They didn't stay long enough for the tower to feel like home.
When Kairn woke, the blood comet's light had shifted again. The ash-filtered glow slipping through the cracks was a little thinner, the air a little colder.
His new eye hummed, the ache from the night before dulled to a background throb.
Lysa sat cross-legged near the doorway, knees up, arms around them, watching the kids sleep. Her hair was a mess of ash and knots. Her hands no longer shook.
"Morning," she said quietly.
"Something like it," he said.
Fen snored, sprawled half-off his pack. Sia had her face pressed into Tam's shoulder, one foot sticking out from under a threadbare blanket. Mar slept sitting up, back to the wall, head tilted at an angle that had to hurt.
Kairn scanned with ash-sight.
The rot-mist was still out there, thick in parts of the broken city, but thinner around the Tower of Teeth. The old wards had space to breathe. The Court's chains ran like faint dark veins farther out, probing. None close.
For now.
The tower-mind coalesced in the archway, as if it had been waiting for him to wake.
"You have to go," it said without preamble.
Kairn pushed himself to his feet.
"How long did we buy?" he asked.
"Enough," it said. "The rot tastes other bones. The King sulks. His singers limp. But he will bring more. And the mold will come back when it smells fresh screams."
Lysa stood, stretching, a grimace crossing her face as her ribs complained.
"Where?" she asked. "You said something about… old channels."
The tower-mind's head tilted.
"Yes," it said. "Below the city. Before the Court, the people here carried fire and power through… veins. Blood-channels. Not living blood. Mixed magic. Some led to sky-anchors. Gate-roots. The King stole those. He dropped chains through them. One is still near. Used now as a relay. A knot in his song."
Kairn's ash eye sharpened.
"A relay," he said. "If we cut it—"
"He will feel less here," the tower-mind said. "His chains will sag. His Choir will sing blind. You will still be hunted. But the net will be torn."
Fen groaned and sat up, rubbing his face.
"Are we planning to pick a fight with the King's post-box?" he asked.
"Yes," Kairn said.
Fen squinted.
"I was hoping I misheard," he said. "No such luck."
Lysa moved closer to the kids and nudged Mar gently with her foot.
"Hey," she murmured. "Up. We're moving."
Mar jerked, almost swinging a fist before catching himself.
"Sorry," he muttered, wiping at his eyes.
Sia blinked awake, looking around in panic before spotting Lysa. She relaxed a fraction.
Tam rolled onto his back and frowned.
"I had a bad dream," he mumbled.
"Me too," Lysa said. "We're not staying in this one, either."
Kairn looked at the tower-mind.
"Where's the blood-channel?" he asked.
It gestured with one long finger, tracing lines in the air.
"Under the plaza," it said. "Down a cracked shaft. The channel runs like a river that forgot its water and kept its bed. It will stink of old magic. You will feel it in your teeth."
"Where does it go?" Fen asked.
"Toward the broken sky-cage root on the far side of the city," it said. "The Court hangs a relay there. A chain-engine. They use it to hum orders. If you reach it before they lace new nets, you can hurt it. If you reach it after… you can still hurt it. But it will hurt back."
Kairn rolled his shoulders.
"Wasn't planning on a gentle walk," he said.
Lysa gave him a look.
"No one thought you were," she said.
They packed quickly.
Fen redistributed what little food they had, tested the weight on Tam's legs (the boy could hobble holding Sia and Mar's shoulders), and checked his own gear with quick, efficient movements.
Kairn coiled the Binder's Chain around his burned forearm, feeling its subtle pull.
His ash eye saw it as a dark loop, resonant with his Brand.
The tower-mind watched.
"I will tug your shadow when chains come," it said. "I cannot speak far. But I can shiver your fire if danger is near."
"Good," Kairn said.
Lysa stepped closer to the tower-mind.
"Thank you," she said.
It tilted its not-head.
"For eating your leech's pain?" it asked.
