Elias Varn's boots echoed in the Underworks' cavern, the steamheart's pulse vibrating through his bones. The mural of the Machine God loomed over him, its cog-crowned figure etched in red runes that seemed to pulse in time with the Gearheart against his chest. Mara knelt beside him, her arm bandaged with the rag she'd tied after the cloaked figure's attack. Blood seeped through, but her eyes were sharp, scanning the shadows for movement. The cog left by the attacker lay in Elias's hand, its runes a mirror of Thane's—another piece of a puzzle he couldn't yet see.
"We need to move," Mara whispered, her voice tight. "That shooter's not done with us."
Elias nodded, pocketing the cog. The cavern's gears groaned, steam hissing from unseen vents. The air felt alive, heavy with the steamheart's heat and something older—something watching. He tightened his grip on his revolver, its weight a small comfort against the vastness of Ironhaven's underbelly.
"Where's this map of yours lead?" he asked, glancing at the leather journal Mara clutched. Its pages, crammed with sketches of runes and tunnels, had brought them here, to the steamheart's outer chambers. But the attack proved they weren't alone in chasing Thane's secrets.
"Deeper," Mara said, standing. Her glowing orb, now tucked in her belt, cast a faint blue light, illuminating the sweat on her brow. "The core's below, where the Gearwrights hide their real work. If Thane was killed for something, it's there."
Elias's jaw clenched. The core was forbidden, even to inspectors. Only Gearwrights entered, chanting their hymns to the Machine God. He'd always dismissed their faith as superstition, but the Gearheart's hum and his visions—gears grinding, a voice whispering The cogs turn—were eroding his skepticism.
"Lead on," he said, ignoring the ache in his skull. "But if you're holding out on me, Mara, we're done."
She smirked, though her eyes flicked to his pendant. "Trust issues, detective? You're the one glowing like a furnace."
He didn't reply, following her through a maze of pipes and gears. The Underworks were a labyrinth, built when Ironhaven was young, its tunnels carved by hands long dead. Rust coated everything, but the steamheart's pulse kept the machinery alive, a heartbeat that never faltered. Elias's lantern flickered, casting jagged shadows that seemed to move on their own.
Mara stopped at a rusted hatch, its surface etched with the same runes as the cogs. She pulled a wrench from her belt, prying it open with a screech. "This leads to the lower chambers," she said. "Last chance to back out."
"Not my style," Elias said, though his gut churned. The Gearheart felt heavier, its warmth spreading like a warning.
They descended a spiral stair, the air growing hotter, thick with the scent of oil and molten steel. At the bottom, a narrow tunnel stretched into darkness, lit only by Mara's orb. Its blue glow revealed more murals—gears within gears, figures bowing to a central cog, their faces blank but eerily human. Elias's vision blurred, another flash hitting: a chamber of light, gears spinning, a robed figure raising a blade. Find the truth, the voice echoed, and the Gearheart burned against his skin.
He stumbled, catching himself on the wall. Mara grabbed his arm, her touch steady but urgent. "Again?" she asked, her voice low. "What do you see?"
"Nothing," Elias lied, shaking her off. He couldn't admit the visions, not yet—not when he barely understood them himself. "Keep moving."
Mara's eyes narrowed, but she nodded, leading him deeper. The tunnel opened into a vast chamber, its ceiling lost in steam. At its center stood a massive gearwheel, suspended by chains, its surface carved with runes that glowed faintly red. Smaller gears orbited it, clicking in a rhythm that matched the steamheart's pulse. This was no ordinary machine—it felt alive, sacred.
"The Cog Altar," Mara whispered, her voice tinged with awe. "Gearwrights use it for rituals. Thane was here, I'm sure of it."
Elias approached, his boots clanging on the metal floor. The altar's runes matched the Gearheart, and a faint hum filled his skull, not painful but insistent. He reached out, fingers brushing the gearwheel, and the vision hit harder: a figure in a cog-crowned mask, blood dripping from a blade, chanting, The god wakes. Thane's face flashed, his throat cut, his eyes wide with fear.
Elias yanked his hand back, gasping. The Gearheart was scalding now, and Mara's orb flared, its blue light pulsing wildly. "What the hell was that?" she demanded, stepping closer.
Before he could answer, a clank echoed from the tunnel. Footsteps—heavy, deliberate. Elias drew his revolver, Mara pulling a compact pistol from her belt, its barrel glowing with the same blue as her orb. "Your shooter friend?" Elias muttered.
"Or worse," Mara said, backing toward the altar.
The footsteps stopped, and a figure emerged from the steam—a man in a Gearwright's robe, his face hidden by a brass mask shaped like a cog. He held no weapon, but his presence felt like a blade at Elias's throat. "You trespass on sacred ground," the man said, his voice a low rasp. "The Machine God sees you, Elias Varn."
Elias's blood ran cold. "How do you know my name?"
The man tilted his head, the mask's gears clicking. "The cogs turn. You carry its heart." He pointed at the Gearheart, then at Mara's orb. "And you, tinkerer, wield its spark. Leave, or join Thane in death."
Mara's pistol steadied. "Try it, priest."
The man raised a hand, and the chamber shook, gears grinding louder. Steam vents erupted, clouding the air. Elias fired, but the bullet sparked off an unseen barrier, and the man vanished into the haze. A laugh echoed, cold and mechanical. "The god wakes soon. Choose your side."
Silence fell, broken only by the altar's hum. Elias lowered his revolver, his heart pounding. Mara's orb dimmed, her face pale but defiant. "That was no Gearwright," she said. "That was something else."
Elias nodded, the Gearheart still warm against his chest. Thane's murder, the runes, the visions—it was all tied to this altar, this Machine God. And now, someone—or something—knew his name.
"We need that map," he said, turning to Mara. "And you're telling me everything you know about that orb."
She hesitated, then nodded. "Deal. But we're not safe here. The Order's watching."
They retraced their steps, the tunnel's shadows heavier now. Elias's mind raced—Thane's death was no random hit. The Order of the Cog, the Machine God, the Gearheart—they were pieces of a machine he didn't understand, but one he was already caught in. Mara's orb glowed faintly, her silence louder than the steamheart's pulse. She was hiding something, and so was he.
As they reached the hatch, a new sound stopped them: a low, rhythmic clank, like an automaton waking. From the darkness, red eyes glowed—mechanical, unblinking. Mara cursed, raising her pistol. Elias gripped the Gearheart, its hum now a roar in his skull. Whatever was coming, it wasn't human.
And it knew they were here.
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