They took an elevator down, rustling past the walkways and gears. Then boarded a carriage to the train station, a curved colossus of a building in steel and glass, reflecting what little light pierced the haze of pollution. Behind a spiked fence, lines of tracks cut through the slums. It was bustling with commotion, much unlike the hushed church of the Saint. Men in soot-stained workers’ uniforms were hauling crates onto carts, while nobles in regal dresses and pompous suits stepped toward waiting carriages. Above, officers watched over the whirlpool from raised booths.

  “We will take a regular train up north,” Edmund explained to the wide-eyed crew. “To the mines of Stonemourn. There, we’ll meet up with the rest of the expedition.”

  After standing in a line that moved with the speed of a dead snail, they paid for tickets at a booth. The wait didn’t stop Edmund, who still haggled for a minute about sending a receipt copy to the Bureau of the Hunt.

  Past the booths, they pressed their way to the hall, a space large enough to fit several blocks, all shielded by plates of metal and glass. Walkways snaked around machinery and cranes, the entire building moving as if alive. From tubes ending in funnels, distorted voices shouted announcements loud enough to blast against Wretch’s eardrums, a sense of nausea creeping up on him. After a minute of shuffling between pedestrians, they arrived.

  “By the Saint, it’s huge!” Wretch said with wide eyes.

  “Never seen a train up close, have you, Ratty?” Elenya said with a taunting grin, giving him a smack on the shoulder.

  Before him stood a towering machine. Eight meters tall and several hundred meters long. Dark metal spikes lined the sides, and atop every fifth cart sat a giant metal apparatus, each with a protected seat, surrounded by a cluster of tubing and gears. A long barrel pointed forward.

  “What’s that?” Wretch asked, pointing to the contraption.

  “Steam cannons,” Edmund said, looking between the paper ticket and the numbers on the carts. “They cost a fortune to make, and the pressure needed to fire them means they can only be stationary. They forge those near Saint’s Summit.”

  “And the spikes?” Wretch asked.

  “Defense. You’ve seen what’s out there.”

  “I hope we get to fight something,” Wretch said as he looked at the metal beast.

  “That’s my little Ratty!” Elenya said, ruffling his hair. “Do me a favor and drop the scholar act.”

  They stepped through a spiked door as thick as his arm. And unlike the crude and protective exterior, the inside was lavish with carpets, oil lamps, and cushioned seats in booths. They stored their luggage in a metal cage, but Wretch brought two books with him, the anatomy volume and the Compendium of the Hunt. He caught himself tapping a gloved claw against the leather cover.

  Good, something needs to happen, and soon. I need to keep climbing, keep growing, keep killing. The memories of what they had done to him in the manor were growing worn. But he wasn't going to let that feeling go, that feeling of grow or die.

  He had never left the city, nor had he wanted to. To him, the outer walls of Nov Yanosk might as well have been the edge of the world. But those horizons were broadening. They had to if he was going to climb to the top. A summit where Maria the Impaler, Gustavius the Lion, and General Frederic of Many Oaths resided, perhaps his father was there too. He’d line that path with the blood of the city’s enemies.

  Blaze, Pyre, and beyond.

  A whistle shrieked from the front, and the giant machine moved. The cabins were packed, six seats in each, and relaxed conversation carried over the low rumbling of gears and pistons. Through a window crisscrossed with metal bars, Wretch could see the world move by, industries, neighborhoods, and slums blurring past.

  A young gentleman excused himself and took a seat on the other side of Wretch. They rolled to a stop in front of the outer wall, seeing it up close for the first time. It was far larger than he had imagined, a hundred meters of smooth rock sloping toward the sky. The thud of heavy metal rang from somewhere ahead, and he could hear Astrid’s heartbeat quicken. She was leaning forward, close to the armored window, already scribbling in a notepad.

  The train sped up again, barreling through a dark tunnel. Then a light grew stronger, and the city was gone. Just like that, they’d gone beyond the edge of his old world.

  Beyond it, overgrown ruins and cracked roads lay in disarray, twisting trees and bushes claiming what must once have been an outer part of the city. The train curved, and they glimpsed the outer side of the wall. Wretch and Astrid gasped.

