The moon looked dead from orbit, its outer atmosphere a uniform grey shroud.

  Captain Ironbelly stood on the bridge of the Drifting Ember with his hands clasped behind his back, watching the volcanic surface roll beneath them in slow rotation. Rivers of magma pulsed like exposed arteries under a crust of blackened stone. Ash storms dragged shadows across the hemisphere.

  The Ember’s tone rippled through the bridge, subdued. “Surface turbulence within acceptable thresholds. However, I do not enjoy this place.”

  “It was never enjoyable,” Ironbelly said, but there was no bite in it.

  He had Thimble adjust their descent vector manually.

  Ashfall didn’t forgive mistakes. Thermal updrafts could flip a lighter craft, and the basalt ridges were sharp enough to tear through hull plating if you came in wrong.

  The landing struts settled into black grit with a low hydraulic sigh. Outside, wind dragged ash in thin sheets across the surface.

  The hatch opened, and the ramp lowered into red haze. Heat pressed against armor plating. Not unbearable. Just constant. Like a warning.

  Ben stepped down first, scanning the horizon. Thorn walked beside him, wings half-spread for balance in the crosswind, and the heat didn't bother him in the least. Vaeris followed with quiet efficiency, already mapping terrain.

  Ironbelly came last.

  He stood still for a moment.

  Same wind. Same smell of sulfur and iron.

  Different crew.

  He turned.

  “Cabin’s three klicks west. Geothermal unit. Independent systems. No transponder.”

  Ben raised an eyebrow. “Do you vacation here often?”

  He just grunted in response.

  Ironbelly tapped a button on his wrist display and projected a topographic map between them.

  “Valley’s here.” He highlighted a basin beyond a serrated basalt spine. “Thermal runoff shifted years back. Soil’s fertile. Edible flora. Small herbivores. No predators.” He flicked the map over to everyone's implant. Thorn even had one now.

  Thorn’s ears twitched. “No predators? That seems irresponsible.”

  “Only thing that hunts here is the planet,” Ironbelly said. “Eruptions every few months. You’ll feel the tremors first. Hunker down till it's over.”

  Vaeris studied the projection. “Mana saturation?”

  “Low, consortium of voidreach here somewhere. But it'll fluctuate in the lava flows.”

  Her gaze flicked to Ben.

  That was the whole reason they were here.

  Ironbelly met Ben’s eyes directly. No sarcasm now.

  “Do your experiments outside the basin. Basalt fields only. You lose control, it hits rock. Not food.”

  Ben nodded once.

  That was enough.

  Ironbelly’s voice hardened.

  “We’ll be gone at least a month. We got some merchandise we need to offload. Hopefully, you’ll have made decent headway and able to train on Ember after we return.”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Thorn leaned closer to Ben’s ear, but didn't lower his voice at all. “We are being gently exiled.”

  Ironbelly ignored him.

  “You’ve got supplies for six months but you shouldn't need it. And can supplement with food from the basin. If you're not dead when we get back, we can reassess.”

  Ben folded his arms. “Comforting.”

  “Survival usually is.”

  A pause.

  Then, quieter:

  “Don’t blow up the moon.”

  The corvette rose through ash clouds, magic lifting what should not rise. The hull faded into the red sky until it was a shadow, then nothing.

  Second red sky Ben had ever seen. But where Brindle scar was ugly and dead, Ashfall's swirled with possibilities. It was hauntingly beautiful.

  Silence settled. Wind. Distant rumble. The crackle of cooling lava somewhere over the ridge.

  Vaeris adjusted her gloves. “Shall we begin, or would you prefer to contemplate your mortality first?”

  Ben sighed. “Yeah. Best get started.”

  ***

  The “cabin” turned out to be an old survey habitat set into an alcove of rock.

  After dropping off their supplies, they chose a basalt shelf overlooking a slow-moving lava river.

  Black rock. No vegetation. Nothing to ruin.

  Vaeris drew a circle in ash with the end of her wand.

