"
Gavric smirked. "Just curious. Storms don't scare me." His eyes flicked to the carvings, narrowing, but he said nothing, retreating as the wind eased.
The storm cleared, Solvaris gleaming again, but the tower's secret hung heavy. Tomas tucked the chunk away, its hum a call he couldn't ignore. "We keep this quiet," he told Elara. "For now."
She nodded, their steps syncing as they left. The truth was close—and dangerous.