Ironbound

By Natalie Rhodes and AI (Editor)

Beneath the Kryll Empire’s violet sky, a tyrannical reign powered by the earth’s magnetic core, lies a hidden world of rumbling iron and hissing steam.  In the Subterranean Rails, colossal ferro-thermal trains carve paths through a labyrinthine underworld, home to the Ironbound Nomads, a people forged in the heart of the earth.  Elara Vance, a young engineer whose hands bear the stains of coal dust and whose mind grasps the secrets of thermodynamics, discovers a fragmented blueprint within the archives of her clan’s train, the Iron Serpent. It depicts the Rail Cathedral, a mythical structure whispered to hold the key to limitless geothermal energy – and a future free from the Empire's magnetic monopoly.
But this hope ignites a dangerous flame. The discovery attracts the attention of the Monarchy's relentless automatons, their metallic bodies a chilling presence in the dimly lit tunnels. Forced to flee, Elara embarks on a desperate race against time, accompanied by a motley crew bound by circumstance and a shared thirst for freedom. Gavril Thorne, a seasoned conductor haunted by past betrayal, captains the Iron Serpent with unwavering resolve, seeing in Elara a reflection of his own lost idealism. Indira Thorne, Gavril’s estranged sister and a nomadic storyteller, weaves cryptic clues to the Rail Cathedral’s location, her words as captivating as the phosphorescent fungi illuminating their path.
Their journey leads them through a mesmerizing subterranean landscape of bioluminescent flora and intricate clockwork fauna, where abandoned rail stations stand as ghostly reminders of a forgotten era.  They uncover fragments of a suppressed history, revealing a rebellion quelled by the Monarchy, its memory kept alive only in hushed whispers and coded stories. The deeper they delve, the more they realize the Empire's true power lies not just in energy, but in the control of information itself.
As the Monarchy's metallic hounds close in, Elara must confront not only the external threat but also her own internal struggles. Her gift for engineering becomes a burden, forcing her to question the true cost of progress.  She discovers a hidden talent for strategy and leadership, surprising herself and those around her.  Meanwhile, Gavril finds redemption in his commitment to Elara's cause, and Indira embraces her role as a keeper of history, becoming a key player in the fight for freedom.  A hidden faction within the Monarchy, disillusioned with the Empire’s tyranny, offers clandestine aid, adding another layer of intrigue to their perilous journey.
The climax arrives at the Rail Cathedral, a majestic structure where nature and technology intertwine.  Here, Elara faces not just the imposing Commander Theron and his forces, but the full weight of her own responsibility.  The confrontation is a clash of ideologies, a battle for the very soul of the subterranean world. Elara’s ingenuity offers a glimmer of hope, but her victory comes at a cost.  In the end, Elara must make a difficult choice: harness unimaginable power or preserve the delicate balance of their world.  The fight for true freedom has just begun.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Publishdrive
• Release date: Jan 16, 2025

Book preview

Prologue

The cavern exhaled a deep, resonant hum, a sound that seemed to rise from the earth's molten veins and settle into the marrow of anyone who lingered too long in its depths. The air was dense, thick with the mingling scents of coal dust and damp stone, and carried with it a faint metallic tang that clung to the back of the throat. Phosphorescent lichen crawled across the jagged walls, its faint green glow pulsing in rhythm with the cavern's breath, casting quivering shadows that danced like specters on uneven surfaces. Here, where the subterranean world whispered its secrets to those who dared to listen, the weight of the past pressed heavy on the present, and the future loomed like a question too perilous to answer.

Eight-year-old Elara crouched low on the rocky floor, her knees tucked under a patched skirt that had seen better days. Her small hands, calloused already from tinkering with gears and valves aboard the Iron Serpent, traced idle patterns in the dust, though her wide, unblinking eyes were fixed on the figure above her. Elder Indira Thorne stood at the center of the gathering, her silhouette framed by the lichen’s faint luminescence. She was an imposing figure despite her slight frame, her face a tapestry of lines and scars that bore witness to a lifetime spent navigating the labyrinthine tunnels of the Subterranean Rails. Her voice, low and rich like the rumble of distant thunder, wove tales that seemed to transcend the boundaries of time and space.