  Gashes, marks, and craters the size of buildings covered the exterior surface of the wall, running into the distance.

  “Saint almighty,” Wretch whispered. “What could do that?”

  Elenya scoffed and leaned back with crossed arms as the train rushed forward, accelerating to breakneck speed.

  “Why isn’t this mentioned in the literature?” Astrid said, her eyes red from a lack of blinking.

  “Because some truths are best kept from the masses,” Edmund said as he peeked outside. “We are almost at the Lost Wall. Keep your eyes peeled. It will be good for you to see, so you should know what we have lost.”

  The gentleman turned his head and gave a nod, as if he approved. The farther they traveled, the more the landscape became shattered. Ruins toppled, giant craters and unnatural jutting rocks, all overgrown by a veil of vegetation.

  “Damn…” Wretch mumbled. It was all he could think of saying.

  “Just wait,” Edmund answered with a smile that made tiny wrinkles appear at the edges of his eyes. Then something stretched from the horizon. Another wall. Taller than Nov Yanosk’s, casting shadows on the ruins and shattered ground. It was decimated, with entire sections blown away, cracked, and scarred.

  “The Lost Wall,” Astrid whispered without breaking her gaze.

  “What happened here?” Wretch asked.

  “Who knows,” Edmund said, amused by their reaction. “It was lost so many generations ago, the knowledge must have been forgotten.”

  “A war,” the gentleman said. His tone was distant and more youthful than he looked. The group turned to him. Wretch took in the gentleman through his sunglasses. Jet-black hair combed back to one side. Blue eyes behind a pair of spectacles. Thin, not much older than thirty, but he still carried a proud and intellectual presence.

  “How do you know?” Elenya asked, squinting at the stranger. “Historian, are you?”

  He blinked as if caught, giving an awkward look. “Of sorts. More of the freelance type.”

  Wretch tilted his head and stuck out his gloved hand. “Nice to meet you. My name’s Wretchy.”

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  The man hesitated, then shook his hand. A handful of scars marked his fingers. “Dimitrov. A pleasure.”

  “What more do you know, Mr. Dimitrov?” Wretch pressed with piqued interest.

  The man cleared his throat, eyes flicking to the door. “A little of everything. Nothing forbidden, of course. Why don’t you ask?”

  Wretch ignored the discomfort of the man without a second thought. “How does the Flame decide who gets the chance to ascend?”

  “Kid,” Edmund said, rubbing his forehead. “Give the man some space.”

  “Apologies. We’re Blessed—hunters, to be precise. These two haven’t been outside Nov Yanosk before, forgive their excitement,” Edmund said and gestured to a staring Wretch and Astrid scribbling at inhuman speed.

  Dimitrov held up his hands defensively, a scab on his wrist. “It’s fine, I don’t mind,” he said before taking a breath and giving a thoughtful look.

  “Well,” he began, “I think that the old Flame grants names because you symbolize something in the world. Embody, if you will. The most accurate marksman. The most infatuated by the storm.”

  Elenya smirked. “Hear that, Ratty. You’re the world’s leading rat connoisseur.”

  Wretch scoffed. “And you’re the most violent lunatic to ever board a train.”

  “Damn right,” she answered, leaning back with a satisfied look.

  Astrid ripped her gaze from the window. “That’s interesting, and in line with my theory! Do you mind discussing it with me?” she said with pleading eyes through her round glasses.

  “I don’t know that much more, I am afraid,” Dimitrov said, eyes drifting toward the ceiling.

  “What about the blessings, then? I heard some practices could create certain types of Blessed,” Astrid asked curiously, turning another page in her notebook.

  Dimitrov coughed and flashed a lopsided smile. “Well, I've met more than one hunter with the same Blessing. There seems to be a handful of domains from where the powers stem. You've surely met one or two who come to mind.”

  “Flame of Ends!” Wretch and Astrid whispered in unison. They’d met a Blessed with power over the dead in a family tomb dedicated to the Flame of Ends.

  Edmund gave them a look from under his hat. “I remind you of the non-disclosure agreements we regularly sign.”