"For not eating ours," she said.
A hint of something like humor drifted through its voice.
"Not yet," it said.
Then it dissolved back into the arch, ragged form blending with the stone.
Kairn led them out into the main chamber.
The central depression was still a dark, silent pool of not-water. The hanging things clung high, watching with their hollow eyes, but they didn't move.
At the far edge of the depression, near a cracked section of floor, the stone had fallen away, revealing a jagged hole.
Cool air flowed up from it, carrying a faint metallic tang.
"Down," Kairn said.
He went first.
The shaft was narrow—just wide enough for a careful climb. There were old metal rungs embedded in the stone in some places, rusted but usable. In others, only rough rock jutting out.
Kairn climbed with ease, claws finding holds even where there were none.
His ash eye saw further down—faint, pulsing lines of old magic forming a kind of groove, like dried riverbanks that glowed from within.
He dropped the last few feet into a horizontal tunnel.
The air here was cooler, thicker.
He tasted old iron and something like burned honey.
Fen came next, then Lysa helping the kids one by one, lowering Tam with care.
Once they were all down, Kairn turned.
The blood-channel stretched in both directions.
To the right, it faded into darkness.
To the left, the faint glow of old magic thickened, threads running like veins along the floor and walls.
"That way," Kairn said, nodding left.
"How do you know?" Sia asked, voice small.
He pointed with his chin.
"Magic is thicker," he said. "Like following a smell."
"Can you… see it?" she asked, curious despite herself.
"Yes," he said.
Her eyes widened.
"That's cool," she whispered.
Mar nudged her.
"Stay behind," he muttered.
She stuck her tongue out at him, but she moved closer to Lysa.
They walked.
The blood-channel sloped gently, often passing under broken sections of city. Sometimes Kairn glimpsed light through cracks above; sometimes it was solid stone all around.
The old magic hummed faintly.
His new eye saw it as dull, slow-moving currents, like a river of embers burned down to coals.
In some places, the channel widened, forming cavities where bones and broken machinery had piled up.
Once, they passed what looked like an old ritual chamber—rune-circles etched into the floor, long since dead.
No one suggested stopping.
They weren't alone down here.
Kairn's ash-sight picked up small, warm scuttlings in the shadows—rats, lizards, things adapted to the dark. Once, a long, sinuous warmth slid away from them, scales rasping on stone.
The rot-mist did not reach this deep.
The Court's chains didn't either.
But the smell of the relay grew stronger the further they went.
It was like walking toward a forge that hadn't been lit in years and was suddenly remembering how.
After some time—Kairn had stopped counting steps; his mind tracked distance by how thick the magic felt—the tunnel narrowed.
Ahead, faint light flickered.
Not red.
Not the comet's.
Spell-light.
Kairn lifted a hand.
"Stop," he said.
They froze.
"What?" Fen whispered.
"We're not alone," Kairn said.
He edged forward, pressing himself against the tunnel wall, peering around the bend.
A wider cavern opened beyond.
The blood-channel ran through it, forming a shallow trench along the middle.
Along its banks, a group of people moved.
Half a dozen.
Scavengers.
They wore layered rags, bits of leather, mismatched armor. Two had scavenged Court half-helms, another a rusted breastplate. They carried spears, knives, a crossbow.
One, near the middle, held a flickering rune-stone that cast pale blue light.
Another had a crude tattoo on his neck, lines of ink forming a basic ward circle.
They were digging at the channel wall, prying loose bits of metal and stone with crowbars and knives, stuffing anything useful into sacks.
They looked wary.
Hungry.
Desperate.
Kairn listened.
"…said you saw them," one muttered. "Fang-boy, ash-girl, rat, and brats. Why are we down here instead of waiting topside?"
"Because topside has Choir and rot," the tattooed one snapped. "Down here has relics. And if we catch those kids first, Rask in Iron Bend will pay good coin. Or the Court will, if we feel suicidal."
"Court takes more than it pays," another said.
