Chapter 19

Liza stirred.

Her body moved before her thoughts caught up—sitting up, blinking slow, spine cracking once on the twist. Then the familiar gambler's smile breached her face.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her boots were where she’d left them.

She pulled them on in practiced knots, each tug straining her patience.

Liza crossed the hall, boots thudding against the worn floorboards.

She paused at Mabel’s door, gave it two short knocks with the side of her knuckle.

“Hey, sis? Let’s head to Tiefenburg. We got work to do."

A moment passed.

Then the door cracked open.

Mabel stood there—hair perfect, her blue dress rather stark without her coat.

“Yeah. We need tools. Let’s go get ’em."

Dantalion, Mabel, and Liza stepped into Embermane’s office once more.

A tarp lay draped over a broad shape on the central bench—edges scorched, corners weighted.

Embermane stood at the far end of the room, one hand cradling a teacup, the other resting against the obsidian window. His claws tapped gently against the glass.

Outside, the crucible still burned.

“Welcome back,” Embermane said—though it sounded like he was speaking to the crucible.

“We severely miscalculated how much metal Gravemarch really is.”

That earned a shared glance from the sisters—concern flickering behind their eyes.

He set his cup down on the saucer—waiting for him on a nearby desk—then rubbed his eyes with those wolf-like hands. This time, he managed to scratch his brow.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Fire licked from the wound.

“You’re going to have to see for yourself,” he said quietly.

“Seems there was a lot I didn’t know about the old titan.”

He gestured toward the bench.

Liza and Mabel glanced up at Dantalion.

No words were exchanged—just a shared look, quiet and instinctive.

Dandy answered with a radiant, delighted smile.

And a single, regal nod.

Liza took one corner of the tarp.

Mabel took the other.

They pulled it back together—slow, steady—

the scorched fabric rasping across metal.

Under the tarp: familiar shapes, reworked.

The helmets had gone darker—sleek now, with flourishes that ended in deep-cut fleurs.

They caught the crucible’s glow like ink catching fire.

Even the carbide lanterns matched—same shape, same weight—but the reflectors had been replaced. Sharper now. Clearer.

The collars had changed completely.

No more Fossan. No more brass trim.

This was a new alloy—cold, elegant, deceptively light.

Even Mabel’s greaves had been reworked—recast and reinforced, but with no extra drag.

And then… the coat.

It looked like Mabel’s old miner’s coat.

Same silhouette, but now dark leather—lined. Chainmail.

Raised pads ran along key areas.

The back bore an articulated spine that merged into a burnished cross—

the von Tiefenburg crest stamped into the large of the back.

Inside and out, metal rings lined the fabric—

enough to carry numerous blast stakes.

But the way it hung felt balanced. Measured.

Then came Heartpiercer.

The action had been stripped and rebuilt in the same dark alloy—smoother now, tighter.

The brass furniture stayed, proud and warm.

At the buttstock: a brass fleur-tipped cross, cleanly inlaid.

It had always been there.

Now, the Graveins finally understood why.

And at the end of the bench—

Liza’s project.

A slab of coffin-shaped metal, taller than her chest and narrow enough to maneuver.

Not just a shield. A barricade.

The Tiefenburg cross marked its face, elegant and grim.

The edges tapered to sharp, chisel-hard angles—good for bracing, better for bashing.

In the center: a forearm brace, fixed at the slab’s balance point.

Above and below it—twin grips.

It could be held heads-up or heads-down, depending on the fight.

At the top—three heavy clamps jutting outward from the shield’s rim.

Each one sized for a blast stake.

The clamps had their own lever—simple, mechanical, unforgiving.

Along the inside, brackets held backup stakes by the tail—

more than either Gravein could carry on their person.

Embermane stroked his chin, eyes scanning the bench like he was still adjusting something in his head.

“Like I said—severely miscalculated the metal.”

He paused, then nodded to himself.

“This gear will outlast you. And your line.

If it ever breaks, repairs can be made—

so long as you can get back to Tiefenburg.”

Liza exhaled first—slow, shaky, like she hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath.

Mabel ran a hand down her face, then through her hair, nodding to no one.

Relief hit them both in a wave—quiet, staggering, unspoken.

Across the room, Dantalion beamed.

She just watched them, radiating delight—like a queen watching her knights finally receive their armor.