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chamber. Erebus soldiers carefully brushed at dirt that clung to some of the pieces. Some items Corajidin recognized: antique air-powered storm-rifles and pistols; melee weapons of various generations, mostly Avān though there were others, more exotic; armor; crystal sheets crammed with engraved letters; scrolls; books; statues; and other ornaments. Yet there was more he could not place. Giant wheels of blackened metal. Skeletal frames, like bones fused into improbable shapes. Spheres of glowing glass set on ornate metal stands. Polished skulls. A glittering wire frame that held coils of mist in suspension, images almost forming before they broke apart.
    Kasraman bowed his head to his father, smiled at Belamandris and the others. “Welcome to…whatever this place was called.”
    “This is a great deal to take in,” Corajidin admitted as he craned his neck to look upward. “This is not something our Ancestors made, is it?”
    “I doubt it.” Kasraman smiled. “Neither our Ancestors nor the Seethe. We’ve started to identify some of what we’ve found, though nothing we can use yet.”
    “Anything you can identify as being Sedefke’s work?” Corajidin asked impatiently.
    “Some of what we’ve found is written in High Avān, the court language of the Awakened Empire. It’s what the Sēq arcanum—the
Fayaadahat
—is written in. Some of it is Seethe, which will take more time to translate. There are other writings here that will take even more time. Languages I don’t even recognize…”
    “We think this”—Wolfram pointed to a set of intertwined crystal spirals, dull rainbow colors trapped within the frosted quartz—“may be a Torque Spindle, though there appear to be pieces missing.”
    “And I suspect something we’re retrieving at the moment may be a Destiny Engine,” Kasraman said, with something very near to awe in his voice. “Whether it’ll work or not, we’ve no idea yet.”
    “So…nothing useful, then?” Corajidin did not bother to mask the sourness of his tone.
    “Rahn-Corajidin, there are whole sections of the city hidden behind esoteric wards we suspect may be millennia old,” Brede replied. “They’re very sophisticated and unlike anything we’ve ever seen.”
    “Break them down!” Corajidin growled. “You do not hide anything like that unless it is valuable.”
    “We lost almost fifty of the Fenlings already, when they accidentally tripped one of the wards. Then another ten or so of the bound-caste menials.”
    “What happened to them?”
    “They…aged,” Kasraman said hesitantly, as if he was not sure he was using the correct word. “From the sounds they made as they died, it seemed agonizing. We’ve not wasted any more lives on such a certain outcome.”
    “Do you have any good news?” Corajidin struggled to keep his tone even. Kasraman and Brede looked away, embarrassed.
    With a snarl, Corajidin turned from them and made his way out. The others followed him, halting abruptly as he stopped short. Corajidin raked Kasraman, Wolfram, and Brede with his gaze.
    “Keep searching,” he growled through clenched teeth. “I do not care what you need to do, or how many lives it takes, but find me something to make this worthwhile.”
    “Father—” Kasraman began, only to be cut short.
    “I’m dying!” Corajidin shouted. “I need answers, not excuses!”
    “If Sedefke’s works aren’t here, we’ll need to look for other options.” Kasraman prodded at the long grass with his toe.
    Corajidin looked at his son. “Such as?”
    “If we can’t find Sedefke’s original work.” Wolfram rested his hand on the hilt of his knife. Made of old horn, it was blackened with dried blood that had seeped in each groove and crevice. Corajidin did not care to wonder whose. The witch’s voice was sepulchral. “Then we rip the knowledge from the soul of another Awakened rahn. One who has the unbroken memories of all his Ancestors, all the way back to the first