The Sea Moth was a wreck. It floated low in the water, tilting violently. Its hull was patched with hastily hardened emergency foam and the fading remnants of Elara's geometric adjustments. They had survived the apocalypse, only to end up lost in a deep, empty silence. The cold, dark water held no currents or life; it merely mirrored the tall, black basalt cliffs of the Iron Islands.
The air was stripped of the metallic scent of Arc Ether, replaced by the smell of ancient stone and salt. This heavy stillness felt more threatening than the previous storm.
Inside the ruined pilothouse, Veridian moved slowly and carefully, like a machine running low on fuel. She had dragged Elara's unconscious body onto a support bench, using a damp cable to cushion her head. Elara lay completely still—her cyan glow was gone, and the silver lines on her skin had faded to a pale gray. The Manifest, heavy and cold, was tucked in Veridian's coat pocket.
Veridian was in terrible shape. Every shallow breath made her ribs ache. Her face was a canvas of bruises and fatigue. The only thing keeping her going was the raw, survival instinct. They had found their refuge; now the real negotiation would start.
The Betrayal of the Crew
Garth, the engineer, climbed up the ladder, followed by the last two Syndicate members, Lys and Kael. They were bruised, drenched, and shell-shocked. Their wide, terrified eyes weren't focused on the cliffs but on the ship's lifelessness.
"Captain," Garth said, his voice trembling with fear and rising anger. "We're dead in the water. That storm... what happened to the Sea Moth?"
"We survived," Veridian replied, not looking at him but instead watching the looming shadow beneath the cliffs. "That's all you need to know."
Lys, the youngest, glanced past her at Elara's still form. "And her? The Channel? She's out cold. She... she did this, didn't she? She brought us here." He gestured toward the cliffs. "Captain, these are the Purists. They kill Channels on sight. They call us Filth. We risked everything just to run straight into a prison."
Garth stepped forward, his body tense, finally confronting his commander. "Veridian. We agreed to avoid the Guild. The Iron Islands are a fanatical state. They won't negotiate. They'll kill us. Why did you choose this?"
Veridian turned to him. The exhaustion in her eyes was more frightening than any anger. She lowered her voice to cut through their panic.
"Because the Guild is organized," she whispered. "The Guild fights with logic. Elara's Chaos Dump only bought us hours. They will recalibrate and hunt the obvious escape routes—the Neutral Lanes, the Azure Docks. The Purists? They fight based on belief, not geometry. They are the only stable variable that completely rejects the Arc Ether."
She pointed toward the distant, churning horizon. "Out there is Protocol Omega. The Guild and the Purists want to cleanse the world. They are fighting the same enemy—Arc Corruption—just with different methods. We can use that hatred."
Kael, the toughest of the group, crossed his arms, his fear turning into anger. "Use that? By handing them their worst enemy? They'll tear us apart for bringing a Channel onto their shores."
"No," Veridian corrected him, her voice cold. "We aren't handing them an enemy. We are bringing them proof. And a weapon."
She tapped the Manifest in her pocket. "Elara is currently powerless. She lacks energy. To them, she is just a failed weapon. They will see her as proof of the Guild's madness, not our strength. I'm not trading our freedom. I'm giving them the chance to execute their beliefs on the Guild's biggest failure."
Garth shook his head, his fear melting into moral disgust. "No, Captain. You're selling her to save us. That's not negotiation. That's a sacrifice."
"This is the only way to survive, Garth. Sacrifice is a part of war," Veridian stated, her words cutting through the air. "Now get ready. We're about to meet the Sentinels."
The Iron Sentinels
A small, basic skiff, powered by crude mechanisms—a clear disregard for fluid dynamics and advanced combustion—emerged from a crack in the black cliffs. It was quiet, heavy, and moved with an icy authority.
Four figures—the Iron Sentinels—stood rigidly on its deck. They wore heavy leather and black steel, their faces unreadable beneath deep hoods. They carried no Arc weapons, only long boarding pikes and large, blunted hammers. Their fanaticism felt like a palpable barrier.
The lead Sentinel, his face a scarred mask of intense devotion, spoke as the skiff pulled up to the damaged Sea Moth. His voice was rough, stripped of the mainland's polished tone.
"You trespass on the Barricades. You are a vessel of Filth." He pointed his pike at the Sea Moth's shattered hull. "Identify your corruption."
Veridian forced herself through the broken pilothouse window onto the foredeck, holding herself upright through sheer determination. Her heavy axe rested on her shoulder.
"I am Captain Veridian of the Syndicate," she said, her voice strained but assertive. "We are not filth. We are survivors of the Guild's collapse."
"Syndicate is lesser filth," the Sentinel replied, his pike unmoving. "Your ship bears the marks of Arc-Ether technology. Your crew must be purged."
Veridian made her first strategic move. She stepped aside to reveal Elara's still form slumped on the bench.
"Look closer," Veridian insisted. "See the Arc-Ether leaking from the Channel they used."
The Sentinel's eyes narrowed, locking onto the remnants of the cyan stain on Elara's skin. His expression shifted from cold judgment to deep disgust.