Once, before the violet twilight claimed the skies and the Monarchy’s iron grip smothered the earth, there was a sun, Indira intoned, her words slow and deliberate, as though each syllable carried the weight of a treasure unearthed. Not the pale, borrowed light of phosphorescence, but a blazing orb that burned with the heat of a thousand furnaces, casting warmth and life across the world above.

The children sat in a loose circle around her, their faces illuminated by the eerie green glow, their expressions a tapestry of awe and longing. Some leaned forward, hanging on her every word; others sat back, as though the weight of her stories was too much to bear. Elara, small for her age yet with eyes that gleamed with an intelligence beyond her years, leaned so far forward that her fingertips brushed the edge of Indira’s worn leather satchel, which lay at her feet.

Indira’s hands, calloused and strong, moved as she spoke, sketching images in the air that the children could almost see: a sky painted in hues of fiery gold and cerulean blue, an expanse of green fields stretching endlessly under its embrace. Imagine, she whispered, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur, a world where the earth and the skies were in harmony, where the very energy of the planet was harnessed not to control, but to sustain. This was the Sun Age, a time of ingenuity, a time when humanity walked in step with nature rather than trampling it underfoot.

Elara’s brow furrowed, her young mind racing to reconcile the images Indira painted with the only world she had ever known: one of endless tunnels and the ever-present hum of ferro-thermal engines, where the Kryll Empire’s violet twilight seeped even into their deepest refuges. To her, the world above was as much a myth as the Sun Age itself—a realm spoken of in hushed tones, a distant memory carried on the whispers of the Whispering Caves.

But the Monarchy stole the sun, a boy to Elara’s left spoke, his voice trembling with the weight of the words. He was older, perhaps ten, his face smudged with coal dust and his eyes wide with fear. They took it from us, didn’t they? That’s what my father said.

Indira’s gaze shifted to the boy, her eyes softening with a mixture of sorrow and defiance. She crouched before him, her motions slow and deliberate, like an automaton winding down. The Monarchy, she said, her voice steady, built their empire on the bones of the Sun Age. They harnessed the magnetic currents of the earth's core, casting their violet fields across the sky, choking the sun into obscurity. They claimed it was progress, but we know better, don’t we? What they call progress, we call theft.

Elara’s hand drifted to the cavern wall beside her, her fingers brushing the etched lines of a crude drawing—one she herself had carved into the stone with a rusted nail. It was a child’s attempt to capture the image of the Rail Cathedral, a structure she had only ever imagined through Indira’s stories. The lines were uneven, the proportions skewed, but in her mind’s eye, it stood tall and unyielding, its spires reaching for the sun that had been stolen.

The cavern seemed to shift then, a faint tremor rippling through the stone as though the earth itself stirred in response to Indira’s words. Elara froze, her heart pounding in her chest, and for a moment, she thought she could feel it—the pulse of something ancient and powerful, buried deep beneath the layers of rock and history. She looked to Indira, whose expression remained calm, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of something Elara could not quite name. Fear? Hope? Perhaps both.

Indira straightened, her voice rising once more to fill the cavern. But remember, little sparrows, the sun is not gone. It is not lost forever. It is waiting—waiting for those brave enough to reclaim it. And the key to its return lies not above, but within. Within the stories, within the whispers, and within each of you.

Her hand dipped into the satchel at her feet, and when she withdrew it, she held a small, brittle square of parchment. The children gasped in unison, their eyes fixed on the fragment as though it were a relic of the divine. Indira held it aloft, letting the faint light of the lichen illuminate its surface. The lines and symbols scrawled across it were faded but intricate, a language of geometry and precision that seemed to hum with latent power.

This, Indira said, her voice softening, is a piece of that sun. A shard of a forgotten dream. She turned to Elara, her movements deliberate, and extended the parchment toward her. Take it, little one. Let it speak to you.

