Chapter 144: The Weight of Realization

The first thing Iron saw was the filthy canvas of the ceiling. A fat fly was crawling across it, its legs methodically kneading the fabric. He stared at it for a long time—five minutes at least—trying to comprehend why his entire world had shrunk to this single piece of gray cloth and a persistent buzz.

​A thin, drilling whine pierced his ears. He tried to turn his head, and a spike of sharp pain instantly shot through the back of his neck.

​"Awake?" The voice sounded muffled, coming from somewhere to his right.

​Fighting the stiff resistance of his neck muscles, Iron slowly turned his head. Elyria was perched on the edge of his cot. She looked worse for wear: her wings were dull, her hair tangled. She was gnawing on some kind of dried root.

​"Wh..." Iron wanted to ask where they were, but only a dry, raspy wheeze escaped his throat. It felt as though it had been packed with sand.

​"Here, drink." Elyria pushed a tin mug toward his face, steadying it with her tiny hands. The water was warm and tasted of rust, but it was divine.

​Iron took a few gulps and sank back against the pillow, breathing heavily.

​"What happened?" he finally managed. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears.

​"You went boom," Elyria answered simply, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "A really big boom. The city is gone. Noah dragged you out. And me too. You've been asleep... well, a long time."

​Iron closed his eyes. Blinding white light. Unbearable heat.

​Reflexively, he tried to twitch his right arm. His shoulder flared with pain, but below the elbow, absolutely nothing happened. He looked down: in place of his arm was a shapeless cocoon of gray bandages.

​"My arm..." he breathed.

​"Your metal contraption melted," Elyria said, flying closer to settle on his shoulder. "Albert poked around in there, but he couldn't do anything."

​Iron swallowed. Fine.

​He tried to wiggle his toes. Nothing.

​He tensed his thigh muscles, trying to at least flex his knees beneath the blanket. Stillness.

​He could see his legs under the thin sheet. But... he couldn't feel them.

​"Elyria..." Iron looked at her, a hollow sobriety in his eyes. "I can't feel my legs."

​"I know," she said softly. "Albert says a massive charge ripped down your spine. The wiring fried, Iron."

​Iron went rigid, staring at the ceiling.

​Noah stepped into the tent. He looked terrible: his face was gaunt, his eyes sunken, his right arm bound tightly in a sling. Seeing Iron looking at him, Noah paused in the doorway.

​"Back from the dead after all," Noah said flatly. He limped closer to the bed. "I was starting to think we'd have to toss you out so you'd stop taking up space."

​"Noah..." Iron tried to push himself up on his elbows, but his arms trembled violently, and he collapsed back down. "My legs. Is it true?"

​Noah sat down on a crate next to the cot and stared at his boots, which were caked in dried mud.

​"Albert says there's a chance. A slim one. If the nerves knit back together. But for now..." He glanced briefly at Iron's legs. "For now, you're... dead weight. Sorry, but I'm not going to lie to you. We've already got problems coming out of our ears."

​Iron turned his face to the wall. Dirty canvas, the fly, the smell of alcohol. "The city... is it completely gone?"

​"Completely," Noah replied. "A massive crater in the ground and a mountain of ash. Walter is trying to build a fence out of sticks, Wayland is awake and already throwing his weight around. And Darwin and I built you a chair. With wheels."

​Iron gave a bitter smirk. A chair. "So I'm officially a cripple now."

​"Drink your water and stop whining. You still have blueprints to draw to get us out of this shitshow."

​Iron didn't reply. He could feel Elyria gently stroking his arm with her palms, trying to offer at least a fraction of warmth.

​The tent flap twitched, letting in a gust of cold air and the scent of damp stone. Albert walked in. He had heavy bags under his eyes, and his hands were stained dark with iodine and ingrained grime. He held a tin tray with a pair of forceps and a vial filled with a turbid liquid.

​"Awake?" Albert didn't even look Iron in the eye, immediately setting out his instruments on a rickety stool. "You're lucky. Or not—you can decide that for yourself in a week or two."

​He flung back the sheet, exposing Iron's legs. They looked thin and pale. Albert drew a long needle and, without warning, drove it forcefully into the young man's foot.

​Iron just stared at it, feeling a cold knot tighten inside his chest.

​"Nothing?" Albert looked up.

​"Nothing," Iron replied flatly.

​"Figures. The nerve column around the lumbar region was shattered by the discharge. The tissues are intact, the bones are in place, but there's no connection." The doctor sighed, putting the needle away. "I've pumped you full of everything Noah brought back from the city, but don't look for miracles. Either the pathways regrow on their own, or they don't."

​Noah and Darwin tumbled into the tent, dragging the makeshift chair along.

​"Well then," Noah said, placing the contraption next to the cot. "Time to try out the throne."

​Iron stared at... it.

​"I'll do it myself," Iron muttered through gritted teeth, bracing his left hand against the edge of the cot.

​"Yeah, sure you will," Noah said, stepping forward and shoving Darwin out of the way. "Let's skip the heroics." Noah slung Iron's arm over his own neck. "Hold on tight," he commanded.

