Mornings at the Kyrios clan's estate began before the sun could touch the sharp peaks of the mountains. The air in the stone rooms was piercingly frosty, almost tangible with every breath, until the servants renewed the fires in the hearths. The water in the silver basins had a thin, transparent layer of ice on the surface that had to be broken with a fist—a short, sharp strike that definitively banished the last remnants of sleep.
Pollux was the first to rise. He loved this silence of the house, which still slept in the shadow of the rocks. In these moments, he heard nothing but the steady cracking of the massive beams, which cooled and contracted under the influence of the night frost. He put on a thick woolen shirt, a leather vest, and strapped the holster with his weapon to his belt. He did it mechanically, his fingers dancing over the buckles without him looking at them—the pistol was increasingly becoming a natural part of his own anatomy.
When he stepped out into the back courtyard, Fenryr was already there. The massive man stood by a pile of raw pine logs. In his hands, he held a heavy axe, which looked like a child's toy in his huge palms. With every swing, there was a dry, sharp crack that echoed off the fortress walls, and the log split into two perfect halves. Fenryr worked in the rhythm of a heart—slowly, relentlessly, with a terrifying efficiency that knew no wasted energy.
"Good morning, boy," Fenryr said without interrupting the mechanical movement of his shoulders for even a second. "You're going to the valley today. The path will be damp. Take some tallow for your boots and don't forget to check your bindings. The snow down there is already getting heavy."
Pollux rolled up his sleeves and walked over to a smaller axe leaning against the wall. "I'll help you. Before Orion crawls out of bed, we'll manage to process at least half of this pile."
They worked in silence, broken only by the strikes of steel against wood. Pollux didn't attack the logs with brute force. He followed the line of the fibers, the direction of growth, and the tiny cracks that others didn't see. His hyper-perception manifested differently here—through his palms, he felt the vibration in the handle and perceived the internal structure of the wood as a map of tensions. He knew exactly where the blade had to land for the wood to yield almost without resistance.
"You're thinking about what Liberia told you last night," Fenryr remarked after a while. He rested the axe against a wide stump and straightened his back, his black horns momentarily cutting across the line of the emerging dawn. "About that purpose."
Pollux stopped mid-movement, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and looked at his hands. In the morning gloom of the courtyard, he saw the dark geometric lines of the infection on them. In the heat of the hall, they had been almost black and raised, but here in the frost, they paled again and receded under the skin like sleeping shadows. "Sometimes I feel like this axe, Fenryr," he admitted quietly, tracing his fingers along the edge. "I'm a tool someone made for a specific job in another era, but they didn't tell me what kind. So I just stand here and chop wood because I don't know anything else. I'm afraid that if I stop fixing other people's things, I'll lose my meaning."
Fenryr walked up to him, his massive figure completely obscuring the fading stars on the horizon. "A tool has no will, Pollux. It has no doubts. You have them, and that makes you something more than just a component. I am the guardian of this house not because someone put a shield in my cradle, but because I chose it. You fix things because your mind cannot stand chaos. That is your purpose now. What will be tomorrow, you will find out only when that tomorrow actually happens. Don't try to see the whole mechanism at once; it's enough to follow the next gear wheel in line."
He took a freshly split piece of pine from the stump and handed it to Pollux. They smelled the scent of fresh resin, which solidified almost immediately in the frost. "Hlyn is an old fool, he's practically turned to stone in that valley, but he understands metal better than anyone in all of Skeldar. If he tells you that thing on your side has a soul, listen to him. But don't let that soul overpower your own. A weapon is only an extension of will, remember that."
A moment later, Orion's disheveled head appeared on the balcony above them. His ears twitched slightly in the morning chill.
"You two are truly unbearable! Even the birds are sleeping and you're banging on wood like crazed carpenters! Fenryr, I hope there's bacon in the kitchen, otherwise I won't deliver a single letter today, even if it were a declaration of war!"
Fenryr only offered a slight smile, which for him was the equivalent of a laughing fit. "The bacon is on the table, Orion. And move it, if you want to catch Pollux before he leaves. The sun waits for no one, not even couriers with empty stomachs."
