The ground shook with the weight of machines. From every direction the Draugr engines roared, metallic thunder bouncing from wall to wall of the mountain pass. It was like standing inside the chest of some vast, iron beast, hearing its heart hammer from all sides. Smoke from the battle still clung to the air, burned flesh and oil clogging every breath.
Brynhild clenched her axe, jaw tight. Her body screamed for rest, but her blood screamed louder. "Let them come," she snarled. "We'll cut them down, one after another."
A hand shot out, hard on her arm. Styrkar's face loomed close, streaked with blood and ash, eyes blazing but cold. "You think they brought their whole army here for us?" His voice was like stone grinding against stone. "This is slaughter if we stand."
She tried to shake him off, anger flaring in her chest, but the echo of the engines rolled closer, multiplied. It wasn't a warband—they were surrounded by a tide.
Vidar limped forward, clutching his satchel to his chest. His sleeve was still torn to the bone, blood soaking through cloth. He looked at the pass behind them, where fire still ate the last wagons. His voice was hoarse. "We can't outrun them in the open. Not on the flats. They'll run us down before we've gone a mile."
Styrkar lifted his spear, the haft gleaming faintly in the firelight. He pointed toward the cliffs rising above them. "There's another way. Old tunnels cut before the kingdom fell. Mining shafts. The Draugr won't expect us to vanish into the rock."
"Won't expect, or won't care?" Brynhild muttered, but she followed when he started moving. There was no choice. Behind them lay only death.
The survivors fell in line, staggering on burned feet, leaning on each other where they had to. Morale was broken, carved hollow by the slaughter of the refugees. The silence between them was heavier than the thunder that shook the earth. No one spoke of the faces they had seen, or the bodies left behind in the mud.
The entrance to the mine was little more than a crack in the cliff face, half-choked by boulders. It stank of damp stone and rust, and a cold draft whispered out of it, like a sigh from the mountain's lungs. Styrkar pulled aside a splintered timber beam, and one by one they slipped into the dark.
The air changed instantly: thick, wet, suffocating. The walls wept with mineral slime. Their boots sank in mud, sometimes crunching on bones of miners long dead. Brynhild forced herself to steady her breathing, her eyes adjusting to the faint light of the torches.
Every scrape of boot leather echoed too loudly. Every breath seemed like a beacon. Somewhere far behind, metal claws raked the stone—Draugr scouts already sniffing after them.
"Stay close," Styrkar growled. "This way runs deep. We'll circle the ridge and come out past their encirclement."
That was when Rúna spoke up. She moved differently from the others—smooth, balanced, precise even though the terrain shifted under her feet. Her pale eyes glimmered faintly in the torchlight.
"You'll never make it blind," she said. Her voice was soft, but it carried. "They'll hunt us by heat and resonance. Their scouts sweep the tunnels before the bulk ever comes."
Vidar turned sharply. "And how in the nine hells would you know that?"
Rúna did not flinch. "Because I've studied them. Their sensors, their behavior. I know the way they search. I can guide you through without tripping their nets."
Murmurs spread through the survivors. Distrust curdled in the air. She was one of them—a machine, or at least part of one. More iron than flesh. Could she be trusted?
Brynhild planted herself between Rúna and the others, raising her axe slightly as if daring anyone to challenge her. "If you doubt her, you doubt me." Her voice was raw, but it cut through the muttering. "She's with us. And if she says she knows how they hunt, then we let her lead."
Rúna inclined her head slightly, a motion almost too graceful to be human. "Then follow me."
The tunnels grew narrower, the ceiling dripping with long fangs of stone. The group pressed close together, torches sputtering. Ahead, the darkness shifted—something moved.
A sound like chittering metal scraped along the rock. Then they saw them: spider-like Draugr scouts, thin legs clicking, lenses glowing dull red. They scuttled in jerks, pausing to taste the air, their heads twitching like insects.
The group froze.
Rúna stepped forward. Her eyes narrowed, and faint light flickered across the seams of her skin. She lifted her hand and a low hum filled the air, a vibration that made Brynhild's teeth ache. The glow in the Draugr scouts' eyes sputtered, their movements turning erratic. They clattered against the stone, confused, as though they'd lost their prey.