Elara hesitated, her small hands trembling as they reached for the fragment. When her fingers closed around it, she felt a strange warmth, as though the parchment itself held the heat of the sun it represented. She traced the lines with her fingertips, the faded ink a whisper against her skin, and in that moment, she felt a connection to something vast and intangible—a legacy that stretched back to the Sun Age and forward to a future she could scarcely imagine.

The whispers returned then, faint and indistinct, brushing against the edges of her consciousness like a breeze through the Whispering Caves. She could not make out the words, but their intent was clear: a call to action, a promise of power that lay dormant, waiting to be awakened.

As the children dispersed, their whispers and laughter echoing faintly through the tunnels, Elara remained where she was, clutching the parchment as though it might dissolve if she let go. Indira knelt beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Do you feel it? Indira asked, her voice barely more than a murmur. The weight of it?

Elara nodded, her throat too tight to speak. She felt the weight, not just of the parchment but of the stories, the whispers, the history that had been entrusted to her. It was a burden, yes, but it was also a gift—a spark waiting to ignite.

The Rail Cathedral, Elara whispered at last, her voice trembling. It’s real, isn’t it?

Indira’s smile was bittersweet, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Real enough to dream of, little sparrow. Real enough to fight for.

The cavern’s hum grew louder then, a deep, resonant note that seemed to rise from the earth itself, as though the world beneath their feet had heard their words and rumbled its agreement. Elara looked up, her gaze drawn to the shadows that danced on the walls, their shapes shifting and swirling like the flames of a forge. She did not know what the future held, but in that moment, she felt a certainty she had never known before.

The sun was waiting. And so was she.

Chapter 1: Rhythms of the Iron Serpent

The iron leviathan groaned in its endless motion, a symphony of metal and fire that pulsed through the veins of the Iron Serpent, carrying its lifeblood—heat, steam, and energy—through the labyrinthine tunnels of the subterranean world. The engine room throbbed with vitality, a cacophony of sounds, from the hiss of pressurized vents to the percussive clang of pistons driving the train forward. A faint vibration radiated through the deck plates, rising from the enormous ferro-thermal engines, a tactile reminder of the sheer power harnessed within this mechanical beast.

Elara stood amidst the controlled chaos, her fingers encircling the handle of a torque spanner, her mind hyper-focused on the delicate adjustment of a pressure valve. The heat was stifling, wrapping around her like a heavy cloak, its intensity amplified by the proximity of the geothermal conduits. She didn’t mind; this was her element. The engine room was a place of order, of precision, where problems could be solved with logic and skill, where the world outside—the endless, oppressive tunnels, the lurking shadows of the Kryll Empire—could be momentarily forgotten.

Beside her, a manifold hissed loudly, releasing a plume of vapor that painted the air with the acrid tang of superheated steam. Elara barely flinched, her attention fixed on the gauge before her, the needle wavering in a dangerous red zone. With the practiced ease of someone who had spent more hours in this room than she could count, she tightened the valve, coaxing the system back into balance. The needle hesitated, then steadied, retreating into safer territory. She exhaled, a small smile of satisfaction playing on her lips.

That's why Gavril trusts you with the hard stuff, came a voice from behind her, carrying a teasing lilt.

Elara turned her head just enough to catch the speaker in her peripheral vision. Jax leaned casually against a nearby bulkhead, his arms crossed, a grin splitting his grease-streaked face. His ever-present goggles were perched on his forehead, their lenses catching the flickering glow of the fungal lamps overhead.

Shouldn't you be doing something useful? she shot back, her tone light but edged with mock reproach.

Jax pushed off the wall with a shrug, his grin undiminished. I am. Supervising. You're doing a fantastic job, by the way. He gestured broadly to the room, as though bestowing her with some grand commendation. Truly inspiring work.

Elara rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small chuckle. Jax’s irreverence was as much a part of the Iron Serpent as its engines and carriages, a constant presence that punctuated the seriousness of their existence with moments of levity.

