They left the Ash Plains behind at dawn.
The land sloped downward into broken hills and sparse stone forests, jagged pillars of rock thrust upward like the ribs of something long dead. Wind threaded through them in low, hollow tones. Ashen didn't like the sound. It carried too far.
They had been walking for hours when Lira finally spoke.
"Are we running?"
Ashen slowed but didn't stop. "No."
Lira frowned slightly. "Then why does it feel like we are?"
Elyra glanced over her shoulder, measuring Ashen's expression. He was quiet longer than usual.
"Because we're not staying," Ashen said at last. "There's a difference."
Lira considered that. "Where are we going?"
Ashen didn't answer immediately.
For most of his life, away had been enough of a direction.
But now.
"There's a place," he said carefully. "North of the stone passes. Too small for trade. Too cold for ambition."
Elyra snorted. "Sounds perfect."
"It won't be safe forever," Ashen added. "Nothing is."
Lira nodded. "But it would be… ours?"
The word struck harder than any blade.
Ashen swallowed. "If you want it to be."
They reached the edge of the stone forest by midday. Ashen halted abruptly, raising a clenched fist.
Footprints.
Heavy. Uneven. Deliberate.
Elyra crouched beside him, examining the ground. "He's not hiding."
Ashen's jaw tightened. "He never does."
Lira's hands curled into her sleeves. "Ironhand."
"Yes."
The name tasted like rust.
Ashen rose slowly. "Elyra. Take Lira and move east. If he engages me..."
"I won't leave you," Elyra snapped.
"You will if I ask," Ashen said calmly.
She searched his face, then cursed under her breath. "You plan on staying."
"I plan on finishing this," Ashen said. "One way or another."
Lira stepped forward. "He's coming for me."
Ashen knelt, bringing himself to her height. "He's coming because he doesn't know how to stop."
Her eyes were steady. "Neither do you."
The truth of that landed soft but deep.
Ashen rested his forehead briefly against hers. "I learned."
Elyra grabbed Lira's shoulder. "We'll circle wide," she said. "If you're not dead in an hour, I'm coming back."
Ashen allowed himself a thin smile. "Fair."
They disappeared into the stone pillars, leaving Ashen alone.
He stepped forward into the open.
"Ironhand," he called.
The sound of metal answered him.
Ironhand emerged from behind a fractured slab of rock, massive frame wrapped in scarred armor, gauntlet flexing slowly as if eager. His mask was gone. What remained of his face was ruin, burn scars, ritual marks, eyes too bright.
"Ashen," Ironhand rumbled. "You look tired."
Ashen drew his blade. "You look lost."
Ironhand laughed, a harsh, broken sound. "I was never found."
They circled each other, boots crunching against stone and dust.
"She stopped it," Ironhand said casually. "Didn't she? The Book screamed when it recoiled."
Ashen's grip tightened. "You felt that?"
"I feel everything now," Ironhand said. "That's the curse of freedom."
Ashen shook his head. "You traded one chain for another."
Ironhand's smile twisted. "At least this one is mine."
He lunged.
The impact rang through the stone forest as steel met iron. Ashen ducked under a crushing swing, rolled, came up behind Ironhand and struck—only to be thrown aside as the gauntlet backhanded him into a pillar.
Stone cracked.
Ashen coughed, tasting blood.
Ironhand advanced relentlessly. "You think protecting her makes you better than me?"
Ashen wiped his mouth. "No."
Ironhand hesitated. "Then why do you stand?"
Ashen raised his blade again. "Because she deserves a future that isn't decided by men like us."
Ironhand roared and charged.
The fight was brutal, raw. No elegance. No restraint. Ashen fought defensively, redirecting blows, using terrain, bleeding for every mistake. Ironhand fought like a storm; overwhelming, furious, hungry.
Ashen felt his strength waning.
Ironhand noticed.
"This ends now," Ironhand growled, pinning Ashen against a stone wall, gauntlet crushing his chest. "You don't get to walk away."
Ashen met his gaze. "Neither do you."
The Spark flared.
Not in Ashen.
In the space between them.
Ironhand screamed as light burned along the ritual scars in his arm, unraveling them not violently, but precisely. The bindings screamed as they were denied.
Ironhand staggered back, clutching his arm. "W..what did she do to me?!"
Ashen stood, chest heaving. "She didn't do anything."
Ironhand stared at his trembling hand. "Then why... "
"Because you don't belong to the Book anymore," Ashen said. "And it doesn't know what to do with you."
Ironhand laughed weakly. "So it abandons me."
Ashen lowered his blade. "It always would have."
Silence fell.
Ironhand sank to one knee, breathing hard. "You'll fail," he muttered. "She'll outgrow you. The world will take her."
Ashen stepped closer. "Maybe."
He sheathed his blade.
"But she won't be alone."
Ironhand looked up, something like grief flickering across his ruined face.
Ashen turned away.
He didn't look back.
When Elyra returned with Lira, Ironhand was gone. Alive, but broken in a way no blade could fix.
Lira looked at Ashen. "Is it over?"
Ashen shook his head gently. "No."
She took his hand anyway.
"But," he added, squeezing back, "we're done running."
Above them, the stone forest whispered.
And somewhere far away, the Book watched a man walk away from a battle he could have finished and marked him as something far more dangerous than an enemy.