Until the
Next Crossing

Far beneath the Ember Veins, the mountain opened into a hall so vast that Saevren stopped at the head of the stairs.

Black pillars climbed through galleries of amber light. Bridges crossed overhead, carrying people whose footsteps reached him as a distant, scattered tapping. Copper-colored seams wandered through the rock between carved façades. Somewhere below, a vendor was wrapping bread in cloth, and the smell rose through the cooler air of the station.

A train waited above its guideway, its dark carriages edged in bronze. A narrow line of light separated it from the stone beneath.

Saevren tightened his grip on his bag.

Beside him, Aedrin slowed.

“We have time.”

“I know.”

Aedrin glanced at the hand around the handle.

Saevren loosened his fingers.

His clothes still felt new: the close fit across his shoulders, the support of the trousers, the firm leather of his higher boots. He could feel the strength he had earned in the Ember Veins when he lifted the bag again. He could also feel how much mountain lay between this platform and the place he was going.

Aedrin waited while he looked.

Then Saevren took the first step down, and they descended together into the station’s warmth.

The train left so gently that Saevren noticed the platform moving before he felt anything beneath his feet.

He settled beside the window. Aedrin took the seat next to him, close enough that their shoulders brushed when he leaned back.

Amber lamps slipped past the glass. Beyond them, the tunnel walls disappeared into darkness.

For a while, Saevren watched their reflections travel over the rock: his own familiar face, the dark pattern around his neck, Aedrin’s profile beside it. He had imagined leaving for training often enough. Somehow, he had never imagined this part—the quiet seat, the warmth of another arm, his bag tucked safely below.

“What are you looking forward to?” Aedrin asked.

Saevren turned.

He had prepared answers to harder questions. Whether he was afraid. Whether he understood how much work remained.

This one took longer.

“Finding out what else I can do.”

Aedrin’s smile appeared slowly.

“Then I think you’re going for the right reason.”

Their shoulders touched again when the carriage shifted. This time, Saevren let his rest there.

Beneath the Ashen Wall, the tunnel widened.

Long bands of gray stone stretched above the platforms, their layers exposed between enormous square supports. The station spread sideways into the rock. Freight galleries ran behind open arches; broad loading bays glowed at the ends of passages.

Saevren leaned toward the window.

Porters guided laden carts around a family rearranging its luggage. A worker sat on a low wall, tightening the laces of a boot. Further along, someone passed a cup through a stall window and held out a hand for payment.

A freight lift descended behind them, carrying a stack of bound crates.

From a distance, the station seemed almost too large for people. Up close, it was full of small negotiations: a raised hand, a shifted load, someone stepping aside so another person could get through.

Their train slowed along the platform.

Saevren spotted a curl of steam rising from a row of dark cups.

“Are we stopping long enough to get out?”

Aedrin followed his gaze.

“I think we should.”

Saevren returned with a cup in each hand.

Aedrin stood beside a low stone ledge, watching passengers pass beneath the station lamps. Away from the window’s reflections, he looked pleasantly ordinary for a moment: a man waiting for a drink, one elbow resting near his bag.

Then he turned, and Saevren forgot the sentence he had planned.

He offered the nearer cup.

“Careful. It’s hot.”

Aedrin accepted it. Their fingers brushed against the warm stoneware.

“What is it?”

“Whatever keeps the porters awake.”

“That sounds reassuring.”

“The woman selling it looked very confident.”

Aedrin took a cautious sip. His eyebrows rose.

Saevren laughed before he could stop himself.

“You knew.”

“I suspected.”

Aedrin looked into the cup again, then drank a little more.

The sharp, spiced warmth lingered on Saevren’s tongue. Around them, luggage moved, doors opened, and voices rose into the great gray roof. He stood close to Aedrin without searching for a useful reason to stay there.

When they returned their cups and headed back to the train, Aedrin’s shoulder nudged his.

Saevren nudged him back.

Their arrival beneath the Armored Descent revealed a station built around an immense depth.

The train emerged onto a bridge inside the mountain. Far below, another line of amber windows moved between pillars. Above, walkways crossed at different heights, joining terraces cut into the opposing walls. Glazed lifts slid along narrow bronze guides, briefly catching the light before disappearing behind stone.

Saevren pressed closer to the glass.

He tried to follow one staircase from its beginning to its end and lost it behind a gallery.

“That’s where we’re going,” Aedrin said.

Saevren followed his gaze upward.

“The upper platforms?”

“Yes.”

He looked down at his bag.

Aedrin’s mouth twitched.

