Page 16

Chapter16

TOR’VEK’S FINGERS flew over the embedded panel, wrist angled sharply as he accessed the encrypted controls with his rij. The wall remained solid. Unmoving.

Behind them, the valley roared.

Anya turned at the sound—ageyser had erupted not fifty meters away, acolumn of stone and fire launching into the sky. Asecond followed. Then a third. The earth shook with each eruption, and the air vibrated with a thunder that rattled her teeth. Sharp bits of rock peppered the ridge. If that panel didn’t open soon, they were going to be crushed.

“Tor’Vek!”

“It is locked!” he growled, eyes narrowing. He didn’t look at her. He didn’t need to. His jaw clenched, his fingers flying faster.

The next geyser erupted with a deafening crack, sending a boulder crashing into the ridge just meters behind them. Shards exploded outward, pelting their backs and shoulders with stinging impact. Anya cried out, ducking low, arms over her head. Tor’Vek stood firm, shielding her with his body. One more meter, and that rock would have crushed themboth.

Anya pressed a hand to the panel, useless but instinctive. The metal beneath her palm was hot, almost pulsing, as if reacting to their presence—or warning them away. It vibrated faintly, not from the geysers behind them, but from something within. It felt alive.

Her stomach twisted. “Please.”

The panel blinked.

Tor’Vek slammed his palm against it—once, twice. Then it hissed, seals releasing with a low, mechanical exhale.

Steam curled outward in slow, spiraling ribbons, thick and sulfuric, like breath drawn from the lungs of something old and dying. Outside, the valley still screamed—geysers howled, rocks cracked and slammed down in punishing waves. The valley heat had baked her skin, left her aching and half-delirious with fatigue.

In front of her, the air shifted. Not cool, exactly. Just heavier. Still. The kind of quiet that settled in graveyards. Just steps away, the silence felt surgical, too clean. The shift was jarring. It made her feel as if the storm had closed a door behind them, sealing them in with something far more precise. And far more patient. The heat of it kissed her cheeks and coated her tongue in mineral bitterness. Every instinct screamed at her not to enter.

Tor’Vek stepped forward first.

Snatching a deep breath, she rushed after him, nearly stumbling in her urgency. The geysers behind them were still erupting, and she could feel the vibrations chase her down the tunnel, echoing through the metal floor. She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t lookback.

She followed.

The corridor swallowed them immediately, asmooth, rounded tunnel of dark alloy veined with strange, pulsing seams. Their boots echoed too loud against the floor. The overhead lights flickered once—then failed. Darkness swallowed them, absolute and sudden. Anya’s breath caught, her hand shooting out to find Tor’Vek’s arm. Only the pulsing seams in the walls remained, casting the faintest crimson glow like veins in a sleeping beast.

“It appears untouched,” Tor’Vek said softly.

Anya frowned. She didn’t know if that was good or bad. The word should have comforted her—but it didn’t. Untouched could mean forgotten. Abandoned. Or worse... sealed. Not for protection, but containment. Her fingers curled reflexively against the nearest wall. Something about this place felt less like a corridor and more like a trap laid centuries ago that hadn’t yet been sprung.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out three small spheres, each no larger than a fruit pit. She blinked atthem.

“More weapons?”

“No.”

He knelt and placed them on the metal floor. They twitched. Unfolded. Eight thin legs each, gleaming and delicate. They looked like mechanical spiders.

Anya swallowed. “What are those?”

“Mapping scouts,” he said. “Each one will take a different route through the structure. They feed real-time visual and sensory data to myrij.”

As he spoke, the tiny machines skittered off—one left, one right, one forward into the tunnel ahead.

Anya tried to calm her breathing. The craving hadn’t vanished. It licked at her nerves, bubbling just beneath the surface of her skin, quiet but insistent—like breath against her neck when no one was there. Her hand gripped his forearm as they stood tight against one another, watching the feed begin to populate on his wrist.

She didn’t move away. She couldn’t. The contact connected her—and threatened to undoher.

Tor’Vek didn’t look at her, but she felt the tension in him when she touched him. Controlled. Banked.

The map began to build on his screen—corridors unfolding in three glowing threads.

