Bargaining for Survival in the Crater

Ankura Anura drops from his flying cart into the crater camp, the landing hard enough to jolt dust from the red stone. Above, the night sky churns with distant nebulae and bright rings, while meteors hiss past in the thin air.

Around him, his demons gather near the shadow of the crater wall, tools lowered, shoulders tight. The usual clamor of mining is gone, replaced by strained murmurs and the rumble of fresh impacts.

A crack of stone echoes from the horizon. Far out, a new impact has bitten into the ground, and a line of torchlight shows where the primary vein has been torn open and broken.

The Stone-Lieutenant steps forward, one gauntleted hand outstretched toward the smoking horizon, the other braced at his belt. His eyes do not leave the wound in the earth.

Behind the lieutenant, the clan watches in silence, every face turned toward Ankura Anura as the next meteor flashes across the sky.

Ankura Anura raises the camp's attention with a single hard motion, and the murmur dies. The line workers straighten, grips tightening on picks and baskets.

The Stone-Lieutenant snaps a fist to his chest and turns on his heel. He starts barking orders down the rows, sending crews back to the cuts and shielders to the ridge.

Hammers rise again, cautious at first, then in a rough, steady rhythm. The camp recommits under Ankura Anura's gaze, even as ash drifts from the smoking fissure.

One cart is sacrificed to brace a split trench, and the loss is immediate, but the line holds. Far off, another impact flashes in the sky, forcing every eye outward.