Six flares rose in total, one after another—like whatever had been found up there mattered more than Wyatt, more than the Sunflower, more than this entire chase.
Within moments, not a single enemy remained on the slope in front of them.
The Shadow Falcon confirmed it: other nearby search teams were emerging from valleys Wyatt hadn’t even known they were in, all converging on the flare point.
Wyatt felt a cold shiver of relief.
If he and Big Blue had opened fire, they might have won the first exchange—but the nearby teams would have closed in and boxed them. Even if they broke out, the cost would have been brutal.
Big Blue stared into the dark. “What in the hell was that?”
“I don’t know,” Wyatt admitted, equally baffled.
Was Miller retaliating for the nest? The direction didn’t fit.
Was it Julian’s reinforcements—Bit and Merc, somehow? That didn’t fit either, not with Blin’s last message.
Wyatt wanted, badly, to go see.
But the convoy came first.
He signaled Big Blue and turned back toward the hiding place. “Move.”
They raced downhill.
When they reached the convoy, Dorian had already started unhooking the supply truck from the unpowered carriages. He froze when Wyatt returned so quickly.
Starling was nearby. She hurried over, worry in her eyes.
“Wyatt—are you really going to abandon those five carriages? That’s—”
“No.” Wyatt cut her off. “Situation changed. We don’t have to.”
He turned to Dorian. “Detach the lead, reconnect to the last carriage, and pull the train out. Now.”
“Understood,” Dorian said, already moving.
Eisen approached, still looking north. “I saw flares. Several of them. What happened?”
“Someone pulled the enemy away,” Wyatt said. “I don’t know who. But we’re taking the gift. We leave—farther, faster.”
They rolled out of the narrow gorge and backtracked to the previous fork. Wyatt climbed onto the supply truck’s roof and used the Shadow Falcon’s aerial view to guide the convoy, adjusting their heading again and again as they threaded south through winding canyons.
He kept checking the direction of the flare point.
Half an hour passed.
No firefight. No distant thunder of guns.
Only faint sweeps of light—likely from a frigate—moving back and forth near the flare location, as if the enemy was searching for something.
As the convoy gained distance, even those lights faded.
Silence returned.
After more than an hour, they turned west again. The night’s events had everyone rattled.
But it seemed the worst had passed.
They traveled carefully, nerves tight, yet no enemies appeared. Two hours later, dawn cracked open the horizon. The long night finally ended, and the mountains slowly filled with light.
Wyatt stayed on high alert.
If they were still inside Phantom Forge’s search grid, daylight was more dangerous than night. Shadows were sharper. Movement was easier to spot.
In a narrow, sheltered canyon, he ordered a stop and climbed a nearby peak, sending the Shadow Falcon to sweep the surrounding ridges.
No suspicious signatures.
No patrol lines.
As far as he could see, there were only endless clouds and mountains.
In the direction the flares had risen, there was nothing—no motion, no light. It looked like the enemy had dispersed.
“Was it you?” Wyatt thought, speaking silently to the Miller he could only imagine. “Were you helping me?”
He remembered the last thing Miller had told him:
“Don’t leave the Budalawa Mountains. Hide in the mountains. It’ll save the Iron Man’s life.”
“But the Budalawa Mountains aren’t safe,” Wyatt answered the memory.
The contradiction didn’t resolve. He set it aside by force.
***
“We’re safe for now,” Wyatt told the group when he returned. “The Shadow Falcon hasn’t spotted any large search teams, but don’t relax too much. In these mountains, small squads are hard to detect.”
Only then did everyone truly exhale.
Dorian, however, immediately raised the next problem.
“We’ve deviated from the original route. Do we circle back, or replan from here?”
“No need to circle back,” Wyatt said. “As long as we keep moving west, we’re fine. The goal is the seabed—somewhere flat enough to get our aircraft airborne.”
Big Blue frowned. “How far to the seabed?”
“About six hundred kilometers as the crow flies,” Wyatt said.
“And travel time?”
“Fifteen days,” Wyatt replied, factoring the detours and terrain.
Big Blue shrugged. “Not terrible. In the old days, that’s two routine missions.”