When they finally set out on the journey to Master Hlyn, the sun already hung over the horizon like a glowing copper disc, painting the endless snow plains in golden-pink. Orion walked ahead, this time without his heavy courier bag, constantly whistling some catchy tune he had picked up in a tavern in a lower village. The snow crunched under his boots in the rhythm of the song, and a thick cloud of steam rose from his mouth with every breath.
Pollux followed behind him, concentrated on every mechanical movement of his body. In the depths of his pocket, he felt the weight of the brass wheel, but today something more important had been added—in a leather pouch on his belt, he had a handful of small components and rods of precious metals that Kyrios had discreetly handed to him after dinner. "For Hlyn," he had said shortly then, and Pollux felt in his voice the weight of a secret that is not spoken of before others.
As they descended deeper into the gorge known as the "Goddess's Breath," the humidity began to rise noticeably. Warm steam from geothermal springs mixed here with the freezing mountain air, creating an impenetrable mist that trailed around their legs like cold, white fingers. Here the landscape changed. It was no longer that clean, sterile Skeldar. Here the air smelled of sulfur, wet stone, and something that reminded Pollux of old, rotting earth.
"Look," Orion stopped suddenly and pointed to the edge of the path where the snow was churned up down to the frozen mud. "Someone passed through here before us. And it wasn't a human or a mountain goat."
Pollux knelt to the ground. In the mud was a print—deep, with three massive claws that had dug far into the substrate. The edges of the track were lined with a strange black powder that shimmered dimly in the morning light.
"The track is fresh," Pollux noted, placing his bare palm on the ground a bit away from the print. Through the earth, he perceived subtle, irregular vibrations. It wasn't the natural heartbeat of an animal, but rather a harsh, metallic hum that resonated in the bones of his forearm. As if deep below the surface, someone was striking a broken machine with a heavy hammer. "Something large is moving toward the forge. It's heavy and restless. That rhythm... it's broken."
Orion immediately adjusted the strap on his bag, and his hand instinctively slid to the hilt of his knife. "Hlyn is old now and practically blind in that cave of his. If a hungry monster gets to him before we do, we'll have nothing but blood in the snow and a funeral without a body."
Pollux said nothing. He only closed his eyes and let his hyper-perception penetrate deeper into the surrounding silence. He perceived that rhythm more and more clearly. It wasn't just an echo of movement; it was something that resonated directly with his infection. As if the creature were powered by the alien, artificial energy of Ambara, which struck his own senses in shockwaves.
"Run," Pollux said, and this time it was he who set the pace without hesitation.
When Pollux and Orion arrived at Master Hlyn's forge, the sun had already begun to disappear behind the mountain ridges. The valley of the "Goddess's Breath" was plunged into a bluish gloom that shrouded the sharp contours of the rocks in a soft but threatening darkness. Thick white steam rose from the geothermal springs, waving like ghosts dancing over the ground in the flickering light of the lamps from Hlyn's workshop.
"Do you feel it?" Pollux whispered. Their steps were now quiet and careful, barely leaving tracks in the soaked snow.
Orion nodded, his ears tensing forward. "Yes. It's the smell of old rubble and sulfur. But there's something else in it... something I felt only once, at an old weapons dump beyond the borders of Skeldar. It smells like a wounded beast that is bleeding."
The vibrations Pollux perceived suddenly intensified into a crushing, irregular pounding. It wasn't the rhythmic striking of a hammer against an anvil; it was the raw sound of something heavy slamming furiously into the stone walls. A sharp, metallic screeching sound resonated all the way to his teeth, triggering an unpleasant, stinging pressure in his infection.
"It's directly at the entrance," Pollux pointed to the mouth of the cave where the forge was hidden. Massive doors made of thick steel plates, designed to withstand avalanches and raiders, were now dented inward as if hit by a siege ram. In the mud before them glowed fresh, deep gouges—the same ones they had seen on the road, but now accompanied by black spots that hissed quietly in contact with the damp ground.
"Hlyn!" Orion shouted, drawing his long knife with a lightning movement. His posture changed in an instant; the humor vanished, replaced by the alertness of a predator ready to spring.
