The wind whipped against the settlement's steel walls, driving sand into the reinforced barriers with a relentless force, like waves crashing against jagged rocks. At the entrance, a group of guards stood in silhouette, their outlines sharp against the flickering glow of the floodlights.
The man at the front was tall, draped in a heavy sand-colored coat, metal plates glinting at his shoulders. His helmet, a dull gray with a retractable visor, concealed most of his face, but his posture was rigid, commanding. He gripped a long, steel pole—its jagged tip humming faintly, ripples of energy dancing around it.
His boots sank slightly into the sand as he shifted his weight, his gaze scanning the approaching figures.
"Guz, what are you doing here? It's not time for your shift yet." The words cut through the air, sharp as a blade.
The other guards flanked the entrance, their hands twitching near their weapons—rifles strapped tightly to their backs, energy blades magnetized to their belts. Every movement seemed calculated.
Beside Ash, Guz let out a slow breath, his fingers tightening around the sack. "Yeah, I know, but—"
The guard didn't wait for him to finish. "You know how important your job is. And who's the kid?" His visor angled toward Ash, studying him like a potential threat.
Ash stepped forward, his cloak stirring with the wind, the edges snapping against the sand. His voice cut through the tension, low and steady. "I'm Ash. I don't have time for this. Let me inside—I need to speak with your leader."
Guz exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. The weight of the situation hung over him, like the sky before a storm.
The guard's eyes narrowed, his stance unmoving. "And who are you to demand a meeting with the leader of Ironhold?"
Guz hesitated, his mouth opening, then closing. He knew better than to speak now.
Ash's eyes darkened, his presence suddenly more intense. "I am Ash Burns. Right now, my brothers and a lot of people are still in the middle of Sandworm Valley."
Silence stretched between them.
Then, the guard laughed. A harsh, dry sound that scraped the air.
"Is that what you're selling?" he scoffed. "Even the Sons of Flame wouldn't last a night in that graveyard. And now you're saying an entire group is stuck there?"
Ash's fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. 'This idiot...' His chest tightened. 'Every second is another step closer to death for them.'
The guard's laughter died as quickly as it came, replaced by a cold seriousness. "So, you expect me to believe that you walked out of Sandworm Valley? That you're some kind of hero now?"
His gaze flicked to Guz, measuring. "Are you really risking your job for this kid?"
The guard's hand rose, the pole crackling with energy, the faint hum reverberating through the air. It pointed directly at Ash, the tip flashing with a surge of power.
"Who knows what he really is. A creature in disguise, maybe."
Guz stepped forward, cutting through the tension. "He already proved it to me."
The guards stiffened, their eyes shifting between each other, uncertainty creeping into their postures.
Guz glanced at Ash, the unspoken question hanging in the air.
Ash nodded, his gaze unwavering.
Without a word, Ash raised his arm.
"[Activating Skill: Scorch Palm]"
Flames surged from his hand, a violent eruption of heat.
The fire didn't spread—it surged, alive. It twisted around his fingers, coiling like a sentient thing, its edges flickering with an unnatural rhythm. The heat that emanated from it wasn't just unbearable—it was oppressive, like the very air was being drained of life.
The lead guard stumbled back, his hands tightening around the pole as if to steady himself. The other guards froze, eyes wide, their breath catching in their throats.
The lead guard's voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible over the crackling of the flames. "Ash Burns... son of Flame?"
Ash snuffed out the fire with a subtle motion, the flames dissipating into the air as if they'd never been. He let his arm fall to his side, the weight of his actions settling in the silence.
He nodded once.
The guard swallowed hard, his throat working as he turned sharply toward one of the others. "Go. Inform the leader. Ash Burns is here."
The second guard hesitated for a fraction of a second, then sprinted toward the gates without another word.
The lead guard stood still, watching Ash, his posture slowly changing. No longer defensive, now... respectful. His shoulders dropped, his head dipping slightly in a silent acknowledgment. "I'm... sorry. Please, follow me inside."
He stretched out a hand, the gesture steady as the heavy gates of Ironhold groaned to life. The iron behemoths began to part, the metal grinding against stone with a sound like distant thunder.