The man with the neck tattoo snorted.
"Court pays in not killing you," he said. "Sometimes that's enough."
Kairn's lip curled.
Fen slid up beside him, silent.
"Friends of yours?" Kairn murmured.
"Wrong kind of rat," Fen muttered back. "They've been sniffing us since the outer streets. I thought we shook them. Guess some followed our tracks to the old drains."
Lysa crept up, staying low.
She took in the scene with quick, sharp eyes.
Her jaw tightened when she heard "kids."
"They think we're trade goods," she breathed.
"They're wrong," Kairn said.
Fen exhaled.
"We could try to slip by while they're busy," he said. "Or we could…"
He trailed off.
His eyes went to Kairn's burned arm, the coiled chain, the faint ember in his chest.
"We kill them," Kairn said.
Lysa's hand brushed his sleeve.
"No feeding frenzy," she murmured.
"I know," he said.
He didn't look back at her.
He didn't have to.
He rolled his shoulders, loosening muscles.
"Fen," he said. "Circle right. Stay in the dark. Take the crossbow first if you can. Lysa, keep the kids behind the bend. If anyone gets past us, you stab them. Hard."
"Got it," Fen said.
Lysa's mouth pressed into a thin line.
"Don't be clever," she said. "Be quick."
He grinned, sharp.
"Always," he said.
He stepped into the cavern without giving them long enough to argue.
The nearest scavenger froze, crowbar in hand.
His eyes went wide.
"Shit," he breathed. "Fang."
Kairn didn't give him time to shout.
He moved.
The chain snapped out from his arm with a thought, links hissing.
[ BINDER'S CHAIN – PARTIAL ACTIVATION ]
He aimed low.
The hook at the end wrapped the man's ankle.
Kairn yanked.
The scavenger's feet flew out from under him.
He hit the ground with a crack of skull on stone.
Kairn was already past him.
The tattooed man with the rune-stone reacted fastest.
He dropped the light and thrust his hand forward, inked circle flaring.
"Bind!" he shouted.
Blue light shot toward Kairn.
His ash eye saw the crude chain-lines in it.
His Brand snarled.
He twisted his body, letting the bolt graze his burned arm instead of his chest.
Pain lanced up to his shoulder.
The binding tried to catch.
He bit it.
Ghost fire flared along the ink, burning it away.
The rune backlashed.
The tattooed man screamed, clutching his neck as the lines there seared red, skin blistering.
Kairn slammed into him.
They went down in the ditch.
Kairn's claws punched through his chest.
Blood sprayed hot.
He didn't drink.
He pushed off, spinning.
The crossbowman at the back had raised his weapon.
Kairn saw the ghost path of the bolt.
He ducked.
The bolt whistled over his head and shattered on the far wall.
Fen's knife flicked through the air.
It took the crossbowman in the wrist.
He yelped, dropped the weapon, and grabbed his arm.
Fen voice was a hiss from the shadows.
"Rude," he said.
The scavenger nearest Kairn roared and swung a spear.
Kairn stepped in close, too close for the point to be useful.
His clawed hand caught the shaft, yanked, and drove the butt into the man's throat in one movement.
The man gagged and crumpled.
Another came from Kairn's left, knife low, aiming for his belly.
Lysa's voice cut through the cavern.
"Kairn, left!"
He didn't think.
He pivoted.
His ash eye had already started to shift that way at the sound of her voice, recalling the rhythm she'd put in his bones.
He caught the knife hand on his hip instead of his gut, the blade scraping harmlessly along leather, then backhanded the man's face.
Teeth cracked.
The man stumbled.
Fen darted in from the side and hamstrung him, neat and quick.
The scavenger went down, howling.
The last one, seeing how fast the others fell, made a choice.
He grabbed the closest thing near him.
Tam.
The boy had slipped forward to peek, curiosity beating sense.
The scavenger's arm clamped around his neck, knife pressing to his skin.
