They didn't stay to see what came sniffing after the noise.
Kairn was on his feet within the hour, whether his body liked it or not.
The dragon in his chest grumbled.
You are soft, it said. But not as soft as before.
"Comforting," he muttered.
Lysa pushed herself up more slowly, arms bandaged, beat buried under a layer of bone-deep fatigue.
"No more grave-songs today," she warned. "If you want rhythm, you're getting the cheap version."
"Just don't die," he said.
"Bossy," she said.
They moved.
Fen took point for the first stretch, following the paths he and the bone-walker had mapped—between ribs where rot slid off, under arches where dragon-fire hummed strongest. The kids trailed between him and Lysa, heads on a swivel, too wrung out to talk much.
Kairn brought up the rear.
He let his new **chain-sight** flicker in and out at the edges of his vision, not full overlay—just enough to see if any Court threads were creeping back toward the grave.
None yet.
Maereth's knot was a distant bruise on the web, pulling back to some safe root to lick his wounds and plan.
The King's attention skimmed the region like a cold wind. It brushed the grave, tasted dragon-fire and broken chains, and moved on—for now.
He has other toys, the dragon murmured.
"Good," Kairn murmured back. "Let him play with them first."
They reached the edge of the rib-bowl.
Above, the cavern roof gaped in a long crack, showing a slice of ashen sky. Thin ropes of rot mist hung there, unable to push in any further.
Kairn tasted air.
Colder.
More open.
Still bad.
Just a different flavor.
"We're going up?" Fen asked.
"Yes," Kairn said. "We can't stay in the grave. We scream too loud here."
Fen grimaced.
"Up it is," he said. "Everybody mind your heads and your sense of self-preservation."
They climbed.
The path was a tilted ramp of broken stone and bone, half-collapsed from old quakes, half-melted from when the dragon had died. In places, Kairn had to go first and haul Tam up by the arm while Mar pushed from below.
Ash-fire flickered along his scales without him calling it, reacting to effort and air.
Lysa watched his back with a complicated expression.
He pretended not to notice.
They emerged into a street that had once been wide.
Now it was a canyon of collapsed walls and half-fallen towers, lit by thin comet light and clogged with drifting shreds of rot.
The tower-mind's whisper came faintly, as if through cloth.
"You left the ribs," it said. "Good. Bad. Both."
"Which first?" Kairn asked under his breath.
"Bad," it said. "The Night Lord's song cannot bite you hard there. But others can hear you. The Wild things. The mold. The hungry. Good: he will hesitate to drag his roots across the grave again so soon. He must shore up his nets elsewhere. You have a few breaths."
"Breaths are good," Fen said. "I like breaths."
Kairn's chain-sight skated over the sky.
The Court's web over this part of the city was thinner now, holes where the broken relay had once fed orders. Chains sagged, unsure where to carry song.
Rot filled some of those gaps.
Other things lurked in them.
He could see faint heat-signatures in the broken buildings—scavengers, feral thralls, beasts.
"We move fast," he said. "Stay low. No big magic unless we have to. We don't want to draw everything here at once."
"Destination?" Lysa asked.
There was the question.
He'd seen, in that wild moment when the dragon bound tighter to him, a place where chains bent oddly—far from here, outside the city, where the King's web seemed to avoid something.
A blank.
He could still feel it when he reached for the web now.
Whatever was there didn't like chains.
Maybe that meant it would like him.
Maybe it would eat him faster than the King.
Either way, it was a way out of the current mess.
"Out," he said. "There's a spot in the Wilds where his song goes around instead of through. We head that way. If something hates his chains, I'd rather argue with it than with Maereth again."
Lysa squinted.
"You're sure?" she asked.
"No," he said.
She nodded.
"Good enough," she said.
They moved.
The pace was brutal, because it had to be.
They cut through alleys where rot lay thin, scrambled over collapsed arches, ducked under sagging bridges. Twice, Kairn had to yank someone sideways as spectral hands tried to catch ankles from patches where the mind-mold clung thicker.
Lysa's "cheap rhythm" still helped—soft taps on walls and rubble that kept their thoughts aligned just enough to shrug off the whispers.
Fen led them around an old Court camp, now empty but for the stink of burned incense and the faint trace of chain.
Kairn's chain-sight showed him how the residual lines there wanted to snag him.
He stepped wide.
"Don't touch the circle," he said.
Sia eyed the scuffed ring of sigils around a burned-out fire.
"Why?" she asked.
"Because it wants you to," he said.
That seemed to satisfy her.
The bone-walker had come with them.
It skittered along walls and ceilings, pale limbs finding impossible holds.
"Why are you still here?" Fen hissed at it when they paused under a leaning arch to catch breath.
"Grave goes where ribs go," it said. "I am grave. You are interesting. I go where interesting goes."
Kairn didn't argue.
An extra set of claws that hated chains was not a bad thing to have.
They were making good time.
That worried him.
Something was going to go wrong soon.
The dragon huffed.
Paranoid, it said approvingly. You learn.
They cut through what had once been a plaza.
