Dusk was falling over the Sunken Crater, painting the five-mile tiered arena in deep shades of indigo, rose-gold, and cool violet.
Ren Prime sat alone at a wooden workbench he had set up on the private balcony of his quarters in the grounded dreadnought’s stern.
Before him lay the Speculum of Forfeited Paths.
The eight-sided hand-mirror, framed in rusted gold-silver metal and cold-forged black iron, rested upon a clean cloth of white linen. Ren dipped a corner of the cloth into a small vial of lavender solvent, gently wiping away the soot and sulfur dust that had gathered along the gold-silver metal bevels during the battle.
The silvered glass was clear, deep, and still.
In the first tier, Vane Vale sat in his velvet frock coat, carefully counting brass counting frame beads in an imaginary parlor. In the second tier, Brother Ren knelt in silent prayer beside his lead basin, his scarred hands wrapping clean linen. In the third, Lord Ren leaned upon his broadsword, watching the borders of an empire of ash. In the fourth, Ren-the-Cinder sat atop a high roof, checking his skeleton keys. In the fifth, Master Ren scribed silent calligraphy on a stone slate. In the sixth, Unit Ren stood motionless beside an iron boiler, his pressure dials resting in the green.