  Astrid blinked and placed a hand over her mouth, but Dimitrov just laughed. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to get you in trouble. These are all just my theories. But so far, I have seen at least three categories. Ingenuity, Beast, and Death.”

  Wretch nodded and stretched, revealing the black skin under his sleeve for a split second. Dimitrov didn’t miss it.

  “I’ve met plenty of beasts, but Ingenuity, that’s news to me?”

  Dimitrov clasped his hands, placing them on his lap as the seats vibrated from the speeding train. “I believe it’s rare among beasts. Humans seem to have it the most, capable of creating Blessed contraptions. The Gulschaks have mastered it.”

  Wretch snapped his eyes toward the man, a twitch along his face.

  Is that so...

  “My wife,” Edmund said distantly. “She had powers like that, could make ticking gears out of anything.”

  Astrid had been quiet, scribbling in her notebook at an ever-increasing pace, but now burst out in a cry. “Of course! That makes perfect sense. Please let's continue. Meeting you has been a true boon!”

  “It’s all just theories of mine,” Dimitrov said defensively, peering out the window as the wilderness and odd ruins flashed by. Astrid continued her one-sided conversation, not leading to any new revelation. Wretch relaxed to the thumping of the train and the mumbling of voices.

  Beast Flame, huh. It would be something like that, wouldn’t it?

  Three hours later, the train slowed once more. Wretch had read a few chapters in his anatomy book. He would like to dig through the Hunter’s Compendium, but the scholar was too close. They approached the stronghold of Voska, a hub that dealt in lumber. Their only stop before the mining city of Stonemourn.

  As they got closer, the trees outside grew taller, reaching titanic proportions that blotted out the suns. Fatigued from reading, he closed the book to let his eyes wander. The outside shifted from an overgrown forest into a clear-cut area of wooden spikes and barbed wire, the defensive perimeter of Voska. A long stretch of mud, dug-down battlements, and spiked wire. How many Blessed were stationed there, Wretch could only guess, but it must have been several dozen.

  Soon, they rolled through the wooden palisade into the city itself. The settlement was only a few blocks, crouching under a fallen archway of an ancient bridge. Solid bronze-tinted rock formed the overpass, reaching as high as the trees in the distance. Beneath the ruins, clusters of houses and sawmills sought protection from whatever lived in the forests beyond.

  “So how do you know these things? Do you work for the church?” Astrid asked the awkward historian named Dimitrov, who’d just survived an extended interrogation from the healer.

  “You could say that,” he said with a sigh of relief, standing up to smooth his coat. “This is my stop. I wish you an uneventful ride to your destination.”

  Lets hope for the opposite, Wretch added in his mind.

  Halfway out the door, the gentleman froze.

  Wretch glanced up, laying eyes on the man's expression. He was staring, his eyes fixed on the books on Wretch’s lap. The aloof air was gone. His back was straight, and his eyebrows furrowed. For a moment, he sniffed the air as if scenting prey.

  “It won’t fix you,” he said, eyes flickering up to peer into Wretch’s. “Not meeting him, nor ascending. None of it. Trust me.”

  With a blink and a shake of his head, he was back to his usual smiling, awkward nature. He gave a hurried nod and stepped out into the hallway.

  “What was that about?” Elenya said with a yawn. “Damn scholars.”

  Wretch tilted his head. What did he mean by that, and why had there been something familiar about him?

  He shook his head the way I do to drive those gnawing memories away.

  Wretch looked out the window as the man disappeared into a whirlpool of people. With his sharp eyesight, he saw it; the roots of his hair were white beneath the jet black.

  How unlucky. Gray hair at that age. It was almost white. Must have used dye to cover it.

  Wretch glared after the man and soon they rolled out of Voska, passing through the mud toward the towering wilds.

  That reaction to the books…

  He looked down at the tomes. One had a marred surface, with cuts and bruises. The Compendium of the Hunts. He flipped it open, revealing his father’s message.

  Grow thy flame and meet me at the summit.

  What remains of you, I shall call kin.

  His heart skipped a beat. Wretch snapped his head down, flipping through the pages.

  “Son,” Edmund asked in the rattling cabin. “Are you alright?”

  Wretch swallowed. “I… I think I know that man.”