Before she could retort, the sound of heavy boots on the grated floor drew her attention. Gavril Thorne entered the room with his usual purposeful stride, his expression carved from stone. His presence seemed to absorb the ambient noise, the clamor of the engine room fading into the background as though the machinery itself deferred to him.

Elara, he said, his voice low and gravelly, a tone that somehow carried over the din without needing to rise above it. He held out a data slate, its screen glowing faintly with a schematic of the train's geothermal conduits. We've got a fluctuation in the primary line feeding the forward carriages. Pressure's erratic, and it's throwing the entire distribution system out of sync.

Elara took the slate, her brow furrowing as she scanned the diagram. The conduits sprawled across the screen like a circulatory system, each line and valve representing a critical junction in the Iron Serpent's intricate network.

Isolate the source and stabilize it, Gavril continued. It’s delicate work, but you're more than capable.

The weight of his words settled over her, not as a burden but as a quiet affirmation. Gavril rarely offered praise outright, but his trust in her abilities was implicit in moments like this. She gave a curt nod, already formulating a plan.

Need some help? Jax chimed in, his grin widening as he stepped closer. You know, two heads are better than one. And I do have a certain flair for conduit diagnostics.

Flair? Elara shot him a skeptical look. Is that what you call reckless improvisation these days?

Call it what you want, Jax replied, undeterred. But I'll bet you a week's worth of stew rations I can find the problem before you do.

You're on, Elara said without hesitation, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. Their friendly rivalry was a familiar rhythm, a game that sharpened their skills as much as it entertained the rest of the crew.

Gavril, who had been watching the exchange with a faintly bemused expression, shook his head. Just make sure you fix the damn thing before it disrupts the whole train, he said gruffly.

With that, Elara and Jax set to work, each taking a different section of the engine room. Elara started by tracing the flow of energy through the conduits, her eyes darting between the schematic on the slate and the physical layout of pipes and valves before her. She moved with precision, her hands testing for heat differentials, her ears straining to catch subtle changes in the pitch of the machinery. Each connection, each joint, told a story, and she read them like an old, familiar book.

Jax, meanwhile, approached the problem with his characteristic flair. He dove into the machinery with reckless enthusiasm, dismantling panels and poking at components with an assortment of tools that seemed to appear out of nowhere. His muttered commentary—half technical jargon, half colorful expletives—floated through the air, a counterpoint to the steady rhythm of Elara’s methodical approach.

Found anything yet? he called out after a few minutes, his voice carrying a note of challenge.

Not yet, Elara replied without looking up. But I will. Patience, Jax.

Patience is for people who don’t know what they’re doing, he quipped.

Elara ignored him, her focus narrowing as she followed the path of a particularly stubborn fluctuation. The conduit beneath her fingers vibrated faintly, its resonance just slightly off, like a string tuned a fraction too high. She crouched, pressing her palm flat against the surface, and felt the discordant rhythm more clearly now—a faint, irregular pulse that didn’t belong.

Got you, she murmured to herself, a spark of triumph lighting her eyes.

Care to share with the class? Jax appeared beside her, his curiosity piqued by the determined set of her jaw.

Elara pointed to a small valve nestled deep within the conduit system, its metal surface tarnished and pitted with age. There, she said. It's corroded. Probably throwing off the pressure regulation.

Jax peered at the valve, then let out a low whistle. Nice catch. Guess that stew ration's yours.

Help me replace it, and I might share, Elara said, already reaching for her tools.

The two of them worked in tandem, their movements synchronized despite their contrasting styles. Elara’s steady hands guided the replacement valve into place while Jax secured it with quick, precise turns of his wrench. The engine room seemed to hold its breath for a moment as they tightened the final bolt, and then the system roared back to life, its rhythms smooth and steady once more.

Looks like we're back in business, Jax said, a note of satisfaction in his voice.

Elara straightened, wiping her hands on a rag as she surveyed their handiwork. The sense of accomplishment was tangible, a shared victory that reinforced the unspoken bond between them.

But as the engine room settled into its usual cadence, a flicker of movement caught