Statues of long-forgotten heroes lay shattered, faces turned into rubble. Rot clung to their broken torsos like mold on old bread. In the center, a dry fountain gaped, full of bones.
Kairn was halfway across when his Brand rang.
Not Maereth-level.
Sharp enough to make him jerk.
He snapped chain-sight open fully for a second.
Lines blazed.
Something moved along them.
Not from far away.
From above.
"Down!" he barked.
He didn't know why yet.
He just knew.
They dropped.
Even the kids reacted on instinct now, hitting the cracked tiles hard as Kairn dove toward them.
A heartbeat later, something slammed into the space they'd just occupied.
The impact cratered stone.
Rot billowed.
A shape unfolded from the dust—tall, wrong, wrapped in chain-tatters and rot-stain.
Not Choir.
Not Maereth.
A Warden?
No.
Those were dead.
Something else.
Lysa's breath hitched.
"What is that?" Mar whispered.
The dragon answered before Kairn could.
Old toy, it said. Old hand. The King kept one closer to his breast. He does not like losing faces. So he pulled one out of the deep songs.
The thing straightened.
It was tall and gaunt, skin like stretched parchment, eyes pits full of chain-light. Its jaw had been stitched shut with silver thread, but its throat bulged as if it were trying to scream.
Chains wrapped its limbs, sunk into its spine.
Rot clung to it like a cloak.
It smelled like grave dust and Court incense and mold.
Kairn had a flash of memory—stories muttered in the mine, of the ones the King had "retired" when they failed too slowly.
Night preachers.
Reminders.
He understood why they didn't make many.
The thing's presence scraped along his nerves.
His Brand screamed.
Lysa gagged, clapping a hand over her mouth.
The kids whimpered.
Fen swore, low and helpless.
The night preacher's gaze locked on Kairn.
Chains crawled faster along its body.
When it moved, it didn't step.
It vanished and reappeared closer, tearing a chunk of the world with it.
Kairn's chain-sight saw the trick—short-range chain folding, dumping it along lines.
He moved.
He had to.
He snapped his ash-flame whip out, aiming for its legs.
The fire hit.
The rot clinging to it sizzled.
The chains around its ankles flared, drinking some of the flame, warping under the rest.
The preacher didn't flinch.
It raised one arm.
Chains shot from its hand like spears.
Kairn barely twisted aside, feeling one graze his shoulder.
Where it touched, cold sank deep.
He shoved dragon will into his Brand, biting that link.
It snapped.
The preacher hissed without opening its mouth.
Lysa stumbled.
Her rhythm faltered, then recovered in stuttering, angry beats.
"Move!" she shouted. "Don't let it stand still!"
They scattered.
Fen dashed left, drawing its gaze for a heartbeat, then ducked under a flung chain.
The bone-walker launched itself at the preacher's back, claws scrabbling.
It hit.
Its fingers sank in.
Rot boiled up around its limbs, trying to eat it.
The bone-walker screamed, delighted and in pain.
Kairn rushed in from the side, ash-fire wrapping his claws.
He raked across the preacher's ribs.
Scales met something that wasn't flesh.
It was like clawing a chain-engine wrapped in wet cloth.
He left marks.
Not deep.
Enough.
The preacher spun faster than it should have.
Chains whipped.
Kairn took one across the chest.
It sank halfway, then stopped, dragon blood hissing.
Cold tried to pour down it.
His Brand met it with a snarl.
They locked.
[ DRAKE-CHAIN BRAND – DIRECT STRAIN ]
[ CONTEST: NIGHT PREACHER LINK vs DRAGON-CHAIN CORE ]
Pain dug into his sternum like a knife.
His ash eye flared.
He saw, for a heartbeat, the preacher's inside—how the King had hollowed a Warden and refilled it with chain.
A horrible decision presented itself.
He took it.
He didn't try to just break the link.
He bit it and pulled.
Fire and cold ripped along the chain between them, back and forth.
The preacher jerked, limbs spasming as dragon-fire ran up its arm.
Chains around it flared, some snapping, some twisting.
Its shoulders hunched.
It tore its own arm off to break the connection.
The severed limb fell, still wrapped in chain and rot, twitching.
The preacher staggered.
The bone-walker took advantage, digging fingers into the exposed shoulder socket, chewing.
"You taste like lies," it cackled.
Rot erupted around it, trying to drown it.
Lysa slammed her hands against a fallen statue base, beat flaring.
Da-dum-da.
Her rhythm cut through the preacher's aura just enough to let the bone-walker tear free before the rot ate it entirely.
Kairn's chest burned.
His blood gauge dipped again.
No time to check numbers.
He lunged, ash-fire climbing his throat.
He didn't plan this one either.
The dragon in him did.
He exhaled in a tight, controlled line—no cone, no roar—just a spear of ash-flame aimed at the preacher's face.
It hit.
Rot shrieked.
Chains snapped.
The preacher reeled, half its head slagging.
It shut its eyes rather than let them burn.
Good.
It didn't need them.
Its chain-sight pulsed.
He felt it, a cold sweep.
