The foundry was a symphony of industrial malice. Pistons slammed with the weight of gods, and the white-blue arc of experimental welding illuminated the soot-stained faces of the "Unseen." Priscilla stood atop a gantry, her eyes fixed on the assembly of the first rifled barrel—a masterpiece of nickel-steel that would render every obsidian shield in the West obsolete.
"My Lady," Jax whispered, appearing at her side like a ghost. "The perimeter has been breached. But it isn't the Inquisition."
Priscilla didn't reach for her gun. She felt the heavy, rhythmic vibration of obsidian boots on iron plating. She turned to see Kelvin Devereux emerging from the steam-pipe shadows. He was alone, his face pale, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He didn't look like a prince; he looked like a man who had just seen the end of his world.
"You're a hard woman to find, Architect," Kelvin said, his voice straining over the roar of the engines. He stopped ten feet away, his eyes scanning the mechanical nightmare she had built. "My father... he hasn't slept since the 'demonstration' in the High Hall. He doesn't see a daughter of the North anymore. He sees a virus that needs to be cauterized."
Priscilla stepped down from the gantry, her boots clicking against the metal stairs. "And I see a King who is terrified of a world that doesn't need his permission to exist. What did he do, Kelvin?"
"He's issued the 'Scorched Earth' directive," Kelvin said, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a desperate rasp. "Three companies of the Iron-Hounds are moving on the Vane-Crest wing tonight. They aren't there to arrest you. They've been ordered to seal the exits and burn the entire wing to the ground. Mother, Silas, Alistair... he's willing to burn them all just to make sure you die in the smoke."
Priscilla's expression didn't change, but her golden eyes narrowed into lethal slits. Behind her, the massive steam turbine hissed, venting a plume of white vapor that framed her like a shroud.
"He thinks fire is his ally," she said, her voice a low, terrifying hum. "He forgets that I was born in the forge."
"Priscilla, listen to me!" Kelvin grabbed her by the shoulders, his gauntlets cold against her skin. "I can't stop him. He's stripped me of my command. But I can get you out through the Southern aqueducts. We can take the 'Devil's Dust' and disappear. You can build this somewhere else."
Priscilla looked at his hands on her shoulders, then slowly met his gaze. She didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned in until their foreheads almost touched. "You still think I'm running, Kelvin. You still think this is about survival."
She reached out and gripped the side of his neck, her thumb pressing against his carotid artery. "Your father wants to burn my house? Fine. Let him strike the match. But tell him this: if he lights a fire in my home, I will turn the Holy See into a chimney. I've already tapped into the primary gas lines beneath the cathedral. One command from me, and Veridia becomes a crater."
Kelvin's breath hitched. He looked into her eyes and saw a darkness so absolute it made his father's "Scorched Earth" look like a campfire. He realized then that she wasn't just defending herself; she was holding the entire city hostage.
"You'd kill everyone?" Kelvin breathed. "The orphans, the priests... Alistair?"
"I'd do whatever the math requires," she whispered. She released him, stepping back toward the control panel of the Heart. "But I don't intend to die tonight. And neither does my family."
She turned to Jax, her voice snapping with the authority of a general. "Jax! Divert the pressure from the thermal springs to the Vane-Crest wing. If the Iron-Hounds want heat, we'll give them enough to melt the obsidian right off their backs. And Silas? Tell him the 'purge' just went from the sewers to the surface."
Priscilla looked back at Kelvin, her baddie smirk returning—sharp, cruel, and intoxicating. "Stay if you want to see how the North handles a fire, Prince. Or run back to your father and tell him the Architect is done building. Now, I'm destroying."
Kelvin didn't run. He drew his obsidian sword, but he didn't point it at her. He turned toward the entrance, his back to the engines. "I've already made my choice, Priscilla. Just make sure there's enough of the city left for me to rule when you're finished."