The wind howling across the Precursor terrace had lost all resemblance to natural mountain air. It tasted of burnt copper, molten sulfur, and the sterile, razor-sharp tang of static charge. Standing fifteen paces clear of the central dark rock megalith, Lin Tao knelt upon the dark flat stone slabs, his medical satchel resting open beside his right knee.
Beside him, Tie Shan swung his eight-pound quarry mallet in rhythmic, measured blows. With each thunderous strike, a four-inch star-iron piton was driven deep into the ancient mortar seams between the dark rock blocks. Three heavy pins formed an equilateral triangle around Tie Shan’s boots, linked together by thick lengths of braided Precursor steel cable. The star-iron had been hardened with ancient quarry melted rock waste, specifically selected to prevent brittle fracture under sub-zero mountain heat levels.
“Anchor pins are set,” Tie Shan said, his breath fogging in the freezing air as he wiped sweat and rock dust from his eyes.
“Tie the backup tether around your right hip,” Lin Tao instructed, not looking up from his work. “When the main vector reflects, the shifted weight blast wave won’t travel outward into the valley. It will focus downward into the terrace floor. If your boots aren’t locked to the land-wide shelf, the moving rebound will throw you two hundred paces over the cliff before you can draw breath.”
