The cave was not pitch black. It was illuminated by the bioluminescent fungi growing on the ceiling—a galaxy of cold, pale blue stars.
Under this ghostly light, twenty rifles were aimed at Julian's chest.
The Chieftain, whose name was Korg, stepped closer. His massive piston-hammer hissed, leaking steam into the freezing air. He loomed over Julian, smelling of wet fur and gun oil.
"Give me one reason not to crush your skull," Korg rumbled. "The Empire bombs our villages. They poison our snow. You fall from their sky ships. You are one of them."
"We are not Empire," Julian said, his voice echoing in the cavern. He held his hands up, palms open, showing the Black-Iron ring on one and the glowing crystal corruption on the other. "The Empire just dropped a mountain on us to kill me. Does that look like friendship?"
Korg glanced at the sealed entrance, then back at Julian's glowing hand. He narrowed his eyes.
"Sky-Magic," Korg spat. "The curse of the machines."
"It's not magic," Julian said. "It's Resonance. And right now, it's the only flashlight you have."
Lyra stepped forward, holstering her empty pistol to show trust. "We have wounded. We have no ammo. We just want passage through the mountain."
Korg looked at Skid, clutching her broken arm, and the shivering pirates. He snorted.
"Passage?" Korg laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "The Deep Roads are closed. The 'Heart-Heater' is dying. Without it, the tunnels will freeze in two cycles. We are all dead anyway."
He turned to his warriors. "Bind them. If the cold takes us, we will eat well before the end."
"Wait!" Skid shouted, stepping forward despite her pain. "Heater? You mean a geothermal generator?"
Korg stopped. "I mean the Breath of the Mountain. It grows weak. The Shaman says the spirits are angry."
"Spirits don't get angry," Skid snapped. "Valves get clogged. Intakes get blocked. Let us look at it."
Korg looked at Skid, then at Julian.
"You can fix the Breath?"
"I can fix anything that hums," Julian said steadily. "Let me look at it. If I fix it, you let us go. If I fail... you can eat me."
Korg stared at him for a long, tense moment. Then, he lowered his hammer.
"Bring them," Korg commanded. "To the Forge."
They were marched deeper into the mountain. The natural caverns gave way to hewn stone tunnels, decorated with carvings of great beasts fighting metal giants.
The air grew warmer, but it also grew stale. The smell of sulfur was strong.
They entered a massive central chamber. In the center stood a machine that looked like a temple. It was ancient—Pre-Empire technology. A massive geothermal turbine built directly over a magma fissure deep in the earth.
But the turbine was barely moving. The massive flywheel was sluggish. The pipes were covered in frost.
An old woman—the Shaman—was chanting in front of it, banging a drum made of scrap metal.
"The Shaman says the fire sleeps," Korg said, pointing to the dying machine. "If it stops, the air recyclers stop. We suffocate or freeze."
Julian walked up to the machine. He didn't need the ring off to feel the problem. He placed his human hand on the cold casing.
"It's not asleep," Julian muttered. "It's choked."
He looked at the pressure gauges. They were maxed out.
"There's a blockage in the magma intake," Julian explained. "The pressure is building up. It's not going to stop, Korg. It's going to explode. It creates a back-draft."
"Can you clear it?" Korg asked, a flicker of fear crossing his face.
"I can't clear it physically," Julian said. "The valve is a mile down in the lava. But..."
He looked at his crystal hand.
"I can shake it loose."
Julian turned to Lyra. "I need to take the ring off. But this machine... it's connected to the magma. If I harmonize with it, it's going to get hot."
"Do it," Lyra said, guarding his back as the tribals watched suspiciously.
Julian pulled the Black-Iron ring off his finger.
The roar of the earth hit him. But it wasn't the metallic scream of the city. It was a deep, slow, rhythmic boom. The sound of the planet's blood moving.
Julian climbed onto the turbine housing. He slammed his crystal hand onto the main drive shaft.
WAKE UP.
He didn't send a command. He sent a Pulse. He visualized the blockage deep in the earth—a hardened plug of rock in the pipe.
He sent a frequency of Vibration. A jackhammer signal.
Thump-thump-thump.
The machine groaned. The frost on the pipes cracked and fell away.
"He angers the spirit!" the Shaman shrieked.
"Silence!" Korg roared, watching the flywheel.
Julian gritted his teeth. The heat was traveling up the shaft, burning his hand. But he pushed harder.
BREAK.
CRACK-WOOSH.
Deep below them, something shattered.
A rush of steam exploded from the vents. The flywheel jerked, then spun. Faster. Faster. The hum of the generator rose from a moan to a roar. The lights in the cavern flared bright amber. Warm, fresh air blasted from the recyclers.
Julian pulled his hand back, gasping. He slipped the ring back on.
The machine was singing. The Forge was alive.
Korg looked at the spinning turbine. He looked at Julian with new eyes—not as an enemy, but with something bordering on religious awe.
"You speak the language of the Old Ones," Korg whispered.
"Just mechanics," Julian said, wiping soot from his face. "We have a deal?"
Korg nodded slowly. He signaled his warriors to lower their weapons.
"You have given us life," Korg said. "You are Iron-Kin now. No one eats the Kin."
Later, they sat around a fire powered by the newly restored vents. They ate roasted moss-rat (which tasted like chicken seasoned with copper), and Skid's arm was properly set by the Shaman.
"You said you are going North," Korg said, passing a flask of strong spirit to Julian. "To the Ice."
"Yes," Julian nodded. "Is there a way out?"
"There is the 'Throat of the Wyrm'," Korg said. "A tunnel that leads under the peaks to the Northern Tundra. But why go there? The Ice is death. Even we do not go past the Glaciers."
"I saw something," Julian said quietly. "In a vision. Another giant. Like the one in the wasteland. Sleeping under the ice."
Korg went still. He exchanged a look with the Shaman.
"The Frost-Titan," Korg whispered. "The legend says he holds the sky up. But he is guarded."
"Guarded by what? The Empire?"
"No," Korg leaned in. "By the Lost Legion. Soldiers from the First War who never stopped fighting. They guard the ice. They kill anything warm."
Julian looked at Lyra.
"Undead soldiers?" Lyra asked skeptically.
"Not undead," Julian realized. "Automated. Like Brother Cadence. Or... preserved."
"If you go there," Korg warned, "you will need more than a wrench, Iron-Kin. You will need a guide."
Korg stood up. He grabbed a map skin from his belt and handed it to Julian.
"This shows the tunnels. It will take you to the coast. From there... you are on your own against the Legion."
Julian took the map. "Thank you, Korg."
"One more thing," Korg pointed to the corner of the cave, where the surviving pirates were sleeping. "Your friends. They are weak. They stay here. The tunnel is too hard for them."
Julian looked at Silas and the others. They were broken men. They wouldn't survive the tundra.
"Keep them safe," Julian said. "They can work the machines for you."
"Agreed."
Julian stood up. He looked at Lyra and Skid.
"Ready to trade snow for ice?"
"I hate the cold," Skid grumbled, adjusting her splint. "But I hate the Empire more. Let's find this Frost-Titan."