The silence inside the Cathedral was heavier than the Miasma outside.
Kaelen froze, his boots clicking on the white marble floor. He looked at the man—Silas Vane—and then back at the jagged, indigo scar on his own chest. The resemblance was haunting. They had the same sharp jawline, the same restless energy in their stance, but Silas looked like a man made of glass, ready to shatter at the slightest vibration.
"My father died in the Siege of the Low-Spires," Kaelen said, his voice a low, dangerous rasp. "I saw his ship go down in flames. I saw the Miasma swallow the wreckage."
"You saw what the Consensus wanted you to see, Kaelen," Silas replied. He stepped away from the golden Valve, his movements stiff, like a marionette. "I didn't die. I was 'reassigned.' They found out that my blood—our blood—could resonate with the First Engine. So they put me here. To be the lock. To keep the world from breathing."
Nova stepped forward, her eyes wide. "The Valve is choked. It is full of... static."
"It's full of me, Nova," Silas said, his voice cracking. He pulled back his tattered sleeve to reveal his arm. It wasn't flesh anymore; it was a translucent mesh of solidified Aether and rusted clockwork. "The High Spires don't want the Engine to be fixed. If the Engine resets, the gravity returns to the whole world, and the Spires lose their height. They lose their throne. So they turned the Valves into tombs."
The Mechanism of Sacrifice
Silas pointed to the center of the machine. There was a circular indentation, perfectly sized for a human hand—or a Core.
"To turn the Valve, someone has to act as a conductor," Silas explained. "You have to pull the 'Static'—the corruption of the Miasma—out of the gears and into your own body. I've been doing it for twenty years, just to keep the city of Oryn from collapsing entirely. But I'm full, Kaelen. There's no room left in me."
Suddenly, the Cathedral shook. A muffled boom echoed through the marble halls.
"They're here," Lyra said, her hand on her holster. "The Miasma-Wraiths aren't the only guardians. I hear the rhythm of Consensus boots."
From the shadows of the vaulted ceiling, four figures descended. They weren't Harbingers. They were Sentinels of the Shroud—faceless automatons powered by liquid Aether, designed for one purpose: to protect the stagnation of the world.
The Choice at the Core
"Nova, get to the Valve!" Kaelen commanded, igniting his blade. "Jax, cover the entrance! Lyra, watch the rafters!"
"Kaelen, wait!" Silas shouted, his mercury eyes glowing with a sudden, frantic light. "If Nova touches that Valve, it will drain her. She'll become like me—a hollow shell. The only one who can survive the intake is someone with a Void-Core."
Kaelen looked at the indigo light pulsing in his chest. The "Burn" was a vacuum. He was the only one who could "eat" the corruption of the machine without being instantly erased.
"But it will finish the job, won't it?" Kaelen asked quietly. "The scar. It'll reach my heart."
"Yes," Silas whispered. "But the sky will breathe again."
The Sentinels attacked. They moved with terrifying speed, their Aether-blades carving through the marble pillars as if they were paper. Kaelen engaged two of them at once, his Void-Style: High-Pressure Singularity catching their strikes and folding the energy back into his own blade.
But he was tired. His body was a map of bruises and burns.
"Do it, Nova!" Kaelen roared, parrying a blow that sent sparks flying into his eyes. "Get the Valve ready! I'm coming for the static!"
Jax slammed his bionic fist into a Sentinel's chest, the metal groaning. "Kaelen, you can't! We'll find another way!"
"There is no other way, Jax!" Kaelen shouted. He kicked his opponent back and turned toward the golden machine. "This is why the star-shard chose me! I'm the filter!"
Kaelen sprinted toward the Valve. He reached out with his scarred hand, his indigo light meeting the golden glow of the ancient machine.
"Absolute... Zero... Friction!"
He didn't just touch the machine; he merged with it.
The sound was deafening—the scream of three hundred years of trapped air finally finding an exit. Kaelen's body arched as the black "static" of the Miasma was sucked out of the gears and into his Void-Core. The indigo light turned pitch-black. His skin began to crack, revealing a core of pure, swirling shadow.
The Valve turned.
A massive shockwave of clean, pressurized air erupted from the Cathedral, blowing the Sentinels through the walls and clearing the Miasma for miles around the city of Oryn.
Kaelen collapsed, the black lightning fading from his limbs. The Valve was spinning now, a low, healthy hum vibrating through the floor.
Silas knelt beside his son, tears of mercury falling down his cheeks. "You did it, Little Crow. You opened the first lung."
Kaelen looked up, his vision swimming. He looked at his hand. It was no longer bandaged; it was crystalline, a dark, translucent black.
"One down," Kaelen whispered, his voice barely a breath. "Four to go."