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“You’re burned,” he says, firm but quiet, already peeling back the singed edge of the cloak. “Let me see.”

I grit my teeth, but I don’t fight. I was pointedly ignoring the burn and even now I only dare a quick glance. The skin is red and angry, blistering along the edges. It stings like hell, but thankfully it was only steam that caught me. Steeling my nerves I look again and decide that I’ve had worse.

Ryatuv’s hands are rough from battle, but he handles me as if I might shatter. His touch is a contradiction—strength wrapped in reverence. At odds with the fire in his eyes when he speaks to Z’leni. He pulls a small tin from his belt, flips it open with one hand, and dips two fingers into a slick blue-green salve.

When he touches my skin, I flinch—more from the cold of the salve than from pain. It bubbles against my burn, instantly cooling, leaving behind a numbing tingle. His fingers are strong but deft. Tender. Like I’m breakable.

“Stubborn human,” he murmurs, eyes flicking up to meet mine. “You’d rather hurt than ask for help.”

I open my mouth to argue, but his fingers are on my skin. Still smoothing the salve with slow, circling strokes. And I can’t look away from his face. There’s something raw there. Unspoken. Uncertain. My breath hitches.

Behind us, Z’leni shifts. I glance at him and his gaze is locked on us. On me. His jaw is clenched so tightly I expect to hear a crack, but his eyes are unreadable. Not angry. Not jealous. Just… haunted.

Ryatuv finishes without a word. His fingers linger a second longer than necessary, then he drops my arm.

“Thank you,” I whisper. It comes out smaller than I intend. Like I’m handing him something fragile.

He gives a brief nod, then turns without another word. The moment splinters into silence and we resume moving.

The tunnel grows wider as we descend, emerging into a chamber cut deep into the crust of the world. It feels like we’re standing inside the bones of a forgotten god. The heat eases slightly, but there is an eerie stillness. The air shifts. No more tremors. No more molten bursts. Just silence.

And in that silence, the earth pulses.

I see it through a crack in the far stone—dim and red. Flickering like the rhythm of a slowing heart. Or maybe not slowing. Maybe angry. Waiting.

“We’re close,” Z’leni says, voice low.

We crouch behind a jagged rock. The arch of an opening is on the other side and it looks out over the Urr’ki city from a ways above the ground level. I press my back to the stone, ready to move again, but Z’leni doesn’t rise. His voice, when it comes, is rough. Broken.

“I know this path,” he says. “I helped carve it.”

I freeze. Slowly turning to look at him. Z’leni’s eyes aren’t on us. They’re somewhere else. Somewhere far beneath the surface of his thoughts.

“I was a believer once,” he says. “I followed the Shaman’s every word.” He shakes his head, his eyes full of regrets. “I…” he trails off, silent for a long, pregnant moment before he finishes, “I helped lay the foundation of the Infernal Machine.”

My stomach drops.

“The device that holds power over all my people. That feeds the Paluga. That instilled fear so deeply into my people that they gave up. The thing that choked hope out of us.” His voice shakes, just a little. “I didn’t know what it was. Not then. I thought… I thought it was holy. Sacred. A conduit to something greater.” He swallows hard and looks at me for the first time. “I helped build the thing… now I must destroy it.”

The silence that follows feels heavy enough to crush me. I reach out before I think better of it, brushing my fingers over the back of his hand.

“We’ve all believed in the wrong people,” I say, thinking back to my own history.

I once believed in Gershom’s lies, too. In protecting humans at the cost of compassion. His no aliens policy made sense. There were so few humans left after the wreck of the ship that I thought it was stupid to not think of ourselves. I was wrong then, but hearing Z’leni speak breaks my heart, because I get it.

Mistakes don’t make us monsters. They make us... survivors.

“That doesn’t make you unworthy. It makes you… human… or… I don’t know. I mean, you’re Urr’ki, sure, but that doesn’t matter. We all make mistakes. We get fooled. We believe in the wrong person. You made a mistake, it happens, but we can’t change the past. We can only change what we do in the future,” I say, taking his hand in mine and squeezing.

A breath escapes him. Shaky, like I’ve knocked something loose. Ryatuv watches, silent, but not judging which I’m thankful for. He could use this as fuel in his rivalry, but he doesn’t. Instead he watches the two of us with an unreadable expression.

We don’t say more. There’s no time, but the air between us has changed. We move forward. Wordless, but not untouched.

Creeping out from behind the boulder we move in low crouches towards the edge.

We’re above the city, looking out over it. There is a glow, brighter than it was when I last saw the city, spilling across the stones like veins of blood. Small rivers of lava run through several portions of the city, creating a constant glow and light. The walls around us hum, low and distant.

We move again, hugging the curve of the stone wall. Every step feels heavier. Not from exhaustion, though that’s there too, clinging to my limbs like a second skin, but from what’s ahead.