The Rusted Drake shot through the Aetherstreams, its engines straining as Merrik pushed the ship to its limits. Behind them, the faint glow of the Sovereign Vault faded into the distance, swallowed by the fractured sky. But the weight of their escape lingered in the air, heavy and oppressive.
Jasrik Thorn sat slumped against the wall of the cargo hold, his bionic arm resting limply on his lap. Sparks flickered weakly along the metal, the Havok Fragment within still buzzing with residual energy. He flexed his fingers experimentally, wincing at the ache that shot through his shoulder.
"You look like hell," Sela Wren said, breaking the silence. She sat across from him, her wings folded tightly against her back. The faint glow of fragment energy in her veins had dimmed, a sign of how much the Vault's power had drained her.
Jas managed a weak grin. "You're one to talk."
Sela smirked faintly but didn't reply. The silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the low hum of the Drake's engines. Merrik's occasional curses echoed from the cockpit, where he was no doubt cursing the ship's battered systems.
Finally, Jas broke the silence. "What do you think that fragment was?"
Sela tilted her head, considering. "Power," she said simply. "Raw, untapped power. The kind people kill for. The kind that could change everything."
Jas frowned, his gaze distant. "It felt alive."
Sela nodded. "Fragments are pieces of the Sovereigns. They were alive once. Maybe some part of them still is."
"That's comforting," Jas muttered, flexing his bionic fingers again. The Havok Fragment stirred faintly, a low pulse that sent a shiver up his spine. It had resonated with the green fragment in the vault, almost as if it recognized it. But what did that mean?
The sound of footsteps interrupted his thoughts. Merrik Ironspire appeared in the doorway, his grease-streaked face twisted into a scowl.
"The ship's barely holding together," he announced, crossing his arms. "If we take another hit like that, we're going to be floating in the Aetherstreams without an engine."
Jas looked up. "Do we have enough Aetherite to make it back to the nearest port?"
"Barely," Merrik replied. "But don't expect a smooth ride. The systems are overheating, and the stabilizers are shot."
"We don't have a choice," Jas said, standing slowly. His legs felt unsteady, and the weight of the Havok Fragment dragged at him. "The Syndicate won't stop hunting us. We need to regroup and figure out our next move."
Merrik snorted. "You think regrouping is going to fix this? They'll track us to whatever hole we crawl into."
Jas met his gaze evenly. "Then we'll have to make sure they don't find us."
The Drake limped through the fractured sky, its engines sputtering as the currents buffeted it. The glowing remnants of shattered islands drifted past, their jagged edges casting long shadows across the void. The silence in the cockpit was heavy, tension simmering beneath the surface as the crew worked to keep the ship aloft.
Sela leaned against the bulkhead, her eyes fixed on the swirling Aetherstreams outside. "What's your plan, Thorn?" she asked suddenly.
Jas didn't answer immediately. He stood by the navigation console, his gaze locked on the blinking coordinates of their destination. "We need information," he said finally. "The Syndicate and the Church aren't after us just because of the Vault. They know something we don't."
"Like what?" Merrik asked, glancing up from the engine monitor.
"Like what that fragment is," Jas replied. "And why they want it so badly."
Sela folded her arms. "You think someone's just going to hand us that kind of information?"
"No," Jas said. "But I know where we can start."
He tapped the console, bringing up a map of the nearby Aetherstreams. A glowing marker appeared, highlighting a cluster of floating islands surrounded by dense energy storms.
"Draven's Refuge," he said. "If anyone knows what's going on, it's the traders there."
Merrik groaned. "You want to go to a pirate haven? Are you trying to get us killed faster?"
"It's the best chance we've got," Jas said. "The Syndicate doesn't control Draven's Refuge, and the Church wouldn't risk sending a force into neutral territory. We'll be safe there—relatively."
Sela raised an eyebrow. "Safe? You're not exactly popular in places like that, Thorn."
Jas smirked faintly. "I'm not popular anywhere."
The glow of Draven's Refuge came into view hours later, a chaotic sprawl of floating islands linked by rickety bridges and tethered ships. The central island housed a sprawling marketplace, its makeshift stalls illuminated by flickering Aether-lamps. The air buzzed with the hum of engines and the chatter of traders, mercenaries, and scavengers.
As the Rusted Drake descended toward a crowded docking platform, Merrik muttered under his breath. "This place smells like trouble."
"Everything does to you," Sela said, strapping her rifle to her back.
"And I'm usually right," Merrik shot back.
Jas ignored them, his focus on the crowd below. Draven's Refuge was a melting pot of outlaws, smugglers, and opportunists—exactly the kind of people who might know something about the Vault and the fragments. But it was also dangerous territory, where alliances shifted with the wind and betrayal was a way of life.
"Stay sharp," he said as the ship touched down. "This place isn't friendly."
Sela smirked. "Good thing we aren't either."
The crew disembarked, their footsteps echoing against the rusted metal of the docking platform. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid scent of burning Aetherite, and the din of the marketplace washed over them like a tide. Traders barked their wares, their voices competing with the clatter of tools and the occasional crackle of fragment energy.
Jas led the way, his bionic arm hidden beneath his coat. The Havok Fragment's chaotic energy buzzed faintly, its presence making him hyperaware of every glance and movement around them. Draven's Refuge was a place where secrets were currency, and Jas couldn't afford to reveal too much.
They moved through the crowded market, their eyes scanning the stalls for familiar faces. It didn't take long for Jas to spot someone he recognized—a wiry man with a scar running across his cheek, seated behind a stall piled high with fragment relics and Aetherite contraband.
"Kelvyn Rigg," Jas said, stepping forward.
The man looked up, his eyes narrowing. "Thorn. I thought you were dead."
"Not yet," Jas replied. "But I need information."
Kelvyn leaned back in his chair, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Information isn't free, Thorn. Especially not the kind you're looking for."
Jas smirked faintly. "Then it's a good thing I brought payment."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small fragment shard, its surface glowing faintly with residual energy. Kelvyn's eyes widened, his grin growing sharper.
"Now you're talking," the man said. "What do you want to know?"
Jas leaned closer, his voice low. "The Sovereign Vault. The fragments. What's really going on?"
Kelvyn's grin faded, replaced by a wary look. He glanced around, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You're playing a dangerous game, Thorn. The Syndicate, the Church—they're not the only ones after those fragments."
"Then who else is?" Sela demanded, stepping forward.
Kelvyn hesitated, his gaze flicking to the fragment in Jas's hand. "I'll tell you," he said finally. "But you're not gonna like the answer."