It didn't care about bodies.
It cared about links.
It saw him, Lysa, the kids, Fen, the bone-walker, each as a knot.
It reached.
Kairn's shared core flared.
The dragon laughed inside him.
Push, it said.
He did.
For the first time, he pushed not just back, but out.
His Brand roared through the local web, ash-fire and dragon will and grave resonance all tangled.
He shouted without words.
No.
The preacher's chain thrust met that wave.
It shattered, not clean; fragments of command flying off into the broken city.
Somewhere, a thrall collapsed.
Somewhere else, a loose chain-engine hiccuped and died.
The preacher staggered as part of its purpose peeled away.
In that opening, Fen dove in low.
He slid on broken stone, knife flashing, and hamstrung its remaining leg.
It dropped to one knee.
Kairn didn't hesitate.
He lunged, grabbed its skull—what was left of it—with both clawed hands, ash-fire flooding his fingers.
He met the King's song inside that head for a single, vile heartbeat.
He smelled the throne room, heard chains, felt cold.
He bit.
Not the flesh.
The pattern.
He tore the preacher's internal chain-net apart.
It tried to scream through its stitched mouth.
Sound leaked as blood and rot instead.
It collapsed, twitching.
Rot boiled off it, then thinned—whatever had animated it yanked back by a displeased hand.
The corpse slumped.
Kairn released it, panting.
His fingers smoked.
His head pounded.
The System flashed.
[ NIGHT PREACHER (MINOR HAND) – DESTROYED ]
[ EFFECTS: LOCAL CHAIN PRESSURE -- / KING'S NOTICE + ]
[ BRAND STRAIN: HIGH – REST RECOMMENDED ]
He staggered.
Lysa was at his side in an instant, one hand on his arm.
"You all right?" she demanded.
He laughed once, breathless.
"No," he said. "Still moving, though."
Fen leaned against a statue base, wiping sweat and grime from his brow.
"Next time you decide to pick a fight with a god's special priest, can you send a note first?" he said.
"I didn't pick it," Kairn said. "It fell on us."
The bone-walker limped closer, rot still eating at one of its legs.
It peeled gray flesh away like a lizard shedding skin, letting new, cleaner bone grow through.
"Pretty fight," it said. "Short. Messy. King is angry."
"So what else is new," Fen muttered.
Kairn looked up at the sky through the cracked dome of rot and ash.
Chains vibrated there, tuning.
The King's attention brushed heavier now.
Not all of it.
Enough to sting.
He is testing, the dragon said. Seeing what toys to send next. He will not stop while you are in his web.
"Then we get out of it," Kairn said.
He turned.
"Move," he told the others. "Faster now. That thing was just a hand. I don't want to see the arm today."
They ran.
The city blurred into a smear of broken stone, rotted plazas, and the occasional flash of hostile eyes quickly avoided.
Kairn used chain-sight like a compass, aiming them always toward that gap in the web he'd seen—where chains bent away like water around a stone.
Twice more, minor threats tried to get in the way—feral thralls drawn by the preacher's fall, a rot-thick alley that whispered too sweetly.
Lysa's rhythm and Kairn's new bite cleared them with brutal efficiency.
Fast.
No lingering.
No speeches.
By the time the city's jagged edge came into view—a line of broken walls and half-fallen towers giving way to the open Wilds—Kairn's legs shook, Lysa's hands were blistered under her bandages, Fen was limping on both feet, and the kids were moving on pure stubbornness.
"Almost there," Mar panted.
"Define 'there'," Sia said.
"Not here," Fen said. "I'll take it."
They crossed the last broken street.
Rot thinned.
Chains above grew stranger—lines that didn't belong to the Court, flickering, wild.
The King's web curved around something ahead, leaving a wide emptiness Kairn could feel like a pressure drop in his sinuses.
He slowed, just a fraction.
The dragon hummed.
You feel it, it said.
"Yes," Kairn replied.
"What?" Lysa asked.
He pointed with his chin.
"At the edge," he said. "Something he won't cross. Or can't."
Fen swallowed.
"Remind me," he said, "why we're going toward the thing even the King gives a wide berth?"
"Because he can reach everywhere else," Kairn said.
The bone-walker sniffed the air.
Its ember eyes widened.
"Oh," it said softly. "Oh. You're going to the hole."
Tam frowned.
"The… hole?" he asked.
"In the song," the bone-walker said. "In the world. In the place where chains go quiet. Where things went in and did not come back. Where the King's hands do not fit."
Sia shivered.
"Is it worse than him?" she asked.
The bone-walker smiled, too many teeth.
"Different," it said.
Kairn's Brand throbbed, not in warning now, but in anticipation.
The dragon inside him stretched.
Interesting, it said. I have not sniffed that edge in a long time.
Lysa looked at Kairn.
"You still sure?" she asked.
He thought of Maereth.
The preacher.
The ribs.
The King's gaze.
The web.
"No," he said again.
She smiled, tired and fierce.
"Good enough," she repeated.
They stepped out of the ruined city and into the Wilds, heading toward the place even chains hesitated to touch.