Aethel Skyweaver's Arc

Chapter 3 of 8

The horn faded, but a new sound rose under it — a low grinding hum, stone on stone, moving closer. Aethel crouched at the platform's edge and looked toward the mushroom towers. Something was crossing the open ground between, slow and heavy. The platform behind them looked painfully bare in the morning light. Rust-streaked supports, fresh rope, vines already curling up the corroded iron joints. A half-finished thing. No walls. No roof. Nowhere for a winged body to fold itself out of sight. Aethel's hand went to their belt without thinking. They drew the jagged blade they had carried out of the city — a torn, ugly thing crusted with old residue. They had never wanted to use it. They held it now and felt how poorly it fit their grip. The hum grew louder. A squat stone bunker came into view across the rocks, low and round, dragged forward on rolling tracks. Pale crystal ports glinted along its sides like cold eyes. It stopped within shouting distance of the platform. The crystal ports turned. They had already seen Aethel. Aethel lowered the blade. Hiding was over. They folded their wings flat against their back, stepped to the edge of the scaffold in plain sight, and waited for whoever was inside to open the door.