​Iron gripped his shoulder. He felt Noah tense. Iron's legs dragged lifelessly across the ground, snagging the edges of the sheet and kicking up dust from beneath the cot. The sheer weight of his own body felt staggering. Sweat stung his eyes, and his heart hammered somewhere in his throat, echoing with painful thuds in his ears.

​Finally, with a short grunt, Noah lowered him into the hard seat. The chair groaned but held. Iron sat there, his fingers clawing into the metal armrests.

​"And there you have it," Darwin said, wiping his brow as he looked at Iron. "I greased the axles, so it should roll easy. The brakes... well, they only work half the time, so don't go pushing your luck down any slopes."

​Elyria, who was sitting on the back of the chair, suddenly sprang into action. She began weaving fresh sprigs of pine she’d brought from the forest into the rough leather of the seat.

​"There, better," she declared, sneezing from the kicked-up dust. "Doesn't smell as foul. Iron, why are you so quiet? You're like a captain on the bridge now, though your ship is... well, a bit rubbish."

​"Take me outside," he said quietly. "I want to see the city."

​"Now?" Albert frowned. "You need to be resting."

​"Take me out," Iron repeated, his voice louder this time.

​Noah and Walter exchanged a look. The captain, standing in the shadows near the exit, gave a silent nod.

​Noah grabbed the handles of the chair. The screech of metal against stone was unbearably loud in the silence of the camp. They rolled slowly toward the edge of the "Green Zone."

​As they cleared the last of the pines, Iron involuntarily squeezed his eyes shut.

​Dornheim opened up before him.

​A colossal, smoldering bowl choked with wreckage. Dust still hung suspended in the heavy air.

​"This..." Iron lost his words. A knot formed in his throat. He stared at the spot where his workshop used to stand. Now, it was just a heap of rubble. "Did I do this?"

​"We did this," Walter corrected, stepping up beside him. "But we are alive. And we have iron."

​Iron lowered his gaze to his lap. His fingers convulsively gripped the rebar frame of the chair. "Everything I built. Everything... gone. All because of me," he said softly.

​Noah walked over and gave Iron a light flick to the back of his head.

​"Walter already told you, and I'll say it again if I have to: you didn't destroy the city, we all did. And if you don't pull yourself together right now, I'm going to have to take measures."

​Iron gave a crooked smirk, wiped his nose with his sleeve, and grunted. "You're right. Sorry. And thanks, Noah." But still... the same situation all over again, he added in his thoughts.

​"Alright, then," Iron caught his breath. "Noah, find me a pencil. Or a piece of charcoal, at least. And a board of some kind, as long as it's clean."

​"What for?" Noah grunted.

​"And stop building fences out of sticks, Walter," Iron said, raising his eyes to the captain. "We need hoists. If we want to survive, we're going to have to haul everything of value out of this pit."

​Elyria clapped her hands gleefully, hovering right in front of his face. "There! That's my Iron! Angry and tedious!"

​The sun finally slipped below the horizon, leaving nothing but a murky orange streak behind. The wind shifted—now blowing from the plains, carrying the scent of damp grass.

​Iron sat in his creaking chair, feeling the chill seep beneath his jacket. His legs, blanketed by a gray coverlet, remained motionless. Every now and then, he glanced down at them, hoping to catch a stray twitch or a tremor, but nothing happened.

​"Hey, Captain!" a hoarse shout echoed from the outer perimeter post.

​Walter flinched and turned around. Out of the twilight ran one of the militia—a young lad named Stefan, his face heavily smeared with soot. He could barely stand, pressing a palm to his side as if he had a sharp stitch in his flank.

​"What are you yelling for?" Walter stepped out to meet him. "Scavengers?"

​Stefan shook his head, struggling to catch his breath. "No... not scavengers. Five miles south, on the old highway. We saw riders. Ten men at least."

​Noah, who had been idly kicking at the ash with the toe of his boot, snapped upright. His hand instinctively drifted to the hilt of the knife hanging at his belt. "Riders? In a wasteland like this? From where?"

​"They had banners," Stefan managed. "A yellow field, a black boar. I know that crest—it’s Count Reinhart’s men."

​Walter swore, spitting to the side. "Reinhart..."

​Iron listened intently, his fingers white on the rebar frame of his chair. "Reinhart?" he asked. "The same one who sued Wayland three years ago over the rights to the iron mine?"

​"The very one," Walter nodded. "And if his scouts are here..."

​"Then he already knows what happened to Dornheim," Iron cut in.

​Noah stepped up to Iron's chair and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Will they come here?"

​"Not tonight," Walter said, looking out toward the darkening woods. "The scouts will look around and head back to report. But tomorrow or the day after? Very likely."

​Elyria, who had been sitting quietly on the back of the chair, suddenly took flight and began circling Walter’s head. "We can drive them off, can't we? We have swords! And... Noah! He's incredibly strong!"

​"Ten fully armored cavalrymen against forty cripples?" Noah gave a crooked smirk. "Brilliant plan, shorty."

​"Either way, we have until tomorrow," Iron shifted his gaze to Noah. "Wheel me back to the tent. And go find Darwin."

​The militia members who had overheard the conversation exchanged looks, their eyes reflecting a heavy weariness mixed with deep anxiety.