The skiff shuddered under the Ember Veil's cinderfall, its engine wheezing like it might give out as we drifted toward Skyloft Varn's misty shadow. My hands gripped the splintered railing, ash dusting my frayed gloves—Lyra's gift, now a fading link to her, chained somewhere in those glowing towers.
Veyra stood a few steps away, her cloak torn from the Ashwraith fight, her face pale, eyes clouded with memory haze. She'd woven to save me, losing a face—maybe someone close—and the guilt of her sacrifice burned hotter than the cinders stinging my skin.
Toren's crew—three Driftkin, scarred and silent—huddled over the engine, their glances sharp, like they knew my secret. Toren leaned against the mast, cinder knife sheathed, his eyes tracking me, weighing my shaky nod to join his Ashbreakers.
Joren, the spy I'd spotted in the hold, was my real problem. His cinder had glowed, signaling a Veilkeeper, and he'd vanished below deck. If he exposed my immunity, Lyra and Veyra were as good as ash.
I scanned the skiff, Joren's absence clawing at me.
"Veyra," I whispered, keeping my voice low, "that spy's still here. He saw my weave in the tunnel."
Guilt choked me—my glimpse of Toren's memory had drawn the Ashwraith, and now Joren could end us.
Her eyes flicked up, scanning the crew, sharp but tired.
"We need to find him," she said, voice flat, like she was pushing through the haze. "If he's signaling Veilkeepers, we're done before Varn."
Her tone was all business, no warmth, and I wondered why she kept risking her memories for me—a scavenger she barely knew. That question kept me wary, even if I needed her skills.
I nodded, edging toward the hold's hatch, but Toren stepped in front, his smirk faint, eyes glinting.
"Going somewhere, Kael?" he said, scar catching the cinder-lamp's glow.
He was an Ashbreaker—burning Skylofts, leaving Driftkin to choke—and his ease screamed trouble.
"The spy," I said, voice hard, my pouch warm with cinders I itched to weave. "Your crew's working for Hemlock. He's signaling Veilkeepers."
I held back—another glimpse would call Ashwraiths, and Veyra's haze was loss enough.
Toren's eyes glinted.
"That's Joren," he said, too casual, leaning closer. "My informant. Tracks Thornhollow, feeds me Veilkeeper moves. He's not your problem, Kael. Varn is."
His voice dropped, a warning wrapped in that smirk.
My jaw clenched.
"Your informant?" I snapped, stepping forward. "He's selling me out. Veilkeepers know my Spark."
Lyra's memory hit me—her weak voice, "You're killing us," drained for the core. If Joren's signal reached Varn, Lyra was dead, and Veyra with her.
I needed Veyra, but why was she here, risking everything?
Veyra moved beside me, her light dim but ready.
"He's a liability, Toren," she said, voice sharp, scar stark in the glow. "You're playing games while we're hunted."
Her eyes flicked to me, brief, assessing, not reassuring. She didn't trust Toren, but I wasn't sure she trusted me either. That distance kept me grounded, my scavenger instincts sharp.
Toren shrugged, his ease infuriating.
"Joren's loyal to me. You want Lyra, trust my plan."
He turned to the crew, barking orders to tweak the engine, but his nonchalance felt like a trap, Joren a blade at my back.
I pulled Veyra aside, near the skiff's edge, the Veil's cinders falling like warm snow.
"He's hiding something," I said, voice low, chest tight. "Joren's not just Toren's. Hemlock's greedy—he'd sell to Veilkeepers."
Lyra's journal, red-corded, flashed in my mind. "Why're you risking so much, Veyra? What's in this for you?"
She stiffened, eyes narrowing.
"I told you, Kael. Skyweavers need stopping. Your Spark's a way to do it."
Her voice was clipped, like she didn't owe me more. "Focus on Lyra, not me."
Her fatigue was clear, her scar catching the light, but she didn't budge, and I didn't push. We needed each other, but trust was a long way off.
I nodded, swallowing my doubts.
"Lyra kept a journal," I said, keeping it practical. "Red cord, always writing. If we find it in Varn, it'll point us to her."
It wasn't personal, just a fact to keep us moving.
Veyra's gaze held mine, steady.
"Then we find it," she said, voice firm. "Stay focused, Kael."
No warmth, just a plan. Her glance lingered, maybe seeing my worry, but she turned away, watching the crew.
That spark was there—her resolve, my need—but it was faint, cautious, like a cinder not yet lit.
