The Rusted Drake drifted through the endless expanse of the Aetherstreams, its engines running low and quiet. The glow of the fractured sky outside cast eerie patterns through the cockpit, a mix of deep blues and greens swirling like a dreamscape. Jasrik Thorn slumped into a seat near the controls, his bionic arm sparking faintly as it settled into an uneasy silence. He flexed his metal fingers, wincing at the ache in his shoulder. The Havok Fragment's chaotic energy had drained him more than he cared to admit.
Merrik Ironspire leaned back in his chair, his boots propped up on the control panel. His grease-streaked face was set in a grimace, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he wanted to shout but was too tired to bother. For once, even Merrik seemed out of complaints.
"How much longer do you think we have before they come back?" Jas asked, breaking the silence.
Merrik didn't look up. "Depends. If it's the Ashen Church, they'll have backup on us in hours. Syndicate? Maybe a day. If we're lucky, they'll fight each other first."
"Reassuring," Jas muttered, leaning back and letting out a long breath. His body ached from the leap to the Church ship and the subsequent overload of his bionic arm. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the pain—and the faint, persistent hum of the fragment embedded inside him.
"You're gonna burn yourself out," Merrik said, his voice softer than usual. "That fragment of yours… it's not something you can keep relying on. One of these days, it's gonna take you down with it."
Jas didn't reply. He knew Merrik was right, but admitting it wouldn't change anything. The Havok Fragment was both a curse and a lifeline, and Jas needed every edge he could get. The world wasn't kind to people who played fair.
The faint clang of footsteps from below deck broke the quiet. Both men tensed, Merrik's hand drifting toward the wrench hanging from his belt. A moment later, the hatch to the engine room creaked open, and Sela Wren stepped into the cockpit.
The Fragmented mercenary looked worse than usual, her tattered coat hanging loosely from her shoulders and her face pale beneath the faint glow of her Aether Fragment-powered wings, which flickered faintly like dying embers. She leaned heavily on the doorway, her violet eyes fixed on Jas.
"You owe me," she said, her voice hoarse.
Merrik sighed loudly. "Great. Another person who wants to kill you, Thorn. You really do collect enemies like Aetherite shards."
Jas stood slowly, wincing as his arm protested. "Didn't expect to see you again, Sela," he said, his tone wary. "Thought you were done with me after the Reavers."
"I was," Sela said, taking a step forward and nearly losing her balance. "Until I heard you're carrying a Havok Fragment. And you're alive."
Jas's jaw tightened. "What do you want?"
Sela tilted her head, her faint smile not reaching her tired eyes. "Answers. Help. Maybe a little revenge, depending on how this goes."
Merrik groaned. "This day just keeps getting better."
Jas ignored him, stepping closer to Sela. "You're Fragmented," he said, his voice low. "Why would you come near someone like me? You know what happens when you're around too much fragment energy.
Sela's smile faded, and she extended one of her wings. The energy flickered weakly, the once-bright lines of light now dim and uneven. "It's already happening," she said. "I've been around fragments for too long. This one's killing me, Thorn. And if I don't find a way to fix it, I'm done."
"And you think I can help?" Jas asked, incredulous. "I can barely keep myself alive."
"You don't need to help," Sela said, her voice sharpening. "You just need to stay alive long enough to get us both to the Sovereign Vault."
Jas froze. "What did you just say?"
Sela leaned back against the wall, her wings folding behind her. "Don't play dumb, Thorn. Everyone in Krael's Hollow knows you stole an Ignis Fragment, and everyone knows it's not just any fragment—it's the key to a Sovereign Vault. The Syndicate wouldn't send half their muscle after you if it wasn't worth it."
Jas ran a hand through his hair, muttering a curse. He'd hoped to keep the fragment's true nature under wraps, but the Syndicate and the Church had made that impossible. Now it seemed even Sela had caught wind of the truth.
"Even if I wanted to go to the Vault," Jas said carefully, "I don't know where it is. That information wasn't part of the deal."
"Lucky for you," Sela said, her voice hardening, "I do."
Merrik snorted from his seat. "And let me guess. You want us to fly into certain death, dig up some ancient deathtrap, and hope we don't get disintegrated by whatever's in there?"
"Pretty much," Sela said, unfazed.
Jas sighed. The Vault was supposed to be a myth, a repository of fragment knowledge and power left behind by the Sovereigns before the Shattering. If it was real—and if Sela truly knew how to find it—it might hold the answers he needed. Maybe even a way to sever his bond with the Havok Fragment.
But it was a dangerous gamble, and Jas wasn't sure he had anything left to bet.
The silence stretched, broken only by the faint hum of the engines. Finally, Jas spoke.
"Fine," he said. "We'll go after the Vault. But if you're lying, Sela—"
"I'm not," she interrupted. "And if I was, you'd be dead by now."
Merrik groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "This is a terrible idea."
"Probably," Jas said. "But it's the only one we've got."
Sela pushed off the wall, her wings flaring faintly as she stepped forward. "Then let's not waste time. If the Church or the Syndicate catch up to us, they'll have no problem killing all of us and taking the fragment for themselves."
"Where are we headed?" Merrik asked, already turning toward the navigation console.
Sela's smile returned, faint but determined. "The Edge."
Jas's stomach sank. The Edge was more myth than location—a region of the Aetherstreams where the currents grew unstable and few ships ever returned. If the Vault was hidden there, it wasn't by accident.
"Of course," he muttered. "It couldn't be easy."
Merrik glanced at him. "It never is with you."
The Rusted Drake's engines flared to life, and the ship turned toward the distant horizon. Ahead, the swirling expanse of the Aetherstreams grew darker, the faint glow of the fractured islands fading into shadow. Somewhere beyond, the Sovereign Vault—and whatever dangers guarded it—waited.
And so did the Syndicate.