The silence of the Throne still rang in Kallum's ears. Every drop of water in the tunnel sounded like a hammer blow against the absolute quiet of the vision. He could still feel the weight of that black sky pressing down, the crushing absence of sound.
The tunnel stretched before them like the throat of some great, buried beast. The air was thick with the taste of iron and ancient dust.
Kallum walked with one hand pressed against the rough wall. His left arm hung useless at his side. The brand had gone quiet after the vision, but the flesh felt wrong. It was too heavy. It was as if someone had replaced the bone with lead.
Elyria moved ahead of him. She did not stumble. She did not hesitate. Her pale hair caught the faint blue glow of the lumen-stone she carried, making her look like a wisp leading him deeper into the underworld.
"How far?" Kallum asked. His voice scraped the silence.
"To the Umbraflow junction," Elyria replied without turning. "Two hours if the tunnels hold. Three if they've collapsed since I last walked them."
"You walked these tunnels alone?"
"There is no alone down here." She paused at a fork in the passage. She closed her eyes for a moment. "The stone remembers footsteps."
Kallum looked at the black opening of the left branch. He could feel it too. A faint pressure against his senses. The Vestige in his satchel was reacting to something. It was a low, hungry thrum.
"What is the shard sensing?" he asked.
Elyria opened her eyes. She looked at him with that unsettling clarity.
"Not what," she said. "Who."
They walked on.
Kallum's boot caught on a loose stone. He stumbled, caught himself against the wall. The brand flared with cold fire at the exertion. He gritted his teeth, waited for the spasm to pass.
Elyria waited. She didn't offer a hand. She watched him with those eyes that saw too much.
"You are running on fumes," she said.
"Only way to run," Kallum said. He pushed off the wall.
They walked on.
The tunnels changed as they moved deeper. The rough-hewn granite of the Undercity gave way to worked stone. Bricks laid in precise patterns. Iron tracks rusted into the ground. This was not the chaotic architecture of forgotten ages. This was industry.
They were approaching Stonewake.
Kallum had never been to the Kyn ghetto. The Order's teachings painted the Kyn as greedy simpletons. Soulless craftsmen who cared more for the ring of a coin than the glory of the Light. Looking at the precision of the stonework around him, Kallum felt a fresh wave of resentment toward the priests who had raised him. These people had built the foundations of the city. The Order had simply built walls on top of them.
The tunnel opened into a vast cavern.
Kallum stopped. He stared.
He had expected another dark sewer. He had not expected this.
The cavern was illuminated by a thousand points of amber light. Great glass globes hung from chains anchored in the ceiling sixty feet above. The light revealed a city carved into the walls of the cavern itself.
Homes and workshops were stacked like shelves in a pantry, connected by ladders and bridges of heavy timber. Smoke rose from a hundred forges, pooling against the ceiling before finding its escape through ventilation shafts Kallum could not see. The air was hot and smelled of coal smoke, sulfur, and the sharp tang of quenching oil.
And the sound.
It was a rhythm. A heartbeat. The ring of hammer on anvil. The grind of stone on stone. The hiss of steam and the roar of bellows. It was the sound of labor. It was the sound of things being made.
"Stonewake," Elyria said. Her voice carried a note of respect. "The Kyn do nothing halfway."
Kallum felt the eyes upon them before he saw them.
Guards stood at the entrance to the district. They were not the sleek, faceless Watchers of the Order. They were Kyn warriors. They stood shorter than a human, but broader. Stocky and solid, wearing armor of plate and chain that looked like it had been forged from a single piece of metal.
They held hammers with heads the size of a man's fist. The hafts were wrapped in leather darkened by years of sweat.
The guards stepped forward as one. Their movement had the weight and purpose of a falling door.
"Hold," the lead guard said. His voice was a low rumble, like gravel grinding together. He spoke the common tongue with a thick accent. Each syllable was carefully formed. "The deeps are closed to surface walkers."
Kallum's hand went to his dagger. He stopped when Elyria held up a hand.
"We are not walkers," she said. "We are runners."
