A brass speaking horn mounted to the bedside table began to rattle violently.
“Young master,” Elder Sterling’s voice echoed through the coiled pipe, muffled by distance and stone. “We have reached the secondary vault of Sky-Tether Two, but we have a delicate complication.”
Kaelen Vance did not open his eyes. He reached out with one hand, slid his fleece earmuffs down to his collar, and took a slow sip of cold barley tea.
“If the complication involves someone asking me to stand up,” Kaelen murmured toward the horn, “my official answer is no.”
“We are not asking you to stand up,” Deacon Vane’s voice cut in from the other end. “The two surviving Grand-Marshals have barricaded themselves behind three-foot-thick Star-Iron blast doors. The vault is packed with crates of volatile celestial cores.”
“So leave them inside,” Kaelen said, pulling his quilt higher. “Lock the outer gates and let them starve.”
“We cannot leave them,” Sterling explained with heavy urgency. “The fools linked the vault’s core overload rune directly to their own spiritual heartbeats. If we breach the doors, or if their hearts stop beating, the entire vault detonates. It will vaporize Sky-Tether Two and take the fleet down with it.”
