The problem was reaching the casing.
The other problem was surviving inside it.
The third problem was getting out aboard the ship.
The fourth problem was that every problem after that was unknown.
Tavin believed the casing had ventilation channels to prevent heat buildup around stabiliser components, though those might be sealed during transport. Rohan could potentially use Molten Assimilation with dead ash to reduce his heat signature briefly, but not for hours without risking collapse. The ash squall might interfere with drones. Merchant guards would be focused outward because squalls sometimes drew opportunistic scavengers.
There was one possible entry point: a drainage cut behind the maintenance tent where ash collected under the platform. Too small for a person normally.
Rohan was no longer normal.
Not because he could shrink, unfortunately. But because Molten Assimilation could loosen compacted ash, and the storm had partially buried the rear supports. If he approached from below the platform during a drone gap, he might reach the equipment staging zone without crossing open ground.
Might.
The word appeared too often.
Finally, after an hour of discussion, everyone stopped speaking.
The plan, if it deserved the name, lay between them.
Rohan looked at it.
Then at the people around the table.
Iri spoke first.
"If you do this and something goes wrong, I may never know whether you died in the ash, in the shuttle, or somewhere above the planet. I need you to understand that before you decide. Not as a tactical concern. As a person who has cleaned your wounds for months and does not want to imagine every possible version of your death."
Rohan’s throat tightened.
"I understand."
"No, let me finish. I think what they are doing to you is wrong. I think what they have done to Veyrhold is worse than wrong. I also think you are about to put your life into the hands of machines we barely understand and people who have already shown you exactly how little your freedom matters to them. I cannot stop you. But I need you to look at me and understand that this is not clever from where I stand. It is heartbreaking."
Rohan held her gaze.
"I know."
Her eyes shone.
"Then make it worth the fear."
Bryan pushed a small sealed packet across the table.
"What is this?" Rohan asked.
"Your reserve record. Condensed. Official copies remain with Veyrhold, but this summary proves what you owned at the time of disappearance. If you survive long enough to need legal standing elsewhere, it may help. Or it may be useless. I dislike useless things, but I dislike sending you with nothing more."
Rohan took it carefully.
"Thank you."
Bryan looked down.
"If you reach civilised space, find out whether Horizon’s Mercy was recorded. Find out whether anyone searched. Find out whether the merchants lied. If you cannot come back, send truth."
"I will."
Bryan’s jaw tightened.
"Do not say that lightly."
"I am not."
Jorren placed something on the table next.
A small black disk.
Rohan looked at it.
"Shield token," Jorren said. Then, perhaps remembering everyone’s repeated complaints about short answers, he added, "It is from my first shield, the one that cracked during the north breach. I kept part of it because my brother helped forge the rim. It is not magic. It will not stop a merchant weapon. But if you end up somewhere that tries to make you forget who stood beside you, keep it and remember."
Rohan did not trust himself to answer immediately.
He picked up the disk and closed his fingers around it.
"I will remember."
Liora was last.
She had been silent for too long.
When she spoke, her voice was steady only because she forced it to be.
"I hate this plan. I hate that it makes sense. I hate that if you stay, I will be happy and guilty, and if you go, I will be proud and terrified. I hate the merchants for making all of those feelings true at once."
Rohan looked at her.
She reached under her scarf and pulled out a thin cord necklace. Hanging from it was a small line-plate, not the old family one at her throat, but a newer piece etched with the safe return symbol and a tiny hooked blade.
"My father made this after my mother died," she said. "He said return charms should not be only for people who are certain they have somewhere to return to. I want you to take it."
Rohan shook his head immediately.
"Liora, I cannot take that."
"You can."
"It is yours."
"Yes," she said, and her voice cracked slightly. "That is why it means something."
The room blurred at the edges.
Rohan took the charm.
His fingers brushed hers.
For a moment, neither let go.
"I promised I would tell you if I found a way," he said.
"You did."
"This might be the way."
"I know."
"I do not know if I will make it."
"I know that too."
He wanted to say more. Something meaningful. Something large enough to carry everything Veyrhold had become to him. But language failed under the weight of leaving.
So he said the only thing that felt true.
"I am glad you were the first person I saved here."
Liora’s face crumpled.
