Weeks bled into one another, marked not by calendars but by the slow clearing of debris in nearby sectors, the dwindling stacks of scavenged supplies, and the monotonous rhythm of survival. Within the Sorcerai camp, a fragile semblance of normalcy took root amidst the ruins. Guard shifts were established, scavenging patrols organized, and skills allocated. Mireia oversaw healing and water purification, Gravus and Ferran focused on reinforcing their shelter and assessing structural integrity nearby, while Boltar jury-rigged salvaged tech to work with elemental power, creating primitive warning systems or charging dead power cells.
Flareon chafed under the relative inactivity, his restless energy finding focus in patrols and scavenging, but often boiling over into simmering frustration. One afternoon, returning from a fruitless search for usable electronics, he overheard two Versari near the camp entrance discussing attempts to re-establish contact with northern border outposts along the Vigor. He stopped, listening, his expression hardening.
"Border guards?"
He muttered later, venting his frustration while helping Gravus shift a heavy slab of collapsed masonry blocking a potential escape route.
"What border guards? They sat fat and happy in their 'City of Light', basking in Aetherium glow, convinced the Starfall crater made them untouchable. Forgot the North even existed."
He slammed his fist against the stone, ignoring the grit that scraped his knuckles.
"Forgot the Dravokh were more than just legends to scare children. That's why they walked right over us. That's why I ended up in that frozen hellhole!"
Gravus, ever stoic, merely grunted, applying his Earth magic to subtly shift the slab's balance.
He replied in their shared tongue, his words a calm counterpoint to Flareon's heat. Flareon fell silent, but the resentment simmered, a familiar fire banked beneath the surface.
Seren, meanwhile, found an unexpected outlet for her intellectual curiosity. Boltar, despite his sharp demeanor, possessed a precise, almost academic understanding of his own volatile element. Intrigued by the stark difference between innate elemental power and the Farseer's studied Arcane manipulation, Seren often observed him as he worked, carefully charging salvaged power cells or calibrating small defensive wards.
"The voltage."
She asked one afternoon, watching him coax a steady stream of blue-white energy into a cracked Versari battery pack.
"Is that purely instinctual, Boltar? Or do you consciously moderate the potential difference?"
Boltar paused, glancing at her, a flicker of amusement in his storm-grey eyes.
"Instinct provides the river, scholar. Will builds the dam and directs the flow."
He held up his hand, a small, controlled spark dancing between his fingertips.
"This? Minimal potential, just enough to feel. Like static on fur."
The spark intensified, growing brighter, emitting a sharp crackle.
"This? Higher potential, controlled amperage. Enough to jump a gap, stun muscle."
He focused further, the air around his hand shimmering, the spark thickening into a miniature lightning bolt that struck the metal rod he held, leaving a scorched mark.
"Maximum safe discharge for this focus. Precision is key."
Seren watched, fascinated, sketching rapid diagrams on a salvaged piece of synth-paper. The raw power was undeniable, but the level of fine control Boltar demonstrated was astonishing. It wasn't just brute force; it was intricate manipulation, a living circuit directed by thought.
Flareon often found himself watching Seren during these sessions. He saw the way her eyes lit up with understanding, the quick, precise movements of her hand as she took notes. He found himself bringing her an extra portion of the meager rations without comment, ensuring the blanket Gravus had provided was positioned to ward off the worst of the drafts near where she often sat studying or resting her still-tender leg. He noticed the slight limp that returned when she was tired or stressed, the way she sometimes unconsciously favored it.
Seren's intellectual sparring partner became Ava, another Farseer who had been stranded in Starbreach during the attack. Older than Seren, with sharp eyes and a pragmatic air, Ava had managed to salvage several functioning data-slates and was attempting to collate information gathered from Versari runners and fragmented radio intercepts. Their debates often took place near this makeshift 'archive corner'.
"The energy signatures are anomalous, Ava, unprecedented."
Seren insisted one evening, pointing to complex equations she'd scrawled.
"The UV intensity, the specific frequency decay... it doesn't match any known atmospheric or geothermal phenomena, not even theoretical models of Aetherium cascade failure."
Ava adjusted her spectacles, tapping a stylus against her own slate.
"Anomalous, Seren, yes. But 'unprecedented' is a strong word. Ancient Farseer texts, pre-Spectrahold unification, mention localized 'sky-fire' events in the deep mountains, often linked to seismic activity. Perhaps misinterpreted geothermal venting releasing exotic elements? The 'Underworld' legends the Sorcerai cling to might be distorted cultural memories of such powerful, dangerous natural events."
"Natural events that manifest colossal, silent creatures breathing radiation?"
Seren countered, her voice rising slightly.
"Natural events that leave behind artifacts like this?"
She held up a detailed sketch she'd made of the tablet.
"Made of a metal none of our Sorcerai colleagues can influence or identify? A metal Gravus described as feeling like 'void'?"
"Perhaps the legends are more literal than we assumed."
Ava conceded cautiously.
"Or perhaps the creature and the tablet are unrelated phenomena coinciding during a period of planetary stress. Jumping to extraterrestrial or extradimensional conclusions based on limited, traumatic observation is... premature."
Their debates were intense but respectful, a clash of rigorous Farseer intellect grappling with events that defied easy categorization. They represented two poles of thought trying to make sense of the impossible, Ava seeking explanations within the bounds of Terravos's known history, Seren increasingly convinced they were facing something entirely outside their world's context.
...