"Go," Rúna whispered. "They can't see us right now."
The group slipped past, hearts hammering. Brynhild glanced back at Rúna, something shifting in her chest. This wasn't just a machine with a woman's face. This was someone who could keep them alive.
But one scout jerked violently, its red eye snapping back into focus. With a screech, it lunged forward.
Vidar drew steel, Brynhild her axe. The fight was short, brutal—the creature split apart in showers of sparks and oil. But as it died, its scream reverberated through the tunnels, echoing like a signal.
The mountain trembled in response.
"They know," Rúna said quietly. Her face was pale, but her voice steady. "The bigger ones are coming."
The tunnel sloped upward, the damp stone giving way to dry gravel. A thin breath of fresh air licked across Brynhild's cheek. They were close. She tasted freedom on the wind—
And then the mountain shook.
A sound like thunder cracking the bones of the world ripped down the passage. Rock splintered. The ceiling groaned. From the shadows behind, something vast clawed its way into the mine.
The Juggernaut.
Its bulk filled the passage, steel plated in slabs of iron, claws the size of spears tearing through stone as though it were parchment. Its single, glaring eye cast the tunnel in red, and its roar rolled through the shaft like a collapsing cathedral.
"Run!" Styrkar bellowed, driving them forward with his spear. The group stumbled ahead, but the Juggernaut was faster than stone itself, tearing the tunnel wider with every movement.
The walls rattled. Rocks cracked loose. There was nowhere left to run.
Rúna halted, her frame lit by the hell-red glow. She turned to Styrkar, her pale eyes steady. "The tunnel will not hold. I can bring it down."
"You'll be crushed with it," Styrkar snapped, fury in his voice. "You will not throw your life away."
"This isn't life," she answered. Sparks danced along the seams of her arms, a faint hum building in her chest. "It's circuitry and steel. If it means you live, it is worth the cost."
Brynhild felt her blood freeze. "No—"
But Rúna had already pressed her palms against the wall. Light surged through her, veins of fire running under her skin. The air itself seemed to scream. Stone split, foundations cracking.
The Juggernaut lunged, claw raised—
The ceiling came down.
An avalanche of rock tore free, slamming into the machine with a sound like the world ending. Dust swallowed everything. Brynhild staggered as boulders rained, the tunnel collapsing around them. She slipped, dragged down with the rubble—until a hand caught hers.
Rúna.
Her grip was iron, hauling Brynhild free from the edge of the collapse. They stumbled into the upward shaft together as the Juggernaut vanished beneath a mountain of stone. The red glow blinked out, buried.
Silence followed. A silence as deep as the grave.
They burst into the night.
The tunnel spat them into the open, a ragged mouth of stone overlooking the lowland forests. Cold air washed over them, sharp and clean compared to the stench of smoke and oil.
Behind, the mountain groaned with the weight of the collapse. The Draugr howled and clawed on the far side, but the stone held. For now, they were safe.
Styrkar stood, chest heaving, spear braced in the soil. His voice was rough but unbroken. "The pass is lost. But so long as we breathe, their engines haven't won."
Later, a fire crackled in a shallow hollow. They huddled close, bandaging wounds, nursing bruises, silent in exhaustion. The flames threw long shadows on the rock, flickering across their hollow faces.
Vidar broke the silence. His voice was quiet, but steady. "We'd all be corpses in that tunnel if not for her." His eyes flicked toward Rúna. "Whatever doubts you hold, remember that."
Murmurs rippled through the group. Some nodded. Others looked away, suspicion still lingering.
Brynhild leaned on her axe, eyes fixed on Rúna. "If you hadn't been there, I'd be paste under a boulder. You've earned your place. Don't care what anyone else says."
Rúna lowered her gaze. There was no pride in her, only unease. The firelight caught her face, making her expression unreadable. "I know things," she said at last, voice low. "Things about the Draugr you may not want to hear."
The group fell silent, staring. She did not elaborate.
The fire crackled. The night stretched on, heavy with grief. They were haunted by the faces left behind in the pass, but alive—because of her.
And that, for now, was enough.