The undercity swallowed them whole.
Elian pressed his palm against the damp wall, chest heaving. The air tasted of rust and rot, every breath carrying a bitter tang that clung to the back of his throat. Far above, Solara's golden spires glittered faintly through cracks in the stone, like distant stars mocking his descent.
"We can't keep stopping," Lyra whispered. Her voice was sharp but hushed, the kind of edge that kept men alive in alleys and backrooms. She leaned against her cutlass, dark hair plastered to her sweat-slick cheek. "The Guard isn't far. We lose the pace, we die."
Elian forced a nod, but his body trembled. The shadows inside him writhed, eager. Every heartbeat sent a ripple of cold across his veins. He could feel the remnants of the gang they had stumbled upon earlier—their life essence, torn away, screaming in silence. He hadn't meant to take it. But when blades pressed against his throat, the void had surged forward, hungry, and his fear had unleashed it.
The memory still clung to him like oil. The hollowed bodies. The looks in their eyes as the darkness consumed them.
He pressed a shaking hand to his chest, trying to steady his breathing. "I… I didn't mean to—"
Lyra cut him off with a glare. "Save it." She spat onto the stone, eyes sharp as broken glass. "Whatever that was back there, it bought us time. I'm not about to die for your apologies."
Her words bit, but beneath the venom, Elian heard the tremor. She had seen the same horror he had—and she was still here. Still running beside him.
They pressed deeper into the labyrinthine tunnels. The walls sweated with condensation, rivulets trickling into cracks where pale fungi pulsed faintly. Rats skittered ahead, scattering through broken masonry. Somewhere distant, a scream rose and fell, swallowed by the undercity's vastness.
Lyra took the lead now, moving with the confidence of someone who had lived in shadows all her life. Her boots made no sound. She brushed her fingers against the walls, counting turns and paths.
"You've been here before," Elian said, voice low.
She didn't look back. "I've smuggled more than a few crates through these veins. The Guard doesn't dare follow too deep. The gangs run the tunnels—but they're not what I'm worried about tonight."
Elian frowned. "Then what?"
She finally glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes glinted like steel in the dim glow. "You."
They reached a collapsed stairwell. The stone was jagged, blackened as though scorched by something hotter than fire. Lyra clicked her tongue. "Void-touched. Recent."
Elian winced. The residue was his fault. He could feel it, like an echo in his bones.
Lyra crouched, tracing the scorch mark. "The gangs'll see this and talk. And when they talk, the Guard listens. You're painting a trail in blood and shadow, scholar."
"I didn't ask for this," Elian whispered. His throat tightened. "I didn't want—"
Lyra's laugh was sharp, humorless. "No one wants it. You think I wanted to be a pirate? You think Kaelen wanted to chain his life to a throne? Choices don't matter. Survival does." She stood, blade resting on her shoulder. "So tell me, Elian—are you going to survive, or are you going to wallow?"
The words stung. Yet beneath the sting, something hardened in him. Wallowing wouldn't change what he had done, or what hunted him.
Survival meant control. He clenched his fists, forcing the void back down into the cage of his ribs. For now, it obeyed.
Hours bled away. Their path twisted through the undercity like a serpent, past forgotten shrines and broken aqueducts.
Once, they crossed a cavern so wide their torchlight barely reached the other side. Stone pillars rose like titans frozen mid-stride, and high above, the shattered remains of some ancient bridge dangled, chains clinking faintly in the draft.
Elian's scholarly mind ached with questions. Who had built this? What civilization had thrived beneath Solara before the spires rose? But the urgency in Lyra's stride told him such thoughts had no place here.
Instead, he studied her. The way she moved—quick, efficient, unhesitating. Her confidence was armor, but every so often, when she thought he wasn't looking, her fingers twitched near her throat, brushing a thin chain that disappeared beneath her tunic. A tell.
She carries ghosts too.
They finally stopped in a narrow chamber where the ceiling dripped steadily into a shallow pool. Lyra knelt, cupping the water in her palm before drinking. She tossed the rest toward Elian.
"Don't drink too much," she said. "Water down here… isn't always clean."
Elian sipped anyway, the chill easing his parched throat.
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the drip of water. Then, softly, Elian asked, "Why help me? You could have left me in the Athenaeum. Taken your chance to run."
Lyra leaned back against the wall, eyes half-lidded. "Because the Guard hunts me too. Different sins, same gallows." She smirked faintly. "You're a scholar who stumbled into something bigger than your books. Me? I knew what I was doing when I stuck my blade where I shouldn't."
Her gaze sharpened. "But don't mistake this for charity. You're useful. The Guard wants you so badly they'll send half the city after you. That means sticking with you buys me time."
Elian swallowed. "And when I stop being useful?"
Lyra's smirk curved into something colder. "Then you'd better hope by then I like you enough not to sell you to the highest bidder."
The shadows shifted.
Elian froze. The pool at his feet rippled, though no stone had fallen. A whisper threaded through the air, faint but undeniable.
Hunger.
His blood chilled.
Lyra straightened instantly, hand on her cutlass. "What is it?"
Elian's pulse thundered. He tried to answer, but the voice pressed harder. I see you. I hear you. I taste you.
His vision blurred, the chamber darkening. The void inside him strained against its cage, eager to flood free.
"Elian!" Lyra's voice cut through the haze. She grabbed his shoulder, shaking him. "Don't you dare lose it now!"
He gasped, forcing his focus on her face—the sharp angles, the stubborn fire in her eyes. Slowly, the whispers ebbed, receding like a tide. The pool stilled.
Lyra didn't release him right away. Her grip was iron. "You lose yourself again, and you'll take me down with you. I won't let that happen. Understand?"
Elian nodded weakly. "I… I'll try."
"Don't try." Her voice was steel. "Do."
They moved on, but the encounter left Elian shaken. The Umbra wasn't just inside him. It was aware. Watching. Waiting.
And somewhere behind them, echoing faintly through the tunnels, came the clamor of steel boots striking stone.
The Guard was closing in.