“That one,” he said, pointing to the middle. “Adirect path to the core chamber. Minimal turns.”

A longbeat.

She saw something flash across the screen—aburst of shadow, aflicker of movement, an incredibly large object. Then came a sharp, metallic crack through the audio feed—asound like metal tearing, followed by static. The noise sent a jolt down her spine. Whatever it was, it moved fast, violently. And itsaw.

The camera wentdark.

Tor’Vek exhaled slowly. “The scout was destroyed.”

“What did that?” Her voice came out thin. Unsteady.

Tor’Vek didn’t answer right away. Then: “Predator. Large. Aware.”

She was already backing away from the screen, as if that flicker of shadow might emerge from the corridor and swallow them whole. Her heart pounded so loud it drowned the hum of the pulsing walls. Then came a sound—low and distant at first, almost a vibration in her bones. It grew, rising into a deep, rumbling growl that echoed through the corridor system like thunder held underwater.

Whatever had destroyed that scout wasn’t just dangerous—it was hunting. Her stomach churned, acold wave of nausea rolling through her as the weight of that truth settled over her. Her legs went a little weak, knees threatening to give. She clutched Tor’Vek’s arm for balance instead, nails digging into him as if the strength of his body might keep her upright. It steadied her. Barely. And it had sensed them. Maybe not seen—there was no clear image to prove that. But the timing, the precision—it had reacted. It knew they werehere.

A slow, electric crawl danced down her spine—not a full-body shudder, but a needle-fine ripple of dread that burrowed beneath her skin. Her breath hitched. The sensation wasn’t just fear. It was the unmistakable feeling of being watched. Hunted. As if the dark itself had taken notice of her and was deciding whether to strike.

They stared at the feed in silence. The second spider moved through a winding set of detours. The third had paused to act as relay.

The detour path was long. Collapsing. Barely intact.

But not guarded.

He tilted his head. “We go around.”

Anya nodded once, the craving twisting harder in her chest. Her fingers lingered on his arm longer than they should have, the heat of his skin calling to something deeper than fear or instinct. The bond surged, restrained but electric, like pressure behind a dam. She bit her lip, the ache in her chest flaring with the nearness of him—not just want, but need. Dangerous, risingneed.

She pulled in a breath. One, then another, willing herself to focus. They weren’t safe yet. She couldn’t let the craving win. Not here. Not now. Her legs felt shaky, her chest tight, but she straightened her shoulders anyway.

Only then did they turn toward the unstablepath.

And stepped into thedark.

The air changed the moment they crossed into the alternate corridor. Anya felt it first in her chest—atightening, like her lungs had to work harder to draw each breath. The taste of dust clung to her tongue, iron-rich and stale, and something about the silence pressed against her eardrums like it wanted to hold her in place. It wasn’t just hotter—it was heavier, weighted with dust and the sour tang of decay and fatigue. Every step crunched against debris. The floor beneath them felt brittle, not built for longevity. Not anymore.

Anya kept close to Tor’Vek, connecting with him every few steps—sometimes for balance, sometimes because the craving demanded it. The bond buzzed between them, not sharp like before, but simmering. It curled low in her belly, aslow burn that refused to fade. Every time she caught the scent of him in the stale heat, it tightened. Dangerous in its quiet persistence, like a fuse too short and alreadylit.

Tor’Vek didn’t speak. He moved with precise economy, each step measured, his gaze flicking to the ceiling every time the metal above them groaned.

“How long is this tunnel?” she whispered.

“1.3 kilometers.” His voice was low, but steady. “But the structure is not sound.”

No kidding.

They ducked beneath a hanging support beam that had come half-loose from the ceiling. Tor’Vek pushed it aside for her with a casual strength that sent shivers down her spine. Her breath hitched at the motion, the way his body moved with clean, controlled power. Not from fear. From something hotter. Something she had no name for and didn’t dare dwell on—not here, not with the floor cracking beneaththem.

They pressedon.

Every few minutes, avibration passed through the floor—like the entire corridor was shifting on its foundation. Pipes throbbed with heat, arhythmic pulse that seemed to echo in her bones—deep and muffled, like a heartbeat buried too far beneath skin. The warmth radiating from them wasn’t just uncomfortable. It felt alive, like something waiting.