A crew member shouted,
"Varn's in sight!"
The skiff tilted, descending through mist, Varn's towers looming—marble and cinder-lamps, glowing like a beast's eyes.
My pouch warmed, cinders pulsing, as if sensing Lyra.
Veyra tensed, her light dimming to avoid notice.
"Stay sharp," she said, scanning for Joren.
Her focus was on survival, not me, and I respected that—it kept us alive.
A flash caught my eye—Joren, at the hold's edge, his cinder glowing, signaling again. I started toward him, anger surging, but Toren's hand clamped my shoulder, firm and unyielding.
"Let it go, Kael," he said, voice low, eyes warning. "You'll need your strength for Varn."
His grip tightened, but Joren's signal was a beacon, and I couldn't ignore it.
A low hum shook the skiff, not an Ashwraith, but worse.
Cinder bolts shot from Varn's towers, crackling through the mist, aimed at us. The crew shouted, the engine roaring as we swerved.
Veyra's eyes met mine, sharp with alarm, and I knew—Joren's signal had reached them, and Varn's defenses were awake, ready to burn us from the sky.
The skiff lurched violently, a cinder bolt grazing the hull, ash and sparks exploding across the deck.
My heart slammed against my ribs as I ducked behind the railing, Veyra dropping nearby, her light snuffed out to avoid detection.
Toren cursed, shouting at the crew to dive lower, the engine screaming like it might tear itself apart.
Varn's towers loomed closer, their cinder-lamps pulsing like a heartbeat, each bolt a warning we'd been marked.
"Joren!" I roared, shoving past Toren's grip, rage boiling over.
The spy stood at the hold, his cinder glowing, a smug grin splitting his face.
"You sold us out!"
I lunged, my pouch warm with cinders I ached to weave, but Toren yanked me back, his strength startling, his scar stark in the lamplight.
"He's mine, Kael," Toren snapped, eyes cold as ash. "You want Lyra, play my game."
His words chilled me—Joren wasn't just Hemlock's pawn; he was Toren's, and I'd walked into a deeper trap than I'd feared.
Veyra's voice sliced through, sharp and urgent.
"Kael, focus!"
She pointed to the bolts, another sizzling past, scorching the deck's edge. Her haze clouded her eyes, but her voice was all business, no warmth.
"We need to land, now!"
Her focus on survival, not me, was clear, and I nodded—she was right, even if her secrets nagged at me.
I glared at Toren, then Joren, my chest heaving.
Lyra was in those towers, her Spark draining for the Veil's core, and Veyra's skills were my best shot, but her motives were a shadow I couldn't shake.
Weaving now would draw Ashwraiths, and Veyra's haze was loss enough.
"Fine," I said, voice hard. "But Joren's done, Toren. No more games."
Toren released me, his smirk flickering back, infuriatingly calm.
"Deal," he said, turning to the crew, barking orders to dodge the bolts.
But Joren's cinder flickered, another signal sent, and the bolts intensified, the skiff shaking like a leaf in a storm.
Veilkeepers were waiting, and my immunity was no secret now.
Veyra gripped the railing, her eyes scanning the crew, not me.
That spark—her focus, my reliance—was there, but distant, like a cinder not yet lit.
Lyra was my goal, Veyra my means, and trust was a luxury we didn't have.
A bolt struck the mast, flames erupting, the crew scrambling.
Varn wasn't just a citadel—it was a trap, and we were flying into its jaws.
The skiff dove through the mist, Varn's towers sharpening, their cinder-lamps blinding against the Veil's twilight.
My gloves tightened on the railing, Lyra's journal vivid in my mind, Veyra's sharp focus my guide.
Joren slipped back to the hold, his cinder dim, but the damage was done—bolts rained, each one closer, the engine whining like a wounded animal.
I wanted to weave, to fight back, but Veyra's haze stopped me—her losses were my fault, and I wouldn't add to them.
"Kael," Veyra said, voice low, cutting through the chaos.
"Stay alive. That's the plan."
Her eyes flicked to me, brief, then back to the crew, all business.
That spark flickered, cautious and faint, and I nodded—survival came first, trust could wait.
The skiff tilted wildly, flames licking the mast, and Varn's jaws opened wide, ready to swallow us whole.
The crew shouted, the engine roaring as we swerved. Veyra's eyes met mine, wide with alarm, and I knew—Joren's signal had reached them, and Varn's defenses were awake, ready to burn us from the ssky