The Silver-Wing didn't sail into the Iron Graveyard; it crawled.
The Graveyard was a vertical storm of rusted history. It was where the debris of the "High Eras" gathered—miles of tangled anchor chains, shattered cathedral spires, and the petrified ribs of sky-whales, all caught in a permanent, swirling cyclone of unstable gravity.
"Keep your hands inside the hull," Lyra commanded, her blindfold damp with the heavy mist. She was standing perfectly still, her brass staff held upright. "The gravity-pockets here are sharp enough to shear the skin off your bones."
Kaelen stood at the stern, his glass hilt humming. He could feel the "Burn" in his chest pulsing in rhythm with the debris field. Every time a piece of ancient iron drifted near, his Void-Core throbbed, hungry to erase the friction that held the metal together.
"You are afraid," Nova said, appearing at his elbow. She didn't walk; she seemed to simply exist in a new location every few seconds.
"I'm not afraid of the rocks, kid," Kaelen muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. "I'm afraid of what's following us. The Consensus doesn't let go of its toys."
"The Hunter is close," Nova agreed, her mercury eyes fixed on a bank of black clouds behind them. "He tastes the salt in your blood. He tastes the void in mine."
Suddenly, the wind died. Not a gradual fade, but a sudden, violent silence that felt like a hand clapped over the world's mouth.
"Lyra?" Kaelen called out, his hand moving to his sword.
"The resonance is gone," Lyra whispered, her face turning toward the stern. "Something just... ate the sound."
Out of the black clouds, a needle-thin ship made of Null-Iron emerged. It had no sails, only six mechanical wings that beat with a sickening, wet thud. It moved against the wind, ignoring the gravity-vortices as if they didn't exist.
Standing on the prow was a figure in crimson armor, his face hidden behind a visor of dark glass. He held a spear that glowed with a rhythmic, golden light—the Pulse-Core.
"Kaelen Vane," the figure's voice boomed, vibrating the very air in Kaelen's lungs. "The High Spires have revoked your exile. Your new sentence is total erasure."
"Vane of the High-Spires," Kaelen spat, recognizing the man's stance. "The First Harbinger. They sent the lapdog to do the master's work?"
The Harbinger didn't answer with words. He raised his spear and struck the air.
"Pulse-Core: Sonic Lance!"
A visible ripple of distorted air shot toward the Silver-Wing.
"Hard port!" Kaelen screamed.
Lyra slammed the helm, but the ship was too slow. The sonic blast clipped the rear stabilizer, shattering the wood into splinters. The Silver-Wing began to spin, caught in the pull of a nearby gravity-vortex.
"Nova! Do something!" Kaelen shouted, bracing himself against the mast.
Nova looked at the approaching Harbinger, then at Kaelen. "I cannot stop the sound without stopping the air. And if I stop the air, your navigator will die."
"Then stop the gravity!" Kaelen roared.
Nova closed her eyes. She reached out and "plucked" an invisible string in the air.
The world flipped.
Up became down. The Silver-Wing didn't fall; it rose, propelled by a sudden reversal of the vortex's pull. The Harbinger's ship, caught off guard by the sudden shift in the local physics, slammed into a floating island of rusted gears.
"Lyra, now!" Kaelen yelled.
The blind navigator didn't hesitate. She felt the new flow of the wind and unfurled the emergency sails. "I've got the current! We're diving into the Core of the Graveyard!"
"You're going into the Eye?" Kaelen asked, wide-eyed. "That's a death trap!"
"It's the only place his sensors can't follow!" Lyra shouted back, her hair whipping wildly. "Hold on to your souls, boys! It's about to get heavy!"
The Silver-Wing plunged into the heart of the debris storm, vanishing into the shadows of the fallen world just as the Harbinger's spear began to glow for a second, much larger strike.