The first rule of surviving in Ironhaven was simple: *Never look up*.
Kael Veyra kept his eyes fixed on the sludge-streaked cobblestones as he walked, the toxic green snow—*Glacies Mortis*, the locals called it—crunching under his boots.
Above him, the Frostborne Citadel loomed, its crystalline spires piercing the smog-choked sky like a blade.
The damned floating city cast everything below in a sickly glow, the light filtered through its massive Eclipse Core—a pulsating orb of frozen energy that kept the Frostborne Clan's territory hovering just out of reach of the rest of the world.
*Out of reach of the rot*, Kael thought bitterly.
He adjusted the frayed scarf over his face, its fabric stiff with grime, and ducked into the alley beside the Black Moth Tavern. The stench of burnt ozone and sewage hit him like a fist. Ironhaven wasn't a city—it was a corpse, picked clean by scavengers and left to fester beneath the Frostborne's pristine boots.
"You're late," a voice rasped from the shadows.
A man stepped into the dim light of a flickering streetlamp, his face a patchwork of scars and rusted metal grafts. Jarek, leader of the Black Moth gang. Behind him, two thugs shifted, their Pyroflux armbands glowing faintly—mercenaries from the fire clan, hired muscle with a penchant for burning questions into flesh.
Kael leaned against the alley wall, feigning boredom feel.
"Had to stop and admire the view. Your city's charming."
Jarek's lip curled.
"You got the payment?"
Kael tossed a small pouch of silver marks. Jarek caught it, weighing it in his palm before nodding. "Third refinery on the east dock. Frostborne shipment. Guards rotate at midnight. You've got a ten-minute window."
"And the payload?"
"A shard. Don't ask me what it does—Frostborne's been smuggling them in for weeks. Client wants it *intact*."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "Client?"
Jarek smirked, revealing a gold-capped tooth. "Anonymous. But they paid triple. Seems someone really doesn't want the Frostborne getting their hands on this one."
'Anonymous'. Kael's hand drifted to the silver locket under his shirt, its edges jagged and cold. He hadn't survived this long by trusting anonymous clients, but silver marks bought food. And answers.
"Ten minutes," he repeated, turning to leave.
"Veyra." Jarek's voice sharpened. "Rumor says you've got a… *knack* for jobs like this. Word of advice: don't let the Frostborne catch you. They skin traitors alive."
Kael glanced back, his gray eyes glinting like flint. "Good thing I'm not one of theirs."
The refinery was a rusted skeleton of iron beams and cracked glass, its chimneys spewing black smoke into the frozen air. Kael crouched on a rooftop opposite, watching the Frostborne guards patrol below—their pale blue uniforms pristine, faces hidden behind ice-forged masks.
'Too clean for slum rats', he thought. 'They brought real soldiers'.
He dropped silently into the refinery's courtyard, his boots sinking into the ash-covered snow. The Eclipse Core's light above flickered, plunging the yard into momentary darkness.
*Eight minutes*.
He slipped through a shattered window, the glass shattering under his gloves. Inside, the air hummed with energy, the walls lined with Frostborne tech—glowing runes, frost-locked vaults, and at the center of the room, a pedestal.
On it sat the shard.
It was smaller than he'd expected, no larger than his palm, but it radiated cold so intense the air around it shimmered. The shard's surface was etched with spiraling Frostborne runes, its core a swirling void of black and silver.
'Not just a shard. A Core fragment'.
Kael froze. Eclipse Core fragments were relics of the old gods—deadly, unstable, and worth a kingdom's ransom. No wonder the client wanted it.
He reached for the shard, his fingertips brushing its surface—
A blade pressed against his throat.
"Drop it," a voice hissed. Female. Frostborne accent.
Kael sighed. "You're early."
He spun, slamming his elbow into the guard's ribs. She staggered, mask slipping to reveal piercing blue eyes and a shock of white hair. Frostborne nobility. 'Shit'.
She lunged, her sword trailing ice. Kael ducked, the blade slicing through the air where his head had been. He grabbed a metal pipe from the floor, parrying her next strike with a shower of sparks.
"You're not a guard," he said, dodging another slash.
"And you're not a thief," she shot back. "Who sent you?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he feinted left, then swung the pipe at her legs. She leaped back, but not fast enough—the pipe grazed her thigh, tearing her uniform.
A flicker of movement behind him. The other guards.
*Five minutes*.
Kael cursed and lunged for the shard. The Frostborne woman tackled him, both of them crashing into the pedestal. The shard clattered to the floor, rolling toward the door.
"Stand down!" she ordered the guards, her voice sharp. "Secure the fragment!"
Kael rolled to his feet, blood trickling from a cut on his temple. The guards were closing in, their frostblades gleaming.
'Time to cheat'.
He clenched his fist, and the air around him 'rippled'.
Entropy.
The guards' blades rusted to dust mid-swing. The woman stared, her eyes widening as the decay spread—up their arms, through their armor, reducing flesh and bone to ash in seconds.
"What… what are you?" she whispered, backing away.
Kael didn't answer. He scooped up the shard, its cold biting into his palm. The second his blood smeared its surface, the void inside it pulsed.
A shockwave of energy tore through the room, throwing him against the wall. The shard glowed now, its runes burning crimson, and for a heartbeat, Kael saw 'something' in the void—a pair of eyes, ancient and hungry, staring back.
Then the vision vanished.
The Frostborne woman was gone, the refinery trembling as alarms wailed. Kael shoved the shard into his coat and ran.
He met the client at dawn, in the ruins of an old Voidweaver temple. The woman wore a black veil, her features obscured, but her voice was smooth and cold.
"You succeeded."
Kael tossed her the shard. "What is it?"
She caught it, her gloved hands careful. "The first step to burning down heaven."
Before he could respond, she threw a dagger. Kael dodged, but the blade grazed his arm—deep enough to draw blood.
"A down payment," she said, nodding at the blood dripping onto the temple stones. "The Voidweaver line isn't extinct after all."
Kael froze. 'Voidweaver'.
The word echoed in his skull, sharp and familiar. The locket under his shirt burned.
The woman vanished into the shadows, her laughter lingering. "See you in hell, Kael Veyra."
By noon, the Frostborne had put a price on his head.
By nightfall, the shard's whispers began.