  “The first thing you need to learn is how to open your null gate without losing control,” she told him. “You will not panic. You will not flood. You will not lose control. Thorn, if he starts to, let me know. ”

  Ben rolled his shoulders.

  Thorn leapt and took to the air, wings catching warm currents with visible effort. The first lift wobbled. He corrected mid-glide, banking awkwardly.

  “I am majestic,” he announced.

  “You look concussed,” Ben muttered.

  Thorn ignored him and climbed higher.

  Ben closed his eyes.

  The null gate responded differently now. Not a tearing. Not a rupture.

  A door he knew the handle of. He turned it slightly.

  The air shifted. Not colder. Quieter.

  The lava’s surface glow dimmed in a narrow radius around him.

  Vaeris watched carefully. “Slow. Now hold onto it in your mind. Don't let it spread or give it a target. Focus on holding what you have and visualize in your hands.”

  Ben focused.

  Instead of letting the absence spread outward, he drew it inward. Tightened it. Like pulling fog into a sphere.

  The dimming narrowed.

  His hands darkened — not lightless, but consuming light. A dark, fist-sized sphere materializing in his hand.

  He exhaled slowly.

  “Now shut the gate without letting it unmanifest.”

  He pushed the gate shut and let go of the handle.

  The sphere immediately winked out with a pop.

  Sighing, Vaeris pinched her brow, “This might take awhile.”

  ***

  Almost three weekly cycles later, and his sphere lasted a whole minute with null shut off before he lost it. And while a minute is an eternity in a fight, Vaeris still wanted Ben to able to hold it as long as possible.

  Thorn, however, had made decent progress in his flying lessons.

  He attempted a sharp dive and nearly clipped a basalt spire. He folded his wings in and shrank instinctively to half his size.

  For a heartbeat he dropped.

  Then his wings snapped back out proportionally smaller, catching the warm wind.

  He stabilized and hovered.

  Slowly expanded back to full height while still airborne.

  There was a stunned silence.

  Thorn looked down at himself.

  Ben blinked. “You can do that.”

  “Apparently so.”

  He angled sideways experimentally, shrank again, then grew mid-glide, wings adjusting in size seamlessly.

  Vaeris’s expression sharpened with interest.

  “Adaptive morphology under active aerial load,” she murmured. “Fascinating.”

  Thorn performed an awkward loop and landed with exaggerated dignity.

  “I meant to do that.”

  “Of course you did,” Ben said.

  ***

  The ball of null in Ben's hand was the size of a marble, but he could hold it easily now.

  Thorn circled above. “He's not leaking at all!”

  “Encouraging,” Vaeris murmured.

  Ben opened his eyes.

  “Feels… heavier.”

  “As it should. You are shaping absence into reality with intent.”

  She flicked her wrist and summoned a tight filament of flame, suspended between her fingers.

  This was new.

  “Pulse. Don't surge.”

  Ben stepped forward and nudged the filament with the compressed null.

  The flame collapsed instantly. Not snuffed. Erased.

  Vaeris’s brows lifted slightly.

  “Again.”

  They repeated it. Controlled pulses.

  Measured expansion and contraction.

  Ben learned the warning signs:

  When emotion widened the field.

  When fear sharpened it too violently.

  When calm made it precise.

  By the end of the day, he could hold a sphere of null the size of a lemon without bleed through.

  I remember what a lemon is. How useful.

  Sweat dripped down his spine.

  They ended the session with Ben standing at the lava’s edge.

  He opened the gate — controlled.

  Directed.

  A narrow beam.

  The surface glow dimmed in a straight line across the molten river.

  A narrow path of obsidian glass formed for a moment before it was covered with lava once more.

  Vaeris nodded once.

  “You’re no longer merely reacting,” she said. “That’s progress.”

  Ben stared at his hands.

  They looked normal.

  Felt anything but.

  Behind them, far beyond the horizon, the planet rumbled.

  Not an eruption.

  Just pressure shifting.

  Ashfall breathed.

  And above the clouds, unnoticed—a recording lens adjusted focus.