Then she hugged him, hard.
Not quickly like Pell. Not carefully like someone afraid of being seen. She held him as if anger, fear, gratitude, and grief had all chosen the same shape.
Rohan hugged her back.
Around them, no one spoke.
Eventually, Maerin stood.
Her eyes were bright, though her face remained composed.
"This is still your choice," she said. "No one here will order you into that casing. No one here will call you coward if you refuse. If you decide to stay, we continue fighting through proper paths. If you decide to go, you go knowing the risk."
Rohan looked around the room one last time.
These people were not his origin.
Not his family by blood.
Not his world.
But they had become the first proof that even on an ash-choked planet built from wreckage and exploitation, connection could grow in the cracks.
That made leaving harder.
It also made leaving matter more.
He opened the Great System panel.
[Primary Objective: Secure a Route Off Cael Athis]
[Time Window Remaining: 3 Days]
[Alternative Boarding Opportunity Detected]
[Route: Merchant Damaged Equipment Transfer]
[Risk: Severe]
[Proceed?]
Rohan read the final word.
Proceed?
His heartbeat slowed.
For seven months, he had survived Cael Athis. He had crossed the Ashen Marches, entered Veyrhold under suspicion, earned guest-right, hunted beasts, learned death essence, found a memory unit from a centuries-dead ship, watched the merchants smile through lies, and seen his legal path buried under procedure.
Two years waited if he failed to act.
Maybe death waited if he did.
Maybe guilt, consequences, or a new cage among the stars.
But somewhere above the violet clouds, the Gilded Heron was docked in orbit, connected to civilised lanes, records, answers, and the first real chance of leaving this backwater planet behind.
Rohan closed the panel without selecting anything yet.
Not because he had decided against it.
Because the choice deserved one final moment as his own before the system marked it.
He looked at Maerin.
"If I go, I will not use Veyrhold cargo. I will not use your documents. I will not let anyone here cross the merchant perimeter with me. I will take the route alone from the ash side. If I am caught, I was acting alone."
Maerin’s mouth tightened.
"They may not believe that."
"Then I need to make the trail convincing."
Bryan nodded slowly, pained but thoughtful.
"That is possible."
Iri looked away.
Liora wiped her face and straightened.
Jorren rested both hands on his shield.
Maerin stepped closer to Rohan.
"For months, I have warned you against letting desperation make your decisions. I am going to say that one more time now, not as your captain, because I am not that, and not as your judge, because I have no right to be. I am saying it as someone who does not want to send another person into the dark because hope has teeth."
Rohan swallowed.
Maerin continued.
"If you choose this, choose it with your whole mind. Not because you are angry at Odris. Not because the system offered a route. Not because staying feels unbearable tonight. Choose it because you have weighed the danger, the cost, the people behind you, and the life ahead, and still believe moving is better than waiting for them to close the door."
Rohan looked down at Liora’s charm in his hand.
Then at Jorren’s shield token.
Then at Bryan’s packet.
Then at Iri’s medical roll on his belt.
Then at Maerin.
"I choose to try," he said.
The Great System stirred.
This time, he did not look away.
[Proceed?]
Rohan accepted.
[Alternative Boarding Route Accepted]
[Quest Updated: Stowaway Beneath the Gilded Heron]
[Objective: Board Merchant Shuttle Three via damaged equipment transfer.]
[Conditions:]
[Do not implicate Veyrhold.]
[Do not harm Veyrhold civilians.]
[Survive transfer to orbital vessel.]
[Warning: Failure may result in death, capture, or retaliation.]
[Reward: Escape Route Off Cael Athis]
The panel’s pale light faded.
No one cheered.
No one smiled.
Outside, beyond the walls of the temporary shelter, merchant lights glowed against the ash squall like false stars brought too low to the ground.
Rohan secured the charms and packet beneath his ash-cloth, checked the wrap on his forearm, and took up Hestia’s spear.
The chance he had chased since reaching Veyrhold was finally within reach.
Not as a ticket.
Not as permission.
Not as kindness purchased from men with polished smiles.
As a narrow, dangerous gap beneath a merchant machine, hidden by ash, timing, and the willingness to risk everything before the door closed for another two years.
Rohan breathed in.
The air tasted of dust and metal.