"Stop!" he yelled, voice cracking. "Stop or I cut him!"
Everyone froze.
Kairn's world narrowed.
His ash eye locked onto the knife.
A thin line of heat pressed against Tam's throat.
Lysa was suddenly there, just inside the tunnel mouth, face white.
"Let him go," she said.
Her voice was low and sharp.
The scavenger's eyes flicked between Kairn's claws and Lysa's stare.
"Back off," he gasped. "All of you. Drop your—whatever the hell you have. I walk out with the kid. That's it. You don't follow. Or—"
His hand shook.
The knife bit shallowly into Tam's skin.
A bead of blood welled up.
Tam's eyes went huge.
He didn't scream.
He made a small, high sound in his throat.
The rot-mist outside the city shifted, sensing pain.
Kairn's chest burned.
His hunger howled.
His ash eye saw the heat of Tam's blood, the thrum of his racing heart, the tremor in the scavenger's arm.
He also saw something else.
Lysa.
Her hands.
They weren't shaking.
Her fingers tapped once against her thigh.
Da-dum.
Then she took a step forward.
"Do you know who you're holding?" she asked the scavenger.
He swallowed.
"A brat," he said. "Collateral."
"You're holding the only thing keeping him from ripping you apart slowly," she said, nodding at Kairn. "You think that knife will stop him if he lets go?"
Kairn almost smiled.
Her voice didn't waver.
The scavenger's grip tightened.
"Shut up," he said. "Shut up or—"
She stepped closer.
"Listen," she said.
Her fingers tapped again.
Not on him.
On the stone.
Soft.
Steady.
Da-dum.
Kairn felt it.
The beat sank into his bones, familiar now.
It steadied his breath, kept the hunger from lunging forward wild.
"You're scared," Lysa said to the scavenger. "I get it. You've probably seen fangs take people and not stop. You think that's all he is."
She took another step.
Kairn stayed where he was.
His claws slowly sheathed, hands open at his sides.
"That's what the Court wants," she said. "They want you to think he's just another dog on a chain. They want you to be so scared you'll sell kids to them to buy another day."
The scavenger's eyes flickered.
Shame.
Anger.
"You don't know anything about me," he snapped.
"I know you're shaking," she said.
Her voice softened.
"And I know you don't really want to cut him," she added. "Because if you did, you would have already."
She nodded at Tam.
The boy was trembling, but his eyes were on Lysa, not the knife.
"You let him go," Lysa said, "and I walk you out of here. Past him." She jerked her chin at Kairn. "I'll make sure he doesn't eat you. You try to take him, and I don't sing next time the rot comes. You saw the ash outside? You felt it, didn't you?"
The scavenger's throat bobbed.
"I don't—" he started.
"You did," she said. "The whispers. The faces. You're this close to losing yourself and you know it." She stepped close enough now that the knife almost touched her chest too. "Let him go. Take your life instead of your loot."
Kairn watched her.
He understood what she was doing.
The beat in his chest matched her fingers.
It kept his own hunger leashed.
It also wrapped around the scavenger's frantic thoughts, giving them something to hook on besides fear.
The man's arm trembled.
His eyes met Lysa's.
"You swear he won't—" he jerked his head at Kairn.
"I keep my promises," she said.
A beat.
He let Tam go.
Shoved him toward Lysa.
Pulled the knife back to his own chest, point out, backing away.
Kairn had already moved before the boy finished stumbling.
He was there, between Lysa and the scavenger, in the space of a breath.
He didn't attack.
Not yet.
The scavenger's eyes went wider.
"You said—" he started.
"I said she keeps her promises," Kairn said. "I didn't make any."
The man's mouth opened.
Lysa's hand slapped Kairn's arm.
Hard.
Once.
Da-dum.
"Don't," she said.
Her voice was quiet.
But sharp.
The hunger surged up his throat.
He could end this.
Tear the man's throat out.
Drink.