The gate groaned as it shifted, revealing a thin crack of the world beyond. The air inside carried the weight of metal and smoke, laced with the acrid bite of burning fuel. The guard led the way, his shoulders tense, his voice subdued.
"I'm sorry," he muttered again, his earlier authority reduced to something quieter. "Things have been... off. The creatures are changing. They're coming out when they shouldn't, hitting places that should be safe." His fingers curled tighter around his pole. "That's why I reacted the way I did."
Ash walked in silence, his pace unbroken. He wasn't here to unravel the city's problems. His own took priority.
Still, his gaze flicked toward Guz. The older man listened intently, his face unreadable.
Then, as they stepped past the final threshold, Ironhold came into view.
The sight struck like a contrast against the memory of Dunehaven.
Where Dunehaven had been a whisper buried in the sand, Ironhold pulsed with restless energy. Overhead lamps cast cold, artificial light onto the streets, illuminating the movement below. Even at this hour, people flooded the pathways—too many for it to be normal.
Neon signs flickered against rusted metal structures, their glow reflecting off reinforced shop windows. Merchants stood behind counters lined with steel, voices sharp as they bartered over supplies. Weapons, salvaged tech, and strange, glowing crystals passed between hands in tense negotiations.
A group of children darted past, their footsteps light, their laughter brief—swallowed by the low hum of generators and the distant grind of machinery against steel.
Yet, beneath the noise, something else lingered.
A presence.
People moved quickly, their eyes flicking toward the alleyways, shoulders tight, steps precise—measured, as if each moment was borrowed from something lurking just beyond the glow of the lamps.
Ash's eyes narrowed.
This city wasn't just alive. It was on edge.
Ash's mind raced, his thoughts tangled in the swirl of questions. Did all of this—this tension, these creatures—tie back to the asteroid?
He clenched his jaw, pushing the thought aside. Now wasn't the time for distractions.
A voice pierced the thick air, sharp and commanding.
"Over here!"
Ash turned, his gaze catching an older man wrapped in a long robe, the fabric woven with dark symbols that seemed to shift in the dim light. The man's presence commanded attention, and behind him, three guards moved in sync, their hands near their weapons, eyes darting, assessing the surroundings.
The guard escorting Ash stiffened, stepping aside. "Allow me to introduce the leader of Ironhold—Elder Eir."
Eir waved a hand dismissively, his eyes already locking onto Ash. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered, stepping forward with a purpose.
Ash didn't move as the distance between them closed, but the moment Eir was within reach, he grabbed both of Ash's hands with an intensity that caught him off guard.
"Are you really Ash Burns?" Eir's voice was a low, fervent murmur, his eyes gleaming with something Ash couldn't quite place.
Ash nodded, his expression steady.
Eir's grip tightened, his voice rising with a strange excitement. "Oh, I was a huge fan of your father. To think I'd live to see one of his sons standing before me!"
A sigh escaped the guard beside them, a hand rubbing his forehead as he muttered, "Elder, act more mature. People are watching."
Eir blinked, his gaze shifting around the growing crowd, and for a moment, something shifted in his demeanor. The enthusiasm in his eyes dimmed, replaced by the calculated coolness of a leader.
He cleared his throat. "Forgive me," he said, his voice now steady, controlled. "I heard you came from Sandworm Valley."
Ash didn't hesitate. "Yes, and I don't have much time. My brothers are still there."
Eir's eyes flicked wide, a jolt of shock racing through him. "What?!"
But Ash's gaze never wavered, his voice low and steady. "And it's not just them. There are still a lot of people trapped there."
Eir's excitement faltered, his expression slowly draining of color. The weight of Ash's words sank in, settling like a stone in the pit of his stomach.
"I'm sorry," Eir muttered, the words thick, heavy. "But there's nothing I can do."
Ash exhaled sharply, though the weight of the answer had been what he expected.
"I'm not asking you to send anyone with me," Ash said, his tone cutting through the tension.
Eir blinked, his brow furrowing. "Wait... You're going back there?"
Ash gave a single nod, sharp and deliberate. "Yeah. I only came to get enough food for them."