The guard's eyes narrowed. They were dark eyes, set deep in a face that looked like it had been hewn from granite. A braided beard hung to his chest, threaded with copper rings that chimed softly as he moved.
"Runners from what?" the guard asked.
"The same thing that hunts you," Elyria said.
The guard's grip on his hammer tightened. He looked past them, into the dark of the tunnel they had emerged from.
"The Chorus has been restless," he said. "The song in the water grows louder each season." He looked at Kallum. His eyes lingered on the bandaged arm. Then they moved to the satchel at Kallum's hip. The Vestige hummed.
The guard's eyes widened.
"Stone and blood," he muttered. He took a step back. "You carry the broken piece."
Elyria shifted her stance. She moved to Kallum's left side, placing herself between his wounded arm and the guards. Her hand drifted to the knife at her belt—a casual movement that could have been about anything at all.
Kallum tensed. He could feel the cold gathering in his left arm. The Dirge of Reprisal sensed the threat. It did not know friend from foe. It knew only scales.
"It is not what you think," Kallum said.
The guard spat on the ground. The spittle hit the stone with a sharp hiss.
"It is a Vestige," the guard said. "A piece of the Breaking. A thing that should have stayed buried." He looked at the other guards. They were fanning out, flanking the pair. "Clan Ironhew lost three smiths to a shard like that. They opened a box they should not have touched. Their minds burned before their bodies hit the floor."
"I am controlling it," Kallum said.
The guard laughed. It was a sound like rocks cracking.
"Control?" He shook his head. "No one controls the Abyss, walker. We only delay it." He raised his hammer. "By the laws of the deep, tainted objects must be surrendered for containment."
Kallum's hand tightened on his dagger hilt. He could feel the judgment in his arm. The Dirge did not like being called tainted. It did not like the idea of surrender.
"No," Kallum said.
The guards moved as one.
Kallum threw himself forward. He didn't reach for his dagger. He reached for the power in his arm.
The bandages crumbled away as black veins of necrosis pulsed to the surface. The umber light flared. The temperature in the cavern dropped ten degrees in a heartbeat.
The lead guard stopped mid-step. His eyes went wide as he saw the brand. He saw the light that was not fire. He saw the veins that looked like cracks in a frozen lake.
"That is no mere taint," the guard whispered. "That is Judgment."
The other guards hesitated. They were Kyn. They were not easily frightened. But they were craftsmen of the earth, and they knew the difference between ordinary corruption and something else.
Elyria stepped between them.
"We are not your enemy," she said. Her voice cut through the tension. "I am Elyria of the Delvers. This is Kallum Vire. We carry the Vestige because the Order would use it to burn your homes. We are trying to get it out of the city."
The guard's eyes flicked to her. He seemed to really see her for the first time.
"A Delver," he said. "From the archive beneath the Silt-Walkers' territory." He lowered his hammer slightly. "You are far from your books."
"The books are safe," Elyria said. "The world is not."
The guard stood there for a long moment. The sound of the forges filled the silence. The ring of hammer on anvil continued, indifferent to the standoff at the gate.
Finally, the guard nodded.
"I am Borin," he said. "Elder of clan Ironhew." He stepped aside. "Enter Stonewake. But know this. If the shard burns us, you burn first. Kynish law permits no other outcome."
Kallum let the cold in his arm recede. The umber light faded. He nodded.
"Fair," he said.
They walked into the Kyn district.
The heat of the cavern hit Kallum like a physical blow. After the freezing damp of the tunnels, the sudden warmth made his head spin. He listed to the side, caught himself on a timber support. The brand on his arm throbbed in protest at the temperature change.
Elyria's hand was at his elbow. Steady. Cool.
"Breathe," she murmured. "The forges press the air from you if you let them."
Kallum nodded. He forced air into his lungs. The dizziness receded slowly.
The streets of Stonewake were not streets. They were ramps and stairs carved into the living rock. Every surface was covered in tool marks. Chisel scars. Hammer divots. The entire district was a testament to work.