Feel stronger.
He met her gaze.
She didn't flinch.
"If you kill him now, it's not to survive," she said. "It's because you're angry. That's his choice. Don't let it be yours."
He bared his teeth.
"This is what he'd do to us," he said.
"Yes," she said. "We're not him."
He held her eyes for a long second.
Then he exhaled through his nose.
He stepped aside.
"Run," he told the scavenger.
The man stared.
"For real?" he asked.
Kairn's lips twisted.
"For now," he said.
The scavenger didn't wait for a second offer.
He bolted down the far end of the blood-channel, boots slapping stone, breath ragged.
Fen emerged fully from the shadows, expression complicated.
"That was charitable," he said.
"Charity is not why we did it," Lysa said. "He'll tell others there's a fang down here who didn't eat him for blinking. That's more confusing than a corpse."
Kairn rolled his shoulders.
"Maybe," he said.
He looked down at Tam.
"You all right?" he asked.
Tam nodded shakily.
"Th-thanks," he mumbled.
"Stay behind next time," Kairn said.
Tam's chin lifted.
"I wanted to help," he said.
"You can help by not being a blade-handle," Kairn said.
Fen snorted.
"Harsh," he said. "True, but harsh."
They stripped the unconscious and wounded scavengers quickly—food, a canteen, a better pair of boots for Mar—and left them breathing. Kairn took the rune-stone and the broken tattoo man's small pouch of chalk and bone chips.
As they moved on, Lysa came alongside Kairn.
"You were going to kill him," she said quietly.
"Yes," he said.
"You didn't," she said.
"Because you hit me," he said.
She smiled faintly.
"Because you listened," she said.
He shrugged.
"Don't get used to it," he said.
She laughed once.
"I will," she said.
The blood-channel narrowed again after the scavenger cavern.
The old magic's glow got thicker.
Kairn's ash eye saw it gathering ahead in a knot, like many currents meeting.
"We're close," he said.
Fen sniffed.
"Smells like burned metal and old prayers," he said. "This must be it."
They came to a wide, round chamber.
The blood-channel opened into a basin, its dried bed forming a spiral of carved stone that descended toward a central pillar.
The pillar was not old.
Not like the stone around it.
It was metal and bone and rune-etched crystal, bolted into the ancient floor. Chains ran up it into the ceiling, disappearing through a round hole.
The relay.
The chain-engine.
It hummed with a cold, steady note that made Kairn's teeth ache.
His ash eye saw it as a black sun in the room, lines of chain radiating out into the distance, threading through the earth toward the Court's other anchors.
"Found it," Fen whispered.
Lysa's fingers began to tap again, quietly, without her seeming to notice.
Da-dum.
Kairn stepped to the basin's edge.
The Brand in his chest flared.
The shard vibrated.
The King's song pressed here strongly.
But under it, weaker now thanks to the tower's interference, was something else.
Red.
Old.
Dragon-fire.
The blood-channel's original purpose.
"We break it," Kairn said.
"No," Fen said. "We repurpose it. Breaking it just makes the King build a worse one. If we twist it, we make it lie. Or scream wrong."
Kairn's mouth curved.
"That," he said, "sounds fun."
Lysa nodded slowly.
"Tell me what you need," she said. "Beat. Words. Whatever. I'll hold minds while you burn chains."
He looked at her.
At the kids.
At Fen.
At the relay, humming with the King's cold song.
At the faint, old fire lines running beneath it.
Fast, now.
They were done hiding.
"We're going to make him deaf here," Kairn said. "And if we're lucky, we'll make him bleed a little too."
He stepped down into the basin.
The blood-channel's carved grooves glowed under his feet.
The relay's hum rose.
In the far distance, in Gloomspire, a pale man tilted his head, feeling a wrong heat coil around one of his roots.
Here, under broken towers and whispering ash, Kairn reached for his Brand, his new eye, Lysa's beat, and the old city's fire.
Time to pull.