Outside, the station air felt cooler against Saevren’s arms. The sounds came from every direction: a call from a bridge overhead, the deep hum of transport below, boots crossing the platform behind them.

He adjusted the weight in his hand and looked up again.

Somewhere beyond all those stairs waited the train that would carry him out of Durnakhar.

The thought made the journey suddenly, sharply real.

The first stairs were broad enough for them to walk side by side.

Later, the passage narrowed and turned through the rock. Saevren went ahead, his free hand following the cool edge of the parapet. Each landing opened onto another view of the station, the train they had left growing smaller below.

His legs began to ache.

He knew this ache. He knew how to keep his shoulders loose, how to place his foot, how to breathe without letting every step become an argument with his body.

Aedrin’s lessons returned in small, useful pieces.

At the next landing, Saevren stopped to look across the chasm. A lift rose on the opposite wall, carrying a handful of travelers through the amber light.

“How much farther?”

Aedrin pointed toward an opening above them.

“The lift is through there.”

Saevren studied the remaining stairs.

“You could have mentioned the lift earlier.”

“And spoiled the surprise?”

Saevren shook his head, smiling despite the heat in his legs.

He picked up his bag and kept climbing.

Inside the lift, the station fell away beneath a curved wall of glass.

Saevren put a hand on the rail.

Bridges slipped downward. Windows appeared in the stone, held level with them for a moment, then vanished below. From here he could see how the terraces fitted into the mountain: homes and workrooms tucked behind the vast public spaces, small lamps burning beside doors.

His reflection floated over all of it.

The braid down his back had settled over one shoulder. He remembered Aedrin’s fingers dividing his hair, the unhurried care of them, and felt a warmth that had little to do with the enclosed lift.

He turned.

Aedrin was already looking at him.

“You didn’t have to come all this way,” Saevren said.

“I know.”

Aedrin let the answer rest between them before adding, “I wanted the journey with you.”

Saevren’s hand relaxed on the rail.

For a moment, he could think of nothing to say. Aedrin seemed content to let him have that moment.

Then pale light crossed the glass, and Saevren looked up.

The upper terminal opened before a wall of moving light.

Saevren stopped.

Pale folds rose beyond the height of the station, flowing through one another without falling. The suture stretched across the end of the crossing bridge, immense and translucent. Through it, another territory waited.

Brakhal.

Dark red liquid filled the distance.

Bastions emerged within it, their outlines softened by depth. Bridges joined towers that disappeared upward into the crimson. Small lights burned inside protected structures, and faint curved boundaries caught the light around them.

Saevren searched for a horizon and found more red.

The air on his side remained cool and dry. Passengers walked past with bags in their hands. A station worker checked a fitting beside the waiting train.

That ordinary movement steadied him more than he expected.

“Second thoughts?” Aedrin asked quietly.

“Several.”

Aedrin waited.

Saevren studied the train. Its closed carriages looked suddenly precious: warm windows, solid doors, a place to sit while an impossible landscape passed outside.

“I still want to go.”

“All right.”

There was no challenge in Aedrin’s answer.

Saevren thought of Dhaurven’s insistence that he be properly trained before his application to the guard could go forward. There was still work ahead, far beyond the strength he had gained in the Ember Veins.

He wanted to do it.

Beside him, Aedrin shifted closer.

“Before you board,” he said, “there’s something I want to give you.”

At first, Saevren saw only the folded dark cloth.

Then Aedrin drew it back.

The egg nestled in the fabric, ivory beneath a scattering of rust-brown marks. It had a quiet, organic weight to it, so different from the polished metal and cut stone surrounding them that Saevren found himself lowering his voice.

“Is that a Stonechoir egg?”

“A Skeldrath,” Aedrin said.

Saevren remembered the birds above the basin: pale throats, enormous wings, the deep calls passing from ledge to ledge. He remembered standing still to listen.

Aedrin held the bundle toward him.

“For you.”

Saevren looked up quickly.

“For me?”

“If you’d like to take it.”

He brought both hands beneath the cloth. Aedrin let the weight settle carefully into his palms.

The shell was whole and still.

Beyond Aedrin’s shoulder, the red depths of Brakhal moved behind the suture.

“Will it be safe there?”

“I’m giving it protection.”

Aedrin raised a hand.

Fine amber light gathered near his fingertips and curved around the egg. It spread into a delicate covering, thin enough that Saevren could still see every dark fleck on the shell. He watched it settle, holding his hands steady.

“My magic will protect it from Brakhal,” Aedrin said.