Kynish citizens stopped to watch them pass. They wore heavy leather aprons over simple tunics. Their arms were thick with muscle. Their hands were scarred and calloused. Women and men alike worked the forges and the stonemason's yards. Children ran with loads of coal and tools, learning the trade before they could read.
They watched Kallum and Elyria with open suspicion. But there was no fear in their gaze. Kallum was used to people looking at his brand with terror. The Kyn looked at it the way a carpenter looks at a warped board. As a problem to be solved.
"They hate the Order," Kallum murmured to Elyria.
"They tolerate the Order," she corrected. "There is a difference."
They reached the center of the district. A massive forge dominated the space. It was built around a natural vent that released heat from deep below the earth. The fire in the hearth was never allowed to die.
A figure stood before the forge. She was shorter than the others, but her presence filled the space. Her hair was braided with rings of copper and iron. Her apron was stained with soot and grease, but her arms were bare, revealing muscles like steel cables.
She held a pair of tongs. In the tongs was a blade of metal that seemed to drink the light. It was not the black iron of the Order's weapons. It had a faint blue sheen. A ripple in the metal that moved like water.
Kynish steel.
Borin approached her. He spoke in their guttural tongue. The words were sharp, consonant-heavy. The woman turned.
She looked at Kallum. Her eyes were the color of flint. She looked at the satchel at his hip. Then she looked at his arm.
"Dirge-bearer," she said. Her voice was like the rasp of a file. "You bring the broken song into my home."
"I bring a warning," Kallum said.
The woman set down the tongs. The blade was placed on the anvil behind her. She wiped her hands on a rag.
"I am Thaya," she said. "Master of the Ironhew forge." She gestured to the guards. "Leave them."
Borin hesitated. Then he nodded. The guards stepped back but did not leave.
"You have the look of the Order about you," Thaya said to Kallum. "The walk. The stance. But you wear their sin."
Kallum looked at his arm. The bandages were gone. The brand was exposed.
"They did this to me," he said. "And worse."
"And now you carry a piece of the Breaking in a bag," Thaya said. She walked closer. Up close, Kallum could see the small scars on her face. Sparks from the forge. "Why?"
"Because they want to put a Lumen-touched on the Throne of Quietus," Kallum said. "They want to merge their false order with the amplification of the mountain."
Elyria stepped forward. She reached into her coat and withdrew a small scroll case, pressed from dark wood.
"I saw it too," she said. "Through the shard's connection. Not the mountain itself, but the mathematics of what they plan." She extended the case toward Thaya. "This contains the calculations they used to locate the Throne. The frequencies involved. I memorized them before we left the archive."
Thaya's face did not change expression. But Kallum saw her fingers twitch.
"The Throne of Quietus," she repeated. "The mountain in the north. The place where sound goes to die."
"You know it?" Elyria asked.
"Our people once had holds in the Silent Peaks," Thaya said. "Before the Scouring. Before the ice came." She looked at Kallum. "You say the Order plans to use this mountain?"
"I saw it," Kallum said. "In the shard's vision. A golden figure. A Lumen-touched. Standing at the base of the Throne. The mountain screamed."
Thaya looked at the scroll case. She looked at Elyria. Something shifted in her eyes—an acknowledgment that passed between them. Two witnesses. Two keepers of things that should have been buried.
Thaya turned back to her forge. She picked up a heavy hammer. She struck the blade on the anvil.
CLANG.
The sound rang through the district. A hundred forges answered in a heartbeat. A chorus of metal.
"If the Order controls the song," Thaya said over the ringing, "they control the vibration of all things. Stone. Metal. Bone." She looked at Kallum. "They could unmake any weapon that opposed them. They could crumble walls by willing the stone to forget its purpose."
"They will erase us," Elyria said. "Free will. Chaos. Memory."
"Memory," Thaya repeated. She looked at Kallum's arm again. "The Kyn remember what the Order forgets. We remember the world before."
She set down the hammer.
"You need a way out of the city," she said.
"We need to reach the Kyn Gate," Kallum said. "The old gate in the northern wall. The Order sealed it centuries ago."
