Its towers glimmered through the ash like jagged teeth, piercing the sky with defiance and cruelty. Atop every spire, Ministry banners hung heavy with dust, a constant reminder of who ruled and who bowed. The nobles thrived behind iron gates and gilded windows. The skaa toiled beneath their heels, lungs filled with soot, hands red from the forges.
But tonight, something stirred beneath the ash. A whisper. A breath. A fire waiting to ignite.
Lira moved through the narrow alleys of the skaa district with practiced ease. Ash caked her cloak and boots, but she kept her hood low and her footsteps lighter than the wind. The words Darian had spoken the night before still rang in her mind.
"To burn this empire to the ground."
She had said yes. A quiet yes. A frightened one.
But it was still a yes.
Now, she walked toward a meeting she didn't fully understand drawn by a cause she didn't yet believe in but couldn't turn away from.
She reached the appointed place: a crumbling forge at the edge of the industrial quarter. A sign hung askew above the blackened doorway Merrin's Iron. No lights, no guards, just ash-covered stone and silence.
She pushed the door.
The heat met her instantly. Orange light flickered from deep within the shop, where glowing embers pulsed in a stone hearth. The scent of burned metal and sweat was thick in the air.
At the anvil stood a mountain of a man, shirtless, muscles knotted and glistening, eyes sharp beneath thick brows.
Merrin. A Smoker one who could shield Allomancers from being sensed. And from what Darian had hinted, also a man who had once fought and failed to change the world.
"Close the door," Merrin grunted without looking up. "Ash doesn't belong in my fire."
Lira shut it.
"You're the girl," he said, hammering steel. "The quiet one."
"Lira," she said.
He didn't reply. Just kept hammering.
Moments later, the trapdoor at the back of the room creaked open. Ralen emerged, face shadowed and coat dusted with soot. He gestured for her to follow.
They descended into darkness.
The cellar beneath the forge was no ordinary storage room. Lanterns glowed along the walls, revealing shelves of hidden supplies metal vials, forged tools, maps. A makeshift war room.
At the center stood Darian, cloak draped over one shoulder, silver mistcloak feathers rustling gently as he turned.
He was speaking quietly with two others.
One was a man dressed far too finely for a skaa. His cloak shimmered with deep blue velvet, and his voice purred like honey laced with wine. He wore rings on every finger, and his eyes sparkled with calculated mischief.
Vellis. A Soother one who could influence emotions subtly, dangerously.
The other was a broad-shouldered man with a scar along his jaw and eyes like tempered stone. He leaned against a crate, arms crossed, face calm.
Bran. A Thug. Pewter-burner. Quiet strength with fists that shattered bones and a heart that rarely bent.
"Glad you came," Darian said when he saw Lira. "You're just in time."
He gestured to the table in the center of the room, where a parchment map of Vireon had been laid out. Tiny markers dotted key locations—manors, storage vaults, Ministry buildings.
"We're hitting House Torellan," Darian said. "Tomorrow night."
Lira blinked. "You're serious?"
Ralen answered. "Steel vaults. Copper reserves. Noble trade ledgers. It's a well-defended nest."
"And the perfect opening play," Darian added. "We don't just want to steal from them we want to send a message."
Lira studied the map. The vault was deep inside the estate grounds. Guards. Alarms. Wards.
"Do we have a way in?"
Vellis smiled lazily. "We always have a way in."
Merrin grunted from behind. "Assuming the girl doesn't freeze up."
Darian turned to him. "She won't. She sees the cracks, Merrin. That's what matters."
Lira wasn't sure what they saw in her what Darian saw. But she knew one thing: if she turned back now, she'd never forgive herself.
"Tell me what you need," she said.
They trained for the rest of the day.
Bran taught her how to fall how to take a hit and still move. How to spot a guard's weak side. How to breathe through fear.
"Everyone's afraid," he said as he helped her up from the floor for the fifth time. "The difference is whether you let it own you."
Vellis, meanwhile, ran her through deception drills. He handed her noblewoman's robes and a silver mask.
"You'll be entering the estate disguised as a courier," he explained. "Elegant, aloof, unapproachable. Nobles like their messengers pretty and silent."
"I'm not either of those things," she muttered.
"You will be," Vellis said with a wink. "Or someone's going to bleed."
At nightfall, Darian brought her to the rooftop of an abandoned bell tower that overlooked House Torellan. Ash drifted down like snow, painting the manor in a grim, soft haze.
"This is where it begins," he said.
Lira stood beside him, heart heavy.
"I don't even know how to use Allomancy," she admitted.
"You don't have to not yet," he said. "But here"
He pulled a small vial from his pocket. Inside swirled a silver-blue liquid.
"Steel," he said. "Don't drink it now. Just… hold onto it."
She took it, fingers trembling.
"What if I'm not meant for this?" she whispered.
Darian turned to her, eyes intense.
"Then make yourself meant for it."
The next night came swift.
Dressed in a courier's cloak and mask, Lira entered the estate through the western gate. Vellis had forged documents. Bran had scouted the patrol routes. Merrin's coppercloud covered the team.
Inside the vault corridor, a single guard stood at attention.
"Late delivery," Lira murmured, holding out the sealed scroll.
The guard frowned, reaching for it.
That's when the shadows moved.
Darian dropped from above, cloak flaring like wings. Steel flared in his veins, and in a blur, he knocked the guard out cold with a gloved fist.
Ralen darted past, lockpicks already spinning.
Bran caught Lira's arm. "Move!"
They rushed into the vault room.
Gold. Ledgers. Vials. Seals.
Darian moved like lightning, grabbing what they needed.
Then the alarm rang.
"Go!" he shouted.
They sprinted down the corridor. More guards came too many. Lira ducked behind a pillar, heart hammering.
Then a hand pulled her upward
Darian again.
"Hold on."
He flared steel, and together they launched into the air, crashing through a stained-glass window and landing on the outer wall in a spray of shards and moonlight.
They ran. The city swallowed them.
Later that night, breathless and bruised, the crew regrouped in the cellar.
Lira dropped the mask onto the table. "We made it."
Ralen nodded. "With everything we came for."
Vellis gave her a slow clap. "Not bad for a girl from the alleys."
Bran grunted in agreement.
Darian stepped forward, the corners of his mouth lifting.
"This," he said, "was the first flame."
He looked to Lira.
"You ready to light the next one?"
She didn't speak.
She didn't need to.
She just smiled and nodded.
The vault was just the beginning.
Now the city would learn what fire truly felt like.