Eir's face twisted, caught between hesitation and concern. "At least contact headquarters for help. They'd be more than willing to assist you."
"We already did," Ash replied, his voice unwavering. "But I need to reach them again. I have to send them our exact location."
Eir was quiet, his fingers drumming against his side. The moment stretched, the air thick with unspoken thoughts. Finally, he sighed, a sharp exhale that seemed to carry the weight of a decision.
"We'll prepare the communicator and gather as much food as possible for you."
He turned swiftly, snapping orders without pause. "Go to the communication center. Tell them to establish contact with headquarters immediately. This is urgent—it's from one of the Sons of Flame."
The guard nodded once, a quick motion, before vanishing into the crowd.
Eir's gaze shifted to another, his orders sharp. "Head to the storage. Gather as much food as possible. Bring the weight-reducing machine as well."
The second guard hesitated, his eyes flicking to Ash for a moment before he nodded and hurried off.
Once the guards were gone, Eir turned back to Ash, his face a mask of grim resolve.
"Now, follow me," he said, his voice colder now, focused. "Let's contact headquarters. The last thing I want is wasting any more of your time."
Eir pivoted, his robe swirling as he strode ahead, each step precise, urgent.
Ash moved in sync, his mind a battlefield of thoughts. Every second that passed felt like sand slipping through his fingers.
Behind them, Guz exhaled, finally breaking his silence. "Well... looks like my job's done. I should head back to the Watcher's Cabin."
Eir flicked a glance over his shoulder. "Forget it. You brought in an important guest. Your pay is covered—plus extra. Go home. Check on your kids."
Guz hesitated, his usual sharp demeanor cracking for just a moment. Then, he nodded, a quiet relief settling in his shoulders. "Appreciate it, Elder."
His gaze shifted to Ash. "Be careful. That place isn't kind to anyone."
Ash met his stare, his expression firm. "I know."
Guz let out a breath, then smirked. "Well, if you make it back, drop by. I'll want to hear how you walked out of that nightmare alive."
A flicker of amusement crossed Ash's face—small, but real. "I'll hold you to that."
Guz chuckled before turning, his figure melting into the crowd. As soon as he was gone, the weight of reality pressed down once more.
Eir didn't pause. "Come. There's no time to waste."
Ash followed, his gaze sweeping over Ironhold's streets, the city's unease thrumming beneath its surface.
————
Eir led Ash through the winding, dust-choked alleys of Ironhold, their footsteps striking against the uneven metal plating beneath them. The settlement pulsed with quiet activity—hushed conversations behind barred windows, distant clangs of machinery, and the occasional flicker of light from salvaged power sources. The air carried a mix of oil, rust, and something stale, something old.
They moved deeper, past makeshift homes welded together from scrap, until the landscape shifted. Before them loomed the Communication Center.
Unlike the patchwork buildings surrounding it, this structure was built to last. Its reinforced concrete and steel exterior bore the scars of time, yet stood firm. Towering above it, a transmitter stretched toward the dark sky, its skeletal frame buzzing faintly.
Two guards flanked the entrance, their weathered faces unreadable beneath the dim overhead light. They straightened as Eir approached, offering silent nods before stepping aside.
The steel doors groaned open, revealing a space humming with controlled chaos. Rows of terminals lined the walls, their screens flickering with incoming transmissions. Operators hunched over consoles, their fingers dancing across worn keyboards. The air was thick with the low whir of machines, the occasional burst of static cutting through the quiet.
At the center of it all, a pulsing red light illuminated the main console—Ironhold's direct link to the outside world.
Ash scanned the room, taking in the ordered disarray. This wasn't a place built for comfort. It was built to function, to survive.
Eir strode toward the central console, his tone leaving no room for delay. "Get me a line to Headquarters. Now."
The nearest operator, a woman with sharp eyes and braids pulled tight against her scalp, didn't hesitate. Her fingers flew over the controls, and within moments, a crackling voice filled the room.
"This is Headquarters. Elder Eir, we've been expecting your call. What's the status?"
Eir's gaze flicked to Ash before he spoke. "Ash Burns is here."
A brief pause. Then the voice on the other end shifted, more alert, more urgent.
"Understood. Redirecting to the boss now."