The water in the lower industrial pits was thick with oil and the metallic tang of discarded slag. Alaric dragged himself and Evelyn onto a rusted iron platform, his lungs—the dragon lungs—hissing like a cooling forge as they touched the damp air.
"Are you... alright?" Alaric gasped. His skin was pale, save for his right arm, which was scorched where the cold-iron limiter had turned white-hot.
Evelyn coughed, wringing out her wet hair. She didn't look at him; her eyes were fixed on his arm. "Forget about me. Your arm is literally cooking from the inside out. Sit down, now!"
She scrambled toward him, her fingers trembling as she pulled a cooling flask from a waterproof pouch at her thigh. As she poured the liquid over the red-hot chain, a thick cloud of steam erupted, obscuring them from the world.
Alaric let out a guttural roar of pain. The sound was no longer human; it carried the vibrating bass of a creature that could shatter mountains.
"The limiter is failing," Evelyn whispered, her voice filled with a mixture of fear and fascination. "Your mana is evolving too fast. It's like trying to hold a sun inside a glass bottle."
"Then take it off," Alaric groaned, his fist clenching so hard the iron floor beneath him began to dent.
"I can't! If I take it off now, the mana spike will act like a beacon for every Sun-Caster in the city. Sir Gareth is out there, Alaric. He is waiting for you to make a mistake."
Alaric leaned his head back against a vibrating steam pipe. The heat of the district was intense, but his dragon-core reacted by dropping his internal temperature. Frost began to creep across his chest, clashing with the sweltering heat of the room.
"He was always a good teacher," Alaric said, his voice fading. "Gareth taught me that the Light shines brightest in the dark. He'll never stop looking. He thinks he's saving my soul by killing the thing I've become."
"He's wrong," Evelyn said firmly, leaning in to re-stitch the mana-runes on the red-hot chain with her silver thread. "He's chasing a ghost. The man he knew died in Oakhaven. What's left is something new. Something mine."
Alaric looked at her—the witch who had brought him back, who had carved him open and sewn him shut. For a moment, the predatory hunger in his blood quieted, replaced by a strange, heavy bond.
"We need that Star-Steel, Evelyn. Not just for a sword," Alaric said, his eyes glowing with a renewed, cold determination. "If I can't control this power, I'll eventually freeze you to death just by standing near you. I need a conductor. I need to be whole again."
Outside their hidden chamber, the rhythmic thumping of the city's massive pistons continued, masking the sound of the world that was hunting them. They were safe for now, but the clock was ticking. The Iron Tournament was their only hope, and Alaric was a ticking time bomb.