Page 26

T he core chamber's roar subsided, replaced by a deep, resonant hum that felt fundamentally different—stable, harmonious, sane. The angry red light bathing the chamber softened, shifting through orange and gold to a steady, calming blue. The oppressive heat lessened, the air losing its acrid bite.

My markings settled into a steady thrum, still intensely aware but no longer painful.

But Iros— where was Iros ? I reached through the link, frantic, desperate to feel even a flicker of his presence. And when it came—a slow, pained pulse—I wept.

We did it. The counter-harmonic sequence had held. The core was stabilizing.

Relief, so potent it almost buckled my knees, washed through me. But it lasted only a heartbeat before being eclipsed by sharp fear.

Iros.

Through the connection, I had felt the energy backlash hit him—a blinding wave of agony that had severed his conscious projection just as the core settled. I spun around, my gaze searching the chamber, finally landing on his crumpled form near the primary conduit junction he had wrestled with.

He lay unnervingly still.

"Iros!" His name tore from my throat, raw with panic.

I scrambled towards him, stumbling over debris, my own exhaustion momentarily forgotten. Nirako and Pravoka were already moving cautiously towards him from their positions near the entrance.

I reached him first, dropping to my knees beside his still form. His eyes were closed, his face ashen beneath his emerald skin. His lifelines pulsed weakly, erratically, their light dim like dying embers.

Faint burn marks traced patterns along his arms where he must have made contact with the conduit, despite the protective gear. He was breathing, shallowly, but his stillness terrified me.

"Iros? Can you hear me?" I placed trembling hands on his chest, feeling the faint rise and fall. Through our link, I reached for him, encountering a haze of pain and deep unconsciousness.

He was alive, but severely weakened, his own energy systems reeling from the backlash.

Nirako and Pravoka arrived, their expressions grim as they assessed Iros's condition. "Energy trauma," Nirako stated, his voice low. "Severe. His lifelines struggle."

"We need to get him out of here," Pravoka added, his pragmatic gaze already scanning the chamber for exit routes and potential threats. "This place is stable now, but not safe."

He was right. The immediate crisis of the core overload was averted, but the facility itself remained ancient, damaged, and potentially treacherous. And Iros needed healing, the kind only Mateha and the Aerie tenders could provide.

A fierce determination surged through me, overriding my fear and exhaustion. Iros had taken the brunt of the backlash, shielding me, giving me the window I needed.

He had trusted me, anchored me. Now it was my turn to get him out.

"Help me get him up," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "We need to find another way out. The passage we came through likely collapsed further during the stabilization."

Nirako looked at me, then at Iros's large, unconscious form, skepticism warring with the respect I'd earned in his eyes. "He is heavy, Sound-Seer. And the paths..."

"I can navigate," I stated firmly, meeting his gaze. "My senses are clear now. I can read the energy patterns, find the stable routes. But I need your strength to move him."

Pravoka nodded curtly. "We will assist. Lead the way."

Getting Iros upright was a monumental effort. He was dead weight, his powerful muscles unresponsive. Nirako and Pravoka, despite their own fatigue, managed to haul him partially upright, supporting most of his weight between them.

I positioned myself to guide his steps, my hand on his back, channeling reassurance and direction through our connection, though I doubted he consciously perceived it.

"Which way?" Nirako grunted, straining under Iros's weight.

I closed my eyes briefly, extending my senses, using the techniques Mateha taught me, amplified by the now-harmonious ambient energy of the stabilized facility. The chaotic noise was gone, replaced by the steady hum of the core and the subtle energy signatures of the structure itself.

Patterns emerged—stable pathways showing as smooth flows of blue light, areas of lingering instability or structural weakness appearing as faint grey static or sharp angles.

"There," I pointed towards a corridor opposite the one we'd entered. "The energy signature is stable in that direction. And I feel air movement. Faint, but fresh."

We began the slow, arduous process of moving Iros out of the core chamber. Nirako and Pravoka bore most of his physical weight, their Nyxari strength essential. My role was navigation and support. I walked slightly ahead, scanning the path, calling out warnings.

"Careful here—floor plating is buckled."

"Veer left—residual energy pocket against the right wall."

"Hold. Stress fracture overhead. Let it settle."

My markings hummed with focused activity, translating the facility's energy and structure into a detailed mental map.

I relied on our link to monitor Iros, feeling the faint, steady pulse of his life force, the slow mending beginning within his damaged lifelines, fueled by his innate healing abilities but hampered by the severity of the trauma.

I pushed feelings of strength and endurance towards him, hoping it helped on some subconscious level.

The corridor we followed seemed less damaged than the main access route, perhaps a maintenance tunnel or secondary passage. It sloped gradually upward, confirming my sense of fresh air flowing from ahead.

Emergency lighting strips, likely powered by the facility's core systems, cast a dim but steady blue glow, illuminating worn steps carved into the stone floor in steeper sections.

Progress was agonizingly slow. We stopped frequently to rest, allowing Nirako and Pravoka to recover their strength, allowing me to check on Iros. During one pause, I knelt beside him where the Aerie warriors had gently lowered him against a wall.

I placed my hand over his heart, feeling its steady, if slow, beat. His lifelines seemed marginally brighter, the flickering less pronounced.

"He's fighting," I murmured, mostly to myself.

