The "city" of Rust-Hallow wasn't a city at all. It was a vertical graveyard of crashed airships and ancient scaffolding, clinging to the side of a massive canyon wall like a metallic parasite.
This was the only place in the Grey Wilds where the Emperor's law didn't reach—not because he couldn't conquer it, but because the air here was so thick with "Mana-Rust" that it would dissolve a standard soldier's armor in hours.
"Stay close," Xylo warned, his hood pulled low to hide the golden glow of his scars. "Rust-Hallow is home to the Exiled. They don't care about your Void Core, but they'll kill you for the silver in your hair."
As we stepped onto the creaking iron gangplank that served as the main road, the world suddenly changed for me. Resonance Sense wasn't just a vision; it was a symphony. Every person we passed had a sound. The merchant selling roasted cave rats sounded like a dull, thumping drum. The cutthroat hiding in the shadows sounded like a high-pitched hiss.
And Xylo? Xylo sounded like a choir in a cathedral.
"The 25% Sync is making my head buzz," I whispered, rubbing my temples. "I can hear everyone's soul rhythm. It's too loud."
"Focus on the Tether," Xylo's voice echoed in my mind—not through my ears, but through the bond. "Use our resonance as a filter. If you don't learn to tune out the static, you'll go mad before we reach the market."
I closed my eyes, visualizing the violet-gold braid connecting us. I wrapped my own energy around his "choir," and slowly, the noise of the city receded into a dull background hum.
"Better?" he asked, looking down at me.
"Better," I replied.
We made our way to the Under-Exchange, a market built inside the hollowed-out hull of a Dreadnought. The air was thick with the smell of ozone and cheap grease.
"Ah, new faces!" a spindly man with three prosthetic brass arms chirped from behind a counter. His eyes were covered by a series of rotating lenses. "And a big one at that. Are you looking to sell, or are you just here to hide from the Seekers?"
Xylo stepped forward, the iron plating of the floor groaning under his weight. He didn't speak. Instead, he reached into our shared inventory.
He slammed the glowing blue shard onto the counter. The temperature in the stall dropped instantly, and the merchant's lenses clicked frantically.
"A guardian's heart?" the merchant whispered, his brass arms trembling. "You killed the ghost knight? Impossible. No one has touched that beast in decades."
"We aren't 'no one,'" I said, stepping up beside Xylo. I pulled back my sleeve, letting the violet runes on my arm catch the dim light.
The merchant paled. "A... a Devourer. And a Fallen." He looked at the tether between us and let out a shaky breath. "Fine. I'll give you five thousand Aether-Credits for the shard, plus two Cloaking Veils to hide that soul-resonance of yours."
"Ten thousand credits," Xylo growled. "And the veils better be Grade-A."
"Eight thousand!" the merchant squeaked. "And I'll throw in a map to the Crystalline Wastes."
Xylo looked at me. In that split second, I felt his thought—a cold, analytical calculation of our remaining supplies and the distance ahead. It's a fair trade, his mind whispered to mine. Take it before he realizes the Seeker is already on our tail.
"Deal," I said.
As the merchant processed the credits, a sudden, jagged discordance tore through my Resonance Sense. It was a sound like a scream—violent, sharp, and familiar.
"Xylo," I gasped, clutching my chest.
"What is it?"
"The resonance... it's not a person. It's a Shadow-Anchor."
I turned toward the back of the market. There, chained to a post, was a young boy—no more than ten years old. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and his eyes were a solid, terrifying black. He wasn't crying, but his soul rhythm was a frantic, dying pulse.
"A void child," Xylo whispered, his jaw tightening. "They're rare. The Scavengers use them as living batteries to power the city's defenses."
I looked at the boy, then at the merchant, who was now watching us with a suspicious glare. We were supposed to be laying low. We were supposed to be invisible.
But as I looked at the boy, I felt a memory that wasn't mine—it was Xylo's. I saw him standing in a burning city, watching his own soldiers put children into cages. I felt the agonizing, centuries-old regret that had turned his soul into a wasteland.
Xylo's hand found the hilt of his sword. He didn't look at me, but I felt his resolve through the Tether. It was a hard, golden wall.
"We don't leave him," he said.
"I know," I replied, the violet fire igniting in my palms.
"Merchant," Xylo said, his voice dropping to a lethal low. "Change of plans. We're taking the boy, too."
The merchant let out a shrill whistle. From the shadows of the Dreadnought, a dozen armored thugs emerged, their steam-powered crossbows leveled at our hearts.
"In Rust-Hallow, nothing is free, stranger," the merchant sneered. "Not even mercy."
I looked at Xylo and smiled. "Good thing we brought the Void."