In one section, the walls narrowed to barely more than a crawlspace, forcing them into single file. Tor’Vek led. Anya followed, watching the line of his back, the strength in his shoulders, the way he kept one hand hovering just behind him in case she slipped.

“I’m fine,” she said softly.

“I am ensuring that you remain so.”

The bond pulsed at those words, low and heated. Her eyes flicked to his mouth as he spoke, lingering a half second too long on the shape of it—the control in his voice, the strength in hisjaw.

It made her wonder what it would take to make that control slip. The heat rose higher in her chest, restless, clawing. If she didn’t move, if she let herself dwell, she’d lean in. It was like a hand pressed to the base of her spine—joining, yes, but also provoking. Her skin felt too tight, her heartbeat irregular. She wanted to lean into him, to touch more than just his arm, but she forced her feet forward instead.

A sudden snap echoed above.

Anya froze. So didhe.

A hairline crack split across the ceiling. Dust rained down. Then the corridor shifted—just enough to tilt the floor beneath their boots.

“Move,” Tor’Vek said sharply.

They did—fast, running now, ducking under more sagging beams, skipping over fractures that split wider with every step. Heat rose from the floor in waves, and her skin prickled with warning.

Ahead, the tunnel yawned into a slightly wider chamber—reinforced, at least by design.

But as Anya sprinted toward it, the floor beneath her feet gaveway.

There was no warning. Just the sudden, sickening lurch of nothing beneath her, the terrifying feeling of weightlessness where a solid floor had been. She screamed, arms pinwheeling, gravel and dust exploding upward as her boots skidded over theedge.

Panic surged, wild and blinding. Her heart punched her ribcage. The corridor blurred aroundher.

She dropped.

Her fingers scraped over crumbling metal—slipped—then caught.

Her body snapped to a halt, dangling by one hand from the jagged edge. Her other arm flailed, searching for anything—nothing. Pain shot through her shoulder like lightning, white-hot and blinding.

She was swinging.

Above a drop that had noend.

Her breath came in shallow gasps. Her fingernails tore at the metal, scrabbling for purchase as her grip started to slip. One finger. Then another.

She dug in, hard, the edge biting beneath her nails. Blood smeared the metal. Terror eclipsed everything else. There was no room for thought, no room for the bond. Only the breath catching sharp in her throat and the cold truth vibrating through her bones:

She was one fingernail away from dying.

She gasped, feet kicking in emptyair.

“Tor’Vek!”

He spun and lunged for her, dropping flat, arms outstretched. His hand locked around her wrist, holding iron-strong just as her grip gaveway.

She dangled.

Below her, the corridor plummeted into darkness. The air rising from it was cold and sour, thick with the reek of oxidized metal and something ancient—something wrong. It kissed her face like a whisper, damp and breathless. No bottom. Noecho.

“Don’t let go,” she gasped, nails digging into the edge oncemore.

“I will not.”

She tried to find footing, but the wall crumbled beneath her boots. Tor’Vek shifted, dragging her up centimeter by centimeter. His other hand caught her elbow, then under her arm, and with a final surge of strength, he hauled her over the ledge.

They crashed back onto solid ground together, breathless.

She rolled to her side, panting, then let out a shaky laugh that was part hysteria, part relief.

“Next time, let’s pick the path with fewer death traps.”

Tor’Vek didn’t answer right away. He just stared at the collapsed floor behind them, eyeshard.

“We will not go back that way,” he said atlast.

Anya swallowed. “So… monster it is.”

He nodded once. The motion was quiet, resolute—but it struck something in her. Not dread. Not even fear. Just the heavy certainty of what waited ahead, and the way he’d already accepted it. Her mouth wentdry.

And together, they pushed onward.

The new corridor was strangely intact. Still dim, still narrow, but the groaning and fracturing had stopped. Every footstep echoed longer than it should have. No more shifting walls. No more falling floors.