"He is Aerie-kin, in spirit if not birth," Nirako said gruffly from nearby, overhearing me. He offered me a waterskin. "Strong stock." It was the closest he'd come to praise for Iros or acknowledgment of our shared Nyxari heritage.

I took a small sip, the cool water soothing my dry throat. "We all are, now," I replied quietly, realizing the truth of it. Human, Eastern Nyxari, Aerie Kin—our fates were intertwined, dependent on bridging the divides between us.

We continued the climb. The tunnel wound steadily upward, sometimes spiraling tightly, sometimes stretching into long, straight inclines that taxed our endurance. My own muscles burned with fatigue, the adrenaline long since faded, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness.

Supporting Iros, even partially, while maintaining constant sensory vigilance was draining. But every time I felt his faint presence, his life force persisting against the odds, my resolve hardened.

I would get him out.

After what felt like hours, the air grew noticeably fresher, carrying the scent of pine and cold stone—the scent of the outside world. Hope surged through me.

"We're close," I said, my voice hoarse. "I can smell the surface."

The tunnel ended abruptly at a small, circular chamber. Above us, a heavy metal hatch was set into the ceiling. It looked ancient, sealed shut by time and debris.

"An emergency exit," Pravoka surmised, examining the mechanism. "Likely hasn't been opened in centuries."

It took the combined strength of Nirako, Pravoka, and myself, straining against the corroded locking mechanism, to force the hatch open. With a final, grating screech of metal on stone, it swung upwards, dislodging a shower of dust and small pebbles.

Sunlight poured in.

Glorious, natural sunlight. It struck the damp stone walls, illuminating the small chamber, momentarily blinding us after hours spent in the dim blue glow of the ruins.

Nirako peered up through the opening. "Clear ledge above," he reported. "Looks stable."

Getting Iros through the hatch was the final challenge. Nirako climbed out first, then reached down, bracing himself. Pravoka and I carefully lifted Iros, maneuvering his limp form upwards until Nirako could grasp his arms and haul him the rest of the way out.

I scrambled up after them, emerging onto a wide mountain ledge bathed in the golden light of late afternoon.

For a moment, we simply stood there, blinking in the bright light, breathing the clean, cold mountain air deep into our lungs. The contrast with the oppressive, humming darkness of the ruins was staggering.

The sheer relief of being out, of being safe, washed over me, making my knees weak.

I immediately went to Iros, who Nirako and Pravoka had gently laid on the sun-warmed rock.

His color was slightly better out here, his breathing deeper.

I checked his lifelines again; they were still dim, still irregular, but undeniably stabilizing now that he was removed from the facility's lingering dissonance.

He needed Mateha's expertise, but he was out of immediate danger.

"We made it," I whispered, brushing a stray lock of dark hair, damp with sweat, from his forehead. His skin felt cool now, no longer feverish.

Nirako and Pravoka surveyed our surroundings, orienting themselves.

"We are high on the eastern face," Nirako determined.

"Northeast of the fissure we entered. The Aerie lies that way," he pointed southwest, across several intervening ridges.

"A journey of several hours, perhaps longer given his condition. "

I looked in the direction he indicated. It was a long way back. But as I scanned the vast panorama of peaks and valleys, something caught my attention—a sound, carried on the wind.

Shardwing calls.

I shut my eyes, focusing my hearing, filtering out the wind. The calls were clear, strong, complex. I visualized the patterns—elegant, flowing geometries of blue and silver light, intricate but perfectly harmonious.

The jagged static, the painful dissonance—it was completely gone.

"The calls..." I breathed, opening my eyes, tears blurring my vision—tears of relief this time, not pain. "They're clear. Harmonious. The interference is gone."

Nirako and Pravoka listened, their expressions shifting from grim weariness to dawning wonder, then profound relief. A slow smile spread across Nirako's scarred face. Pravoka actually let out a whoop of pure joy, the sound echoing in the mountain silence.

"The harmony," Nirako murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Restored."

We had done it. Against all odds, against ancient warnings and malfunctioning technology and lethal defenses, we had silenced the dissonance, healed the mountain's voice, saved the Shardwings.

The cost had been high, I thought, looking down at Iros's still form. But seeing the hope return to the Aerie warriors' faces, hearing the pure songs of the Shardwings echoing freely once more, I knew it had been worth it.

"We need to get him back," I said, my voice firm, my focus returning to the immediate task. "He needs Mateha."

Nirako and Pravoka nodded, their brief moment of celebration replaced by practical concern. We carefully fashioned a makeshift stretcher using spare cloaks and sturdy branches Nirako cut with his knife. Gently, we lifted Iros onto it.

The journey back towards the Aerie began, slower now, more careful.

Nirako and Pravoka carried the stretcher, their strength essential.

I walked beside Iros, monitoring his condition, my hand often resting lightly on his arm, offering silent reassurance, drawing comfort from his steady, albeit weak, life force.

The mountain felt different now. Peaceful. Welcoming. As if it recognized our passage, acknowledged the balance we had restored. The setting suns painted the peaks in breathtaking hues of gold and rose.

The air was alive with the sounds of a healthy ecosystem—bird calls, insect hums, the distant rush of wind through pines.

And weaving through it all, the clear, complex, beautiful songs of the Shardwings, flying free once more in harmonious skies. We were heading home.