Flareon found himself gravitating towards the scavenging and reinforcement efforts. His Fire element wasn't immediately useful for delicate tasks like healing or intricate repair, but it could cauterize wounds in emergencies (a grim skill he hoped never to need), and the sheer physical exertion of clearing debris was a necessary release for his pent-up energy and frustration. He worked alongside Gravus and Ferran, initially with grudging acceptance, but gradually with a growing respect for their practical, grounded application of power.
Seren spent her time assisting Mireia with patient care, her observational skills invaluable for spotting subtle changes in condition, or huddled with Ava, poring over salvaged data-slates and scraps of paper. She also found herself drawn to observe the other Sorcerai, her Farseer mind fascinated by the nuances of their elemental control and their distinct personalities.
One afternoon, she watched Fujina, a Air Sorcerai, who was perched silently on a relatively stable piece of rubble high above their camp, seemingly just watching the wind stir the dust in the ruined streets below. Fujina was slight, almost ethereal, her presence often easily overlooked amidst the more forceful personalities of Boltar or Flareon. Her silver-grey eyes, marked with swirling pupil shapes like miniature vortexes, were usually scanning the distance, and she spoke only in quiet murmurs, if at all.
Seeking a moment away from the intensity of Ava's data analysis, Seren climbed carefully onto a lower section of rubble, positioning herself where she could observe without disturbing. Fujina remained still, apparently content in her solitude.
After a comfortable silence, Seren spoke softly, keeping her voice low so it wouldn't carry far.
"Fujina?"
Fujina turned her head slowly, offering Seren a small, fleeting smile. There was no impatience, only a quiet, steady gaze.
"You always seem so... calm."
Seren said, choosing her words carefully.
"So quiet, especially compared to... well, everyone else."
She gestured vaguely back towards the main camp area where Boltar's energetic tinkering or Flareon's occasional frustrated outburst could sometimes be heard.
Fujina's faint smile lingered.
"Quiet."
She agreed, her voice a soft murmur, barely louder than the breeze.
"Perhaps just resting my ears."
There was a hint of gentle humour in her tone.
Seren returned the smile, feeling a flicker of kinship.
"I understand that feeling."
She admitted, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
"Sometimes... people think I'm aloof, or uninterested, because I don't talk much around strangers. Mostly I'm just trying to listen, or... figuring out what to say."
She confessed, a familiar shyness colouring her words.
Fujina nodded slowly, her gaze shifting back towards the desolate cityscape.
"And they think I am daydreaming because I do not shout."
She murmured, tilting her head slightly as if listening to something Seren couldn't hear.
"Or perhaps that I do not care. They don't always understand that silence isn't emptiness. Sometimes, it's just... watching."
"Exactly!"
Seren agreed, relieved someone else understood.
"There's so much to take in, especially now. Watching helps make sense of it."
Fujina looked back at Seren, a flicker of empathy in her swirling grey eyes.
"It does. Though sometimes..."
Her gaze drifted towards the horizon again.
"There is too much noise even in the quiet."
Seren nodded, understanding the sentiment perfectly. They sat in companionable silence for a while longer, two quiet observers amidst the ruins, finding a brief moment of shared understanding that didn't require many words.
Meanwhile, down on the ground level, Flareon was attempting to put his vaunted Firebloom culinary skills to use. Armed with a salvaged metal pot and a meagre ration of unidentified, rubbery root vegetables scavenged by Gravus, he knelt by a small fire, attempting to boil water with elemental heat rather than relying on the flames below.
He'd boasted about Firebloom's precision cooking, the ability to control temperature within the food itself, to crisp outer layers while leaving the inside perfectly tender. This simple act of boiling water, however, was proving frustratingly difficult.
He focused, trying to infuse heat directly into the pot. The water shimmered, growing warm, then hot. But controlling the temperature proved far trickier than in the controlled environment of the Citadel. His concentration wavered, the water surged erratically, threatening to boil over one moment, then cooling rapidly the next. The small fireball he tried to maintain within the water itself flickered, expanded unevenly, sputtered.
"Dammit!"
He muttered under his breath, pulling back his hand. The water was barely lukewarm.
Gravus, working nearby to stabilize a precarious wall, glanced over, a faint smirk on his face.
He commented in Sorcerai, amusement coloring his deep voice.
Flareon retorted, frustration clear in his tone.
Lame excuses, and he knew it. The truth was, relying solely on his element, without the familiar tools, the controlled environment, the decades of unconscious practice in the Citadel's kitchens, left him feeling strangely clumsy. Precision cooking was *hard*.
He sighed, defeated, and grudgingly nudged the pot closer to the fire.
Gravus chuckled softly, a rumbling sound.
He said, turning back to his work.
Across the camp, near the entrance to a side tunnel being reinforced, Boltar and Ferran were putting the finishing touches on their latest project. Salvaged Versari lamp casings, stripped down and refitted. Instead of Aetherium crystals or combustion, they had installed specially treated conductive filaments embedded within a sphere of stabilized elemental energy.
Boltar held the prototype carefully. It was a modest globe of interwoven metal filaments, crackling faintly with contained power, emitting a bright, steady white light, far more efficient and less prone to flickering than the scavenged electric lights or the crude elemental spheres others used.
Boltar murmured, his eyes scanning the light's output.
Ferran watched intently, his calloused hands, capable of intricate metalwork or forging iron, hovering near the device.
He adjusted a small metal ring around the base.
Boltar grinned, a flash of white teeth in his grimed face.
He carefully placed the finished lamp onto a reinforced perch, its steady glow illuminating the area with clear, clean light.