Saevren tried to answer. The words felt too small for the care being placed in his hands.

“I thought you might like something from home,” Aedrin added.

Saevren looked at him.

“Something from you.”

Aedrin’s hand paused beside the soft amber light.

“That too.”

The sounds of the terminal seemed suddenly distant. Saevren could feel the cloth against his fingers, the weight of the egg, his own heartbeat.

He had once struggled simply to hold Aedrin’s gaze.

Now he held it while the warmth rose into his face, and watched Aedrin smile.

The carrier opened on the stone bench with a soft creak of leather.

Saevren examined the padded hollow inside. Thick dark wool lined the sides beneath narrow bronze ribs. He ran his thumb along the rim, checking for anything that might catch against the cloth.

Then he lowered the egg into place.

The amber covering remained close to the shell.

He tucked the padding carefully around it and adjusted the retaining tab. Aedrin stood beside the bench, watching while Saevren checked the fit.

“What will you call it?”

Saevren considered the question.

“I’d like to meet it first.”

Aedrin laughed softly.

“That seems fair.”

Saevren rested his fingertips against the cloth one last time, then lowered the lid. The fastening clicked into place. He tested it, lifted the carrier a little to judge its balance, and set it down beside his bag.

A boarding chime sounded along the platform.

Their train waited beneath its line of amber lamps.

Saevren folded the loose strap neatly over the case.

For the first time since Aedrin had uncovered the egg, neither of them spoke.

“Take care of yourself,” Aedrin said.

“You too.”

Saevren looked at him, at the familiar dark hair and the face he had become so used to finding beside him.

Then he stepped forward.

His arms went around Aedrin before he could think himself out of it.

For a heartbeat, he felt the slight movement of surprise. Then Aedrin drew him close, one hand settling firmly against his back.

Saevren closed his eyes.

There was warmth through the fabric between them. His cheek rested near Aedrin’s shoulder; he could hear his breathing beneath the sounds of the station. Somewhere close by, a passenger dragged a bag across the stone. A door mechanism clicked. Life continued around the small space they occupied.

Aedrin’s hold tightened a little.

“Write when you can,” he murmured.

“I will.”

“I want to hear how you’re doing.”

Saevren nodded against him.

He stayed there long enough to feel his own breathing settle.

When he finally drew back, Aedrin let his hands linger for a moment before releasing him. Their eyes met.

Smiling took more effort than Saevren expected. He managed it anyway.

Then he picked up his bag and the carrier.

Aedrin walked with him to the carriage door.

The carrier fitted beside his seat.

Saevren secured its strap, placed his bag below, and checked that the little case could not slide when the train moved. Only then did he turn toward the window.

Aedrin was there.

The glass held faint reflections of the carriage lamps over his clothes. Beyond him, passengers crossed the platform beneath the enormous pillars.

Saevren rested a hand on the inner sill.

Aedrin lifted his own in a quiet farewell.

There were things Saevren might have said if the window had been open. Most of them were still unfinished, difficult to separate from the warmth in his chest.

He smiled instead.

Aedrin smiled back.

A deeper note entered the hum beneath the carriage.

The platform began to move.

Slowly, the edge of the window drew across Aedrin’s shoulder. Saevren turned in his seat to keep him in view as the distance widened.

Aedrin remained beside the departing train’s path, his hand lowered now.

The bronze frames, the lamps, the dark pillars slipped between them.

Saevren watched until the curve of the carriage window carried Aedrin from sight.

Ahead, the suture filled the windows with pale light.

The train glided along the immense crossing bridge. Durnakhar’s galleries receded behind it, their amber windows stacked inside the black mountain. At the boundary, delicate ripples spread around the passing carriages.

For a moment, Saevren could see very little.

Light flowed across the glass, catching every bronze edge inside the compartment.

Then the red depths opened.

Bromine moved beyond the train’s protection, dense enough to swallow the far ends of bridges. An immense bastion emerged through it, its lights appearing gradually along sealed galleries. Further away, another structure was no more than a dark shape suspended in the crimson.

Saevren leaned toward the window.

The protective light around the train held steady. Inside, the seat remained warm beneath him. His bag rested at his feet, and the closed carrier sat securely beside his leg.

He laid a hand on its leather lid.

There would be a platform ahead. Unfamiliar voices. New lessons. Work that would ask more of him than he could yet imagine.

He wondered which part he would tell Aedrin about first.

Outside, a bridge emerged from the red, its lamps coming into view one by one.

Saevren sat a little straighter and watched it approach.