The tunnel sloped downward, each step pulling them farther from the world of air and starlight.
Elian's torch hissed as the damp closed in. The flame guttered, spitting sparks that hissed out before they touched the slick stone. The light reached less and less with every footfall, until the shadows seemed to swallow it whole.
The silence was worse. Not the hush of secrecy, but the suffocating stillness of a place abandoned even by rats.
Elian shivered. "This feels wrong."
Lyra glanced back, eyes reflecting the weak flame. "Everything down here feels wrong. You'll learn to stop saying it aloud."
She pushed on, steps sure even in the dark. Her hand brushed the wall as she walked, fingers finding faint grooves in the stone. Not decoration—scratches. Long, parallel, uneven.
Elian's gaze lingered on them. His stomach clenched. "Those aren't natural."
Lyra didn't answer. She didn't need to.
The air grew thicker as they pressed on. Metallic, like rust and old blood. Elian tasted it at the back of his throat, bitter and cloying.
The torch gave one last stuttering gasp before collapsing into smoke.
Darkness swallowed them.
Elian froze, heart slamming against his ribs. "Wait—"
Something clicked. A faint grind of flint. Then a soft flame bloomed, steady and controlled. Lyra lit a lantern, shielding the wick with her hand. Its glow was warmer than the torch, but dimmer, the shadows pressing closer still.
"Keep breathing," she muttered. "The dark feeds on panic."
Elian drew in a shaky breath. The lantern light trembled over his fingers, pale against the grime. His skin looked strange in this glow—washed, hollow. He flexed his hands, trying to ignore how they trembled.
The void stirred inside him. Not violently, not yet. Just a slow, deliberate thrum. Like it knew they were somewhere closer to home.
The tunnel widened suddenly, opening into a cavern. The ceiling arched high overhead, lost in shadow. Stalactites hung like jagged teeth. Pools of stagnant water reflected the lantern in shards of copper and red.
Something shifted in the distance. A ripple of air, as if the cavern itself exhaled.
Elian froze. "Did you—"
Lyra cut him off with a sharp gesture. She lowered the lantern, dimming its reach. Her eyes swept the cavern, sharp and unblinking.
"Elian," she whispered, barely audible, "don't run. No matter what you see. Do you understand?"
His pulse spiked. "Why would I—"
Her stare pinned him. "Do you understand?"
He swallowed hard. "Yes."
"Good."
They moved carefully along the cavern wall, the lantern's light skimming over carvings etched into the stone. Not words—not any script Elian knew—but spirals, jagged lines, and concentric circles like eyes upon eyes.
The sight made his stomach lurch. They weren't carved with tools. The grooves were rough, uneven, gouged as though something with claws had scratched them into being.
The void inside him thrummed louder. The symbols seemed to shift if he stared too long, crawling at the edges of sight. He tore his gaze away, breath ragged.
"Elian," Lyra hissed.
He realized he'd fallen behind. His boots scraped on stone as he hurried to her side.
Her expression was taut, jaw clenched. "Keep your mind on your feet, not the walls."
Easy for her to say. The walls were humming.
A sound cut through the silence.
Wet. Dragging.
Like something heavy pulled across stone.
Elian's blood ran cold. He stopped dead.
Lyra extinguished the lantern in a heartbeat. Darkness crashed back.
Elian wanted to scream, but Lyra's hand clamped over his mouth before a sound escaped. Her grip was iron, her breath steady.
The dragging grew louder. Closer.
Elian's eyes strained against the dark, useless. But he felt it—pressure in the air, as though the cavern itself leaned closer.
The void stirred, eager. Hungry. His veins burned.
No. Not now. Not here.
He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms. He forced his breath to slow, shallow against Lyra's hand.
The sound drew nearer. Then… paused.
Elian felt it. A presence. Heavy. Patient. Watching.
Something scraped the stone, closer to their wall now.
Lyra didn't move. Didn't breathe.
The silence stretched.
And then, slowly, the sound receded. Dragging. Sliding. Fading back into the cavern's depths.
Lyra kept her hand on his mouth until the silence settled again, thick and smothering. Then she eased back, breath ghosting against his ear.
"Now you know why gangs don't come this deep."
Her whisper was harsh, edged with something uncharacteristic: not mockery, but unease.
Elian swallowed hard, throat dry. "What… what was it?"
Lyra lit the lantern again, just enough to see her face. Her eyes were flat. "You don't want to know."
They didn't speak again as they pressed deeper. The tunnel narrowed once more, forcing them into single file. The stone walls wept with condensation, streaked black and red in the lantern light.
Elian's thoughts spiraled. The void inside him pulsed with every breath, louder now, almost insistent. It wanted out. It wanted to reach into that cavern, into the thing that had passed them by.
For the first time, he wondered