Driftspire City, Year 941 After the Shattering
Chris ran like the sky was falling—and in this world, sometimes it did.
The bridge beneath him shook with the weight of arcsteel hovercars zooming past, while the upper-tier magline above his head hissed with hot plasma and lightning-fast transport rails. Wind battered his coat. Neon signs flashed along the skyline in a rainbow of magical glyphs and ad-blinkers. But none of it distracted him.
Three Arc-Knights were on his tail, and the Ember crystal throbbed with a heat that seared through his thoughts like wildfire.
The city of Driftspire hung in the sky like a crown of fangs—towers of chrome and blackstone that jutted out from the floating continent's edge. Most people lived their whole lives afraid to look down. Not Chris. He was born on the edge. Orphaned in the Undercogs, raised by whisper-thieves and rail-runners. He knew every cable and beam of the undercity like muscle memory.
And right now, all of it was lit up with sirens and arc-lights hunting him.
"Left!" Mira's voice cut through the noise, sharp and confident despite her panting. Chris didn't hesitate. He trusted Mira like a blade—dangerous but reliable.
They ducked into an alley, vaulted a low drone-fence, and bolted across a rusted maintenance rail. Below them, the Driftfall yawned—miles of open sky until you hit the Burnclouds, glowing red with wild magic storms.
Mira cursed. "How the hell did they track us so fast?"
Chris didn't answer. His pulse was pounding. Not from the run, but from the thing he carried in the sling across his chest—the Ember crystal. It had started glowing the moment he touched it back in the Vault. Not brightly, but like a sleeping star stirring awake.
And it was calling to him.
Boom. A pulse of magic exploded behind them. An Arc-Knight had fired a shockbolt. The alley wall shattered into flaming shrapnel.
"Split up!" Chris shouted. "Rendezvous at the fallback!"
"You better not die, idiot!"
She peeled off into the steam tunnels. Chris doubled back, moving faster than any human should have. The blur of motion. The unnatural pull in his legs when he pushed off. He vaulted a six-foot gap and didn't break stride.
Three more thunderbikes screamed down from above, blades drawn and crackling with stormfire. The Arc-Knights wore sleek black armor etched with sigils of the Dominion. Their helmets glowed crimson.
Chris didn't slow down. He spun into a roll, grabbed a loose pipe from a supply cart, and hurled it like a spear.
CLANG! It struck a thunderbike's front plate, sending it spiraling into the side of a high-rise tower in a burst of light and scrap. The other two peeled back.
Chris skidded around a corner and found himself in an open hover-yard—cargo skiffs and power-lifters abandoned for the night. Perfect cover.
He ducked behind a crate, panting hard. Then he looked at his hands.
They were shaking—but not from fear.
His veins were glowing faintly gold. The same color as the Ember crystal.
This isn't normal. He had always been fast. Strong. A bit too strong. But lately it was… more. Explosive bursts of power. Reflexes beyond anything natural. And now this glow?
He looked down at the crystal, which had slipped from its sling. The shard hovered an inch off the ground. No wind. No gravity. Just willing itself into motion.
Chris reached toward it.
The moment his fingers touched the surface—
FLASH.
A vision seared through his mind:
A burning throne atop a black mountain.A woman with white fire for hair and a crown of sunmetal.A voice—echoing, ancient, not quite human.
"Emberborn. The Heart remembers."
Then it was gone.
Chris reeled back, gasping. He dropped the crystal, and it clattered to the ground.
But he wasn't alone anymore.
"Christopher Vey," a voice boomed from behind him.
He turned slowly.
High Inquisitor Vex stood on the far side of the hover-yard, surrounded by four Arc-Knights. His golden armor shone like a second sun, and his blade—a long hilt with a spiraling molten edge—glowed with the fire of a bound phoenix.
Chris stepped back. "If this is about the speeding ticket last week, I swear—"
"You stole what was not meant to be found," Vex interrupted, coldly. "The Ember crystal is not for children."
Chris clenched his fists. "Funny. It didn't seem to agree."
Vex raised a hand. "Seize him. Alive."
The Arc-Knights surged forward.
Chris didn't wait.
He darted to the side, snatched up the crystal, and ran. This time he didn't hold back. His body surged forward like a lightning bolt—every step like thunder. He crashed through crates, skidded under a hovertruck, launched himself up a cargo lift with one leap.
He didn't know what he was doing. He didn't know what the crystal meant, or why it called to him.
But he knew one thing:He wasn't going to let anyone cage him again.
A Mile Below…
In the deepest roots of Driftspire, beyond the ancient engine-furnaces and skycore chambers, something stirred.
A creature, once a man, wrapped in chains of molten bone, opened its many eyes. It had no mouth, yet it whispered in the language of cracks and cinders:
"The Flame wakes… The Emberborn breathes…"
And above, the city's lights flickered.