A growl echoed from the shadow of the cave. It wasn't the sound of an animal, but a deep rumble full of agony and anger. Then a figure began to emerge from under the dented doors.
It wasn't an ordinary mountain beast. It was a massive mutant, once a proud and strong man, but now changed beyond recognition. His skin was covered with hard, shiny plates of Ambara that grew directly out of his flesh like black armor. Spikes pulsed with irregular amber light from his shoulders and back. One eye was completely covered by a massive, dark accumulation, while the other glowed with an unnatural, feverish brightness. Foam mixed with red sparks poured from his open maw, and every movement was accompanied by the creaking of bones and hardened infection. This was the "noise" Pollux felt—a sick, artificial energy devouring its host alive.
The mutant growled and struck the nearest boulder with his fist. The stone shattered into dust and fragments under the force of the blow. He felt their presence.
"Leave him to me," Pollux drew his dagger. His hand was perfectly steady, though he felt his heart beating in the rhythm of the creature. His azure eyes began to flood with an amber hue as his hyper-perception switched to full power. "You distract him. I have to get closer to him."
The mutant roared again and lunged forward. His movements were jerky, as if every muscle strain fought the resistance of the stiffened Ambara, yet there was a terrifying, explosive force in them.
"Now!" Pollux shouted.
Orion shot forward like a bolt of lightning. It wasn't a direct attack; he utilized his natural agility and lightness of movement. He danced around the mutant, a mere blurred streak in the gloom of the valley. With lightning speed, he struck with his knife at the exposed spots on the legs and immediately withdrew before the crushing fist could land. The mutant, blinded by agony and limited vision, spun furiously after him, his blows shattering the ground and churning up snow and mud.
Pollux moved in the opposite direction. His style was not about speed, but about invisibility. When he stepped forth, the snow beneath his feet swirled. He walked precisely in the dead zones of the mutant's perception, calculating each step according to the rhythm of the opponent's breath and the vibrations of the earth. In his mind, the world slowed down into a series of geometric paths. Beneath the black armor of the infection, his hyper-perception revealed a precise map of muscles and nerve endings. He saw the pulsing of energy accumulating in the joints and perceived where the creature was most vulnerable.
He didn't seek strength. He sought the critical point.
He circled the mutant in a wide arc while Orion constantly provoked him with loud whistling and short lunges. Pollux concentrated. He saw the path of the mutant's shoulder. He felt the tension in its tendons. When the creature turned furiously toward Orion, Pollux seized that single second of absolute exposure.
His dagger cut through the air. He hit the target—the thin, unprotected spot just below the amber-glowing growth on the shoulder, where the infection revealed raw, pulsing tissue. It wasn't an attack meant to kill; Pollux purposefully severed the main bundle of nerves and muscles that maintained the shoulder's stability.
The beast roared in a new, even higher pitch of pain. Instead of clean blood, a thick, tar-black liquid poured from the wound, hissing quietly in contact with the freezing air and releasing acrid smoke. Its shoulder went limp, and the mutant stumbled, losing balance under its own weight.
"Now, Orion! Finish it!"
Orion understood in a fraction of a second. He took advantage of the creature's pain and confusion, pushed off from a nearby stone, and with a single, clean strike, severed the mutant's carotid artery. The beast collapsed to the ground with a thundering crash, its body trembling uncontrollably in spasm for a few more seconds until the amber light in its growths slowly faded.
Both remained standing, gasping for breath. The air was suddenly heavy, saturated with the smell of iron. Pollux wiped his dagger on a patch of clean snow and looked at the motionless body. For him, it wasn't just a dead beast that needed to be cleared from the path. He felt a deep sadness. It was a tragedy—he saw in that creature a mirror of what could happen to him as well, if he lost control. It was the result of the raw, destructive power of the infection, which changed life into anything without conscious control.
"That was... close, even for my taste," Orion exhaled, sheathing his knife. His hand was still trembling slightly.
Pollux only gave a quiet nod, but his gaze was already directed toward the dented doors of the forge.