"Not sealed," Thaya said. "Hidden." She gestured to a tunnel behind the forge. "The Umbraflow passes beneath the foundation of the city. It surfaces near the old gate. The water is cold. The things in the water are hungry."
Kallum thought of the Silt-Walkers. He thought of the pale, wet things that had hunted him through the flooded tunnels.
"We've dealt with the Chorus," he said.
"The Umbraflow is worse," Thaya said. "The Chorus are cultists who chose the wrong god. The things in the river are what the gods left behind when they died."
She walked to a rack of weapons. She selected a short sword. The blade was the same blue-flecked steel she had been working on. She turned and offered it hilt-first.
Kallum reached for it with his right hand. His fingers closed around the leather-wrapped grip.
The metal hummed against his palm. It was not the cold hunger of the Vestige. It was something else—a steady resonant frequency that pushed back against the corruption in his blood. The brand on his left arm flared once, then settled. The sword was drinking the excess cold, giving him a moment of clarity he hadn't felt since the Rite.
"Kynish steel," Thaya said, watching his face. "Folded with silver ore and tempered in the tears of the earth. It holds an edge against the Abyss. It will not rust in the dark water." She looked at Elyria. "You. What do you carry?"
"A knife," Elyria said.
Thaya snorted. She reached for another blade. A shorter one. Balanced for throwing.
"Take this," she said. "And take this." She handed Kallum a small pouch. "Alchemical fire paste. If the river things come close, break the seal. Throw it. The fire burns on water."
Kallum took the items. He looked at the sword. The metal seemed to hum in his hand. It felt different than the Order's steel. It felt honest.
"Why help us?" he asked.
Thaya looked at the brand on his arm.
"Because the Order fears you," she said. "And the Order does not fear what it can control." She picked up her hammer again. "Go now. Before the Watchers sense the shard's resonance and bring their purge squads down here."
"The Watchers already know," Kallum said.
"Then they are already dead," Thaya said. She lifted the hammer. "Work waits."
Kallum nodded. He looked at Elyria.
"The river," he said.
"The river," she agreed.
They walked toward the tunnel behind the forge. As they passed into the darkness, Kallum looked back.
Thaya was already striking the blade. The ring of hammer on anvil followed them into the dark. It sounded like a heartbeat. It sounded like something that would endure.
The tunnel sloped downward. The air grew colder. The smell of coal smoke faded, replaced by the mineral scent of moving water and something else. Something ancient and wet.
They reached the edge of the Umbraflow.
Kallum's legs gave out. He slid down the wall, sitting heavily on the stone. His chest heaved. The brand pulsed with a slow, heavy rhythm like a dying engine.
Elyria crouched beside him. She pressed a waterskin to his lips.
"Drink," she said.
Kallum drank. The water was brackish, tasting of minerals and time. It helped.
"I can't keep this up forever," he whispered.
"You don't have to," Elyria said. "Just far enough."
He nodded. He pushed himself up the wall. The Kynish sword at his belt felt heavier than it had moments ago, but its steady hum gave him something to focus on.
The river was a black mirror. The water was so still it looked like solid stone. But Kallum could feel the current. A deep, patient pull beneath the surface.
"The Kyn Gate is three miles north," Elyria said. She pointed along the riverbank. "The tunnel follows the water."
Kallum looked at the darkness ahead. He felt the Vestige vibrating in his satchel. It was hungry again.
"The river sings," he said.
"It does," Elyria agreed. She pulled a small object from her belt. A lumen-stone on a cord. She lowered it into the water. The blue light revealed nothing. The water was too deep. Too dark.
"Let's move," Kallum said.
They walked into the dark.
Behind them, the hammer blows of Stonewake faded. The river took them. The river would decide if they lived or died.
Kallum touched the hilt of the Kynish sword at his belt. The metal was warm against his palm.
He thought of Thaya's words. The Order fears you.
He had spent his life running from the Order. He had spent the last weeks fearing them.
Now he would learn if they had reason to fear him.
The water lapped at the stones. The dark pressed close.
The hunt continued.