"She is a Daemon-Host," the Sentinel hissed, his pike lowering slightly from instinctive horror.
"She is a failed weapon," Veridian countered, raising her axe just enough to draw attention. "The Guild built her to harness the Arc. They tried to use her to stabilize the Rift. We fought them to keep her away from their hands. We broke ourselves escaping that storm just to bring her here."
Veridian's voice was raw and sincere, fueled by her real hatred for the Guild. "The Guild is coming for her. They want to bury their failure. You destroy her, Sentinel, and you're doing the Guild's final work for them. You are cleaning up their mess."
She knew their beliefs: never serve the Guild's purpose.
The Sentinel hesitated, his certainty momentarily broken by the political implications. "The filth must be contained. But we do not serve the architects of corruption."
The Negotiation of Sacrifice
"We are broken," Veridian said, her voice lowering, shifting the focus to a tactical alliance. "We lack power or defenses. The Guild will follow the wreckage trail, but they won't anticipate us seeking refuge here."
She pulled the Manifest from her coat pocket, holding the dark, lifeless polyhedron in front of her. It was heavy and devoid of magic.
"Or," Veridian continued, keeping her eyes locked on the Sentinel's. "You can accept the source of the corruption."
She pointed to the Manifest. "This is the tool the Guild created to steal. It is the ultimate focus for the Arc. It is dangerous. We need a secure stronghold to rid ourselves of this burden and dispose of the weapon that carries it." She motioned to Elara.
"I offer you intelligence—the secrets of the Guild's naval strategies, their weaknesses, their last-ditch deployment plans. I can provide the experience to fight the war you've been avoiding. We want to see the Guild destroyed as much as you do."
The Sentinel's focus shifted to the Manifest. It was a tangible object of Arc's power, and their desire to either control or destroy it was tangible. The idea of possessing the Guild's secret was alluring.
"The Channel must be kept in a Purging Chamber," the Sentinel stated, declaring his terms with stern authority. "Separate from the crew. Separate from the artifact. That corruption cannot be allowed to breathe."
Veridian felt a chill of dread twist in her stomach. Purging Chambers were created to drain a Channel's energy—lethal to Elara in her current state. It would prevent the Anti-Abacus from fixing itself, leaving her powerless and trapped.
"Agreed," Veridian said quickly, swallowing her fear. It was the only option.
"The crew must take the Silence Vow," the Sentinel continued. "No use of any Ether technology, or the punishment is immediate execution."
"Agreed," Veridian replied, lowering her axe as a gesture of temporary compliance. "But I keep the tool. Until she's safe, this object is my only leverage against the Guild's return. You house the weapon's carrier; I secure the weapon."
The Sentinel assessed Veridian's exhaustion, the sincerity of her hatred, and the cold logic behind her trade. He gave a quick nod.
"We accept the truce," the Sentinel announced. "But understand this, Syndicate. You have moved from one prison to another. Welcome to the Barricades."
The Internal Mutiny and Submission
The Sentinel's skiff pulled away to summon a larger vessel. Garth stepped forward, eyes burning with a slow, dangerous anger. Lys and Kael flanked him.
"Purging Chamber, Veridian?" Garth's voice was low, trembling with restrained rage. "That's slow execution. She saved us. She sacrificed everything, and you're handing her over to be drained like a battery?"
"She is a machine that needs to be shut down," Veridian shot back, turning her back to him to grab a heavy coil of chain. "She's a magical bomb. Here, she's neutralized and safe. With the Guild hunting her, the Chamber is the safest place on the planet."
"That's insane, Captain! You didn't even try to negotiate for a medical cell! You just gave her away!" Garth pressed. "We fought together! We had a deal! We are Syndicate! We don't sacrifice our own for a quick trade with fanatics!"
"We survive, Garth! That is the only deal!" Veridian spun, the chain cutting through the air, striking Garth's throat and knocking the breath from him with a sickening thud.
She slammed him against the jagged railing. "You preach about decency? Decency got the Guild wiped out! She gave us hours! If you try to start any failed engine, the Guild will be here in forty minutes! Mutiny is a death sentence for all of us!"
Lys and Kael froze. Veridian released Garth, her chest heaving, the weight of inevitability holding her upright.
"She chose the point of failure that benefited us. Now you choose obedience," Veridian commanded. "You will take the Silence Vow. You will not touch the Arc. You will move the Purists' iron. You will wait for me to decide how and when to power up the machine. Now get below and wait for the transport."
The crew, defeated, retreated.
The Cold Stone
Veridian watched, numb, as the Sentinels secured Elara. They bound her unconscious body to a thick stretcher made of dull, gray minerals.
"Your Channel is secured," the lead Sentinel informed her. "She will be taken to the Cold Stone beneath the fortress. Her body will be purged of contamination."
"And the crew?" Veridian asked.
"They will work the Barricades. Manual labor until the mainland corruption is contained. We will test their Vow of Silence."
"And my leverage?"
"You will stay in the Outer Keep. You will be monitored. You will provide the intelligence you promised. And you will not touch the Filth you carry."
The last image Veridian had of Elara was her pale, lifeless face being taken away on the barge, destined for...