The silence was no longer pure like that of the Sepulchre; it was heavy, filled with soot and the distant hiss of steam escaping from broken pipes. The Mother-Pump was nothing more than a mass of twisted metal.
Most vital element: Lyall was alive. Exhausted and bleeding, but alive.
Elara, though shaken and superficially injured, used the remnants of her dress to tear makeshift bandages. She ripped off a piece of thermal insulation to immobilize Lyall's arm. The loss of the Gauntlet shattered into three pieces nearby was the most tangible sign of their costly victory.
"You did it," she whispered, her voice trembling. She wasn't just talking about the pump, but about her own redemption.
Lyall opened his eyes, his pupils dilated. He stared at the sky, now visible through the gaping hole left by the explosion. "The pain... it's everywhere now, Elara. There's no filter left."
The price was clear: the pump was destroyed, but Lyall's power was now raw and uncontrollable.
They staggered away from the ruins, moving laboriously through the exclusion zone. Lyall tried to concentrate, but the ambient nexium the air itself reacted to his distress.
In an instinctive gesture, he tried to manipulate a small piece of metal to bend it. Without the Gauntlet, the energy burst from his hand, not to bend the metal, but to pulverize it into a fine dust of rust.
A chill ran down Lyall's spine. His gift had become a double-edged sword, dangerous to himself and his surroundings.
"Is this what power without discipline feels like?" he asked, panicked.
Elara showed no fear. She took his good hand, placing it on her own chest, where her heart beat. "No. It's power without the crutch. Focus on me. Focus on the calm."
Lyall closed his eyes, feeling Elara's steady presence. Slowly, the chaotic pulsing of his power subsided. Their mutual reliance was no longer political; it was physical and necessary for survival.
They found refuge in a small, abandoned drilling station, far from the sound of the explosion. Elara collapsed, sadness finally catching up to her.
"The Domain... it's gone for good," she said, recalling Volken's words. She had saved Lyall and the future of nexium, but she had lost all physical proof of her heritage.
"You saved more than just stones, Elara," Lyall replied, pointing to the Gauntlet pieces. "Those Selithes (plural), that Overman philosophy... we've cut off their main power source. Vane is temporarily paralyzed."
Their victory was technical, not final. Vane would survive, and his contacts within the Power faction in the Order would help him recover. Their presence in the Empire was a matter of hours.
"We have to leave Aethelburg," Lyall decided. "Captain Volken will have survived. Vane will mobilize his entire transport and surveillance network."
Elara nodded. "We are fugitives to Vane, and traitors to the Power faction. If we go to the Emperor, he'll hand us over to Vane to avoid a scandal."
A new, bold strategy emerged: "The Maritime Kingdoms. They have always scorned the Empire's Pressure technology. They fear nexium expansion. If we can reach the coast and find a ship, they might become our allies."
They needed an operational base, a place where Lyall could learn to control his gift and where Elara could prepare the next stage of the political confrontation.
In the early morning, using a small freight wagon as rudimentary transport eastward, Lyall and Elara moved away from the Domain of Cinders.
Lyall, his arm in a sling, watched the horizon where the lights of the Pressure Empire were beginning to turn on. Without the Gauntlet, he was vulnerable, but united with Elara, he was more powerful than ever.
They were heading toward the sea, toward the unknown, leaving behind the steel, the steam, and the scars of their first victory. The final act against Vane would not take place in the factories of Aethelburg, but on the global political stage.