Starling’s voice was small. “I’m still scared we’ll run into another patrol. Last night… I’ve never seen so many enemies. If one of those steel monsters finds us, you and Big Blue might fight—but the rest of us would be helpless.”
“That’s why we keep doing what we’ve been doing,” Wyatt said. “Constant vigilance. The best defense is not being found. I’ll make some adjustments. But we’re still safer than we were inside the Sunflower.”
Minks nodded. “If we’d been found in the Sunflower, that really would’ve been helpless.”
Starling glanced away, then back. “Fine. I just… I’m glad you’re here.”
“How’s Linneya?” Wyatt asked.
“She didn’t sleep at all,” Starling said. “She finally passed out a little while ago.”
Minks straightened. “We got out intact because of your plan. Tell us what you need, and we’ll do it.”
Eisen gave a tired smile. “Escaping last night at all feels like a victory.”
“Thank you,” Wyatt said. “If there’s nothing else, we start the journey.”
He turned to Dorian. “Big Blue and Eisen will split driving duties. You and the CTRs focus on finishing the propellers as fast as possible.”
“Understood, Lord Wyatt,” Dorian said.
***
Ten minutes later, the convoy moved again.
Wyatt placed three Hyenas in a forward triangle five hundred meters ahead to scout and route-find. He drove the planetary lander between the scouts and the convoy, keeping a relay Hyena and an Exiler pacing alongside at the same distance—ready to sprint back with a warning if needed. Another Hyena stayed at the tail, watching the rear.
They drove like that for an entire day without seeing a single enemy.
At dusk, they stopped to rest.
Then they drove for three more days—quiet, uneventful—and people finally began to unclench.
Linneya, in particular, seemed happier than anyone.
Free of the dark Sunflower, she acted like everything she saw was new. Even though the world outside was nothing but mountain after mountain, she could press her face to the window and watch all day.
Minks didn’t understand it.
Linneya did.
“Mountains are pretty,” she told him.
Some were so tall they disappeared into the clouds. Others were low, like bumps in a flat sea. Some looked like staircases. Some looked like waves. Some resembled crab claws, or the shell of a sea snail.
Some mountains were so large the convoy couldn’t leave their shadow for half a day. Others were so small they were shorter than the convoy itself.
She watched and sketched.
In less than two days, her notebook was filled with drawings of different peaks.
The strangest was a mountain that looked almost man-made—squared off like architecture, with a broad, flat top.
Wyatt and Dorian climbed it to inspect it. When they returned, Dorian sounded disappointed.
“If it were just a little bigger,” he said, “we could launch our plane right there.”
Every morning and every evening, the convoy stopped for an hour. Wyatt would climb a nearby ridge and check their position, making sure they stayed on course.
Those two hours were Linneya’s favorite part of the day.
It wasn’t as hot as midday. It wasn’t as cold as night. She could climb out and play—as long as she didn’t wander far.
And she found a hobby she became obsessed with.
Collecting rocks.
The valleys were full of stones people normally ignored, but to Linneya they were priceless treasures.
Smooth river pebbles. Black crystalline shards. Pale feldspar. Thin, translucent mica plates. Soft soapstone good for carving. Faintly glowing fluorite. Bright blue-banded stones.
After three days, a whole pile of rocks had formed in her sleeping compartment.
The habit spread.
Soon Starling and Minks were picking stones too, and every day you could see the three of them crouched at the roadside like kids at a beach.
“Linneya!”
One evening, not long after they’d stopped, Minks shouted and held out a clear, shining sphere.
“Come look at this!”
Linneya took it, eyes wide. “Whoa—there’s a rainbow inside! What kind of rock is this?”
“It’s not a rock,” Minks said. “It’s natural glass. It formed with impurities mixed in.”
Linneya turned it in her hands, entranced. “It’s so pretty. Glass can form naturally?”
“Sure can.” Minks clasped his hands together and held them out like a magician. “Guess how many I found. If you guess right, you get five.”
Linneya frowned in concentration. “Um… ten?”
Minks’ optic flicked. “Correct.”
He sighed theatrically. “Fine. Five now. The rest later.”