The first bell had already sounded when the yard workers finished securing the final cargo to the undercarriage.
By the time he stepped onto the gangway, the clouds above Nova Provis had almost fully darkened. Airship travel during darkness phases always unsettled him. One borrowed height by harnessing arnamancy and hoped that nothing noticed.
The technician kept his case close to his chest as he boarded. Brass-cornered with a reinforced lid and internal padding divided into neat compartments. It held half a dozen anchor plates, three replacement stability lattices, an assortment of alchemical resins, and fine copper threading for basic repairs. He also carried a portable resonance probe, two spare memory spools sealed in wax, and one memory binder too damaged to repair on-site.
The deck shuddered as the lifting arrays engaged. The city dropped away, terraces stepping downward in familiar stratification, the exposed high districts glittering with contained arnamantic lighting. He made a small note in his travel ledger:
Departure from Nova Provis, 3rd Eram, 1507th passing, evening.
He did not activate his own binder yet—it was a habit to trust fresh memories. The airship groaned as it narrowly cleared the Grand Wall and leveled out over the Gaval Plateau. From above the land appeared orderly, dark fields glinting faintly beneath dying moonlight.
The final bell signaling moondown was barely audible, far too distant to command the skies. The captain remarked that the winds were a nuisance, necessitating a mooring layover in Icehall and storm-anchorage over Ma'lar. It would be two risings before arrival at Veylum Provis in the Ethereal Peaks. Passengers attempted sleep despite the steady grind of propulsion blocks below.
By moonrise, the plateau was a dark smear behind them as they drifted above the Moonshadow Vale. The fractured landscape of Eldritheon, viewed from height, retained its captivating grandeur. Cavernous tunnels carved through valleys reflected violet hues from the early moon.
In the narrow lounge between cargo and crew quarters, passengers occupied themselves quietly. Two human merchants debated bronze threading in storage casings. An old dwarven engineer slept with chin tucked into collar, snoring in rhythm with the steam engines. A young hunter—clearly a new recruit—leaned against a crate, watching the horizon with detached intensity.
The technician sat at the long table and unfastened the damaged binder. It belonged to a lesser-known councilor from the high districts. The casing remained intact, but the anchor plate was cracked along one quadrant—subtle, potentially catastrophic.
The resonance probe trembled into high alignment. Memory bleed.
He opened the casing. The internal spool had partially unwound. Copper filament lay exposed and melted where the stability lattices had failed. The primary indicator shimmered faintly, pulsing in irregular rhythm. The councilor must have repeatedly access it during saturation. That was always the worst kind.
The technician activated his own binder then, pressing thumb to anchor plate and murmuring the phrase. A cool hum, then full stabilization. He recorded:
Subject binder: excessive recall during saturation, partial corruption highly probable.
For a moment he closed his eyes and considered what it must feel like to open one's binder and find the past slightly wrong.
He had repaired many like this. Sometimes corruption was subtle—names altered, conversations missing. Sometimes entire changings were replaced by near-plausible inventions. Once, a woman had insisted she lost a son because her binder contained memories of such a child. Her grief had been real. The memories were not.
Binder repair was delicate work. Too much correction excised genuine recollection. Too little allowed damage to propagate.
The first rising brought denser cloud coverage. As the ship passed above the taiga of Ma'lar, thin-needled evergreens clustered tightly below. His eye caught on a section of forest clinging to a towering overhang. From his position on the deck, he could make out bioluminescence tracing the canopy where saturation was high. The glow was beautiful from a distance—in truth, it corrupted forests from within.
The hunter recruit approached while the technician carefully rethreaded a stability lattice.
“Is it true,” the young man asked without looking at him, “that if a binder breaks completely, you forget everything?”
“No,” the technician replied evenly. “You simply lose the bond.”
The recruit nodded as if that clarified something. After a moment he added, “My uncle says the Institute of Moonwatchers is trying to gain full control over memory erosion.”
“Your uncle speaks ambitiously.”
“Would that be good?”
The technician glanced at the exposed filament in his hands.
“I am a repair technician. Morality is not my jurisdiction.”
The recruit walked away, dissatisfied. The technician had initially trained under the Moonwatchers. He knew some of the secrets they shielded from the public eye.
On the second rising, mild turbulence struck in the afternoon. Lift arrays strained, metal groaning softy beneath the deck. The captain ordered lamps dimmed to conserve warmth. On the horizon, clouds parted briefly, revealing the Ethereal Peaks. Snowlines caught vivid azure from the shifting celestial aurora above.
He secured the spool with temporary clamps and closed the casing halfway.
The merchants resumed their argument. Heightened surveillance in Veylum Provis. Something about secrets moving through private channels.
He continued working.
Nearly two full risings of corruption. The filament there was saturated with residual essence, subtly warped. He could smooth it, restabilize it, but he could not fully restore the shattered memories.
He drafted a repair note in his ledger:
Note: small section unrecoverable. I recommend cautious recall use and thoughtful ongoing storage. Risk of bleed persists if binder is further disrupted.
No one ever liked receiving that note. They preferred certainty, but certainty is something he could not provide every client.
By evening on the second rising, the air thinned sharply. His shoulders slumped as he noticed the ethereal mists had settled over the region. He disliked working in the city when the mists gathered as they induced hallucinations. The technician rehearsed the winding route to the garden districts with aid of his binder to avoid disorientation.
The High Crests rose ahead like teeth through vapor. Veylum Provis clung to the Glacial Plane in terraced reinforcement and arnamantic bracing. Tower bells hung suspended above the Tranquil Shallows, their tips visible just below the haze.
Descent towards the city began. While smaller than many others, Veylum Provis still possessed its own austere beauty. Bronze ornamentation reflected the light of the celestial aurora.
He sealed the repaired binder with fresh alchemical resin, the glyph flaring briefly as the the new anchor plate engaged. It would hold.
The lift arrays stuttered—not wind, something more primal. The captain swore softly as the whole ship vibrated. Above, the aurora briefly fractured—thin red veins threading through the azure.
The binders in his case gave a low, discordant hum, as if perturbed by something invisible.
He packed his tools precisely. Anchor plates stacked, copper thread rewound, probe cleaned and secured.
Upon docking, he activated his binder once more. Familiar resonance answered—then a second tone followed, lower, unfamiliar. He recorded:
Arrived at Veylum Provis, 3rd Liur, 1507th passing. Sudden fluctuation in background essence levels, much larger than I have ever personally observed. Source uncertain.
He hesitated before sealing the entry.
Through the mists he saw ranks of hunters gathered near the dockmaster's platform. Their posture was not casual. Armor plates fastened mid-conversation, sender seals flaring, orders relayed in disciplined cadence.
The wind carried fragments of conversation.
“…confirming Zvigof's order has fully mobilized…”
"...Nova Provis as soon as possible..."
“…no ordinary revenant…”
"...summoning every available hunter..."
Several bore sigils he had only seen in paintings. They towered over the others—eerily silent and still—their warped armor etched with ancient runes, oversized weapons producing a steady glow.
Beyond the southern ridgeline, a faint column of white light fractured the clouds. Not lightning, sustained. He began amended his previous entry:
Unusual tension observed regarding...
The phrase lingered in the interface. He retracted it before it stabilized—once fixed, the memory would become real. He drew his coat tight and closed the casing with more force than necessary.
Then he stepped onto familiar stone, case in hand, striding as more hunters stalked past in full descent gear.
The mists swallowed the dockmaster's platform behind him.