It should have been a relief. Her muscles even started to loosen, just a little. But something about the too-perfect stillness unsettled her. The silence pressed in too tightly, like a sealed chamber with no air left. After the chaos behind them, this quiet didn’t feel earned. It felt borrowed—and about to be reclaimed.

Tor’Vek’s pace never changed, but she could feel the tension in him just the same. She matched his rhythm, each step deliberate. Her shoulders slowly unlocked, but her instincts remained on high alert. The farther they went without disruption, the more exposed she felt. Like whatever was waiting had decided to let them come closer. Just fornow.

The corridor went on longer than she expected. They passed ancient doors sealed shut, rusted wall plates covered in dust, and small, delicate symbols etched into the floor like a forgotten language. Once, they stepped over the shattered remains of one of the spider scouts, legs crumpled, sensor dark. She didn’t ask what had done it. She didn’t want to know. Her mind already supplied the image unbidden—massive claws, gleaming black, curled around crushed metal. Asingle glint of intelligence in whatever eyes had stared through that feed. The thought made her throat tighten. If she acknowledged it, she’d never keep moving.

They were close. She could feel it. Ashift in the air pressure, afaint charge on herskin.

She looked at Tor’Vek. He nodded once. The final turn was just ahead.

Anya didn’t speak. Neither did Tor’Vek. Not even the bond stirred—just a low, distant flicker in her chest, like it was holding its breath along withher.

The silence here wasn’t safety. It was anticipation—looped, breathless, the kind that made your skin crawl before anything actually happened. Anya’s heartbeat filled the void, too loud in her ears, and even the sound of their steps felt like an intrusion, like they were walking into the lungs of something ancient, and it had just inhaled—waiting to exhale when it chose to endthem.

The corridor opened into a chamber.

Not massive. Not grand. Just... still. Rounded walls. Ahigh, concave ceiling. In the center stood a pedestal no taller than her waist. And floating above it—without visible suspension or support—was what she assumed to be the central stabilizer.

Anya stared atit.

It was beautiful. Smooth crystalline lines, humming with soft blue light. She took one step closer.

“Careful,” Tor’Veksaid.

“Is it active?”

“No. But this entire place may be reactive.”

She nodded, forcing herself to breathe slower. The bond twitched slightly at his nearness, but she ignored it. They had made it. They were here. She took another step forward.

Nothing happened.

She circled the pedestal, fingers twitching with the instinct to reach. “This is it, right?”

“It is the stabilizer,” he confirmed. “Compatible, assuming it is undamaged.”

“I don’t see damage.”

Tor’Vek stepped beside her, gaze locked on the device. His jaw flexed. “I will remove it.”

“No,” she said, before she even knew why. “Let me.”

He turned to her. “You are still—”

“I’m steady. Ipromise.” She held his gaze, her hand resting lightly on the pedestal’s edge. “And if something goes wrong... you’ll get me out.”

A pause.

Then he nodded.

Anya reached forward.

She touched the stabilizer. Cool. Solid. It hummed at her touch. But it didn’t resist. No alarms. No vibrations.

She liftedit.

And the lights overhead flared.

They both spun. Tor’Vek’s body shifted to shield her, his sword in hand. But nothing emerged.

The light dimmed again. Silent warning—or countdown. She didn’task.

Tor’Vek’s jaw was tight. “We move.”

She nodded and secured the stabilizer to her chest with the cross-straps from their gear. The surface was glassy-smooth, but dense, like lifting a contained storm. The crystal buzzed faintly against her skin, the cold edge of it sharp through the fabric of her shirt. She adjusted the weight automatically, but it pulled her posture inward—like it wanted to fold her around it. Carrying it felt like a promise. And a dare. The moment it touched her, the weight of it sank deep—literal, but also something more. The future. The cost of failure. The monster that waited beyond.

As they turned back toward the exit, the corridor moaned.

It didn’t sound like a structural groan this time. Anya froze, her body instinctively locking down. Her eyes darted to Tor’Vek. He had gone still too, his gaze already scanning the dark. Her pulse thudded in her ears. The sound didn’t come from the walls. It came from something in them.

It sounded like breath—drawn slow and deep, as if something massive had just woken and was taking its first inhale in ages. Not mechanical. Notwind.

Alive.