Then the Bronze Wheel turned on its own, slow and majestic, grinding a thousand years of rust into dust. A deep, resonant thrum shot up through the city’s bones. Above, through the grates, they heard the distant sound of ten thousand citizens gasping as the Starboard Bazaar lifted, leveling with the rest of Natra Phan for the first time in living memory.
Lin touched Kaelen’s shoulder. “You did it.”
Vee’s face twisted. For a long moment, greed and survival fought behind her eyes. Then she looked at Lin—at the girl’s patient, knowing expression—and at Kaelen’s rain-soaked, desperate hope.
Kaelen looked at the pedestal. Then at the tiny, warm sphere in his hands. He knew. Once the Heart was seated, it would fuse. It would become the Core again. No one would ever be able to steal it. Natra Phan 2
Kaelen tightened his grip. He’d stolen it from her safe not two hours ago. Not for money. Not for power. But because the Heart was singing to him. Literally. A low, thrumming hum that vibrated in his teeth, showing him visions of a place beneath the city: Natra Phan’s Core . A dry, forgotten machine-room where the first builders had installed a failsafe.
The descent was a nightmare.
“The Heart goes there,” Lin said, pointing. Then the Bronze Wheel turned on its own,
Above, the clouds parted over Natra Phan. The floating city glittered, stable and true, its lanterns reflecting off a now-calm sea. And in the dry, singing Core far below, the Heart pulsed gently—not trapped, but home.
“There won’t be an Upper Reaches if we all drown,” Kaelen shot back. He took a step forward, extending the Heart. It pulsed a gentle amber. “Feel it. Just touch it.”
Captain Vee laughed, a short, ugly sound. “The city has always listed. It’s part of the charm.” Lin touched Kaelen’s shoulder
It was the closest thing to an apology she had.
Everyone turned. A slender figure in oil-stained silk robes stepped out from behind a hanging lantern. Lin. The ghost-girl of the lower bilges. She was pale, almost translucent in the storm light, her fingers permanently stained black with grease. The crew called her a ghost because she never spoke above a whisper and could slip through a keyhole. Kaelen called her the only friend he had left.
Kaelen stood on the edge of District Seven, his boots skidding on the wet ironwood. He clutched a small, warm sphere to his chest—the Heart of Phan. It wasn't a real organ, but it might as well have been. It was the city’s forgotten power source, a shard of a dead star that kept the archipelago of barges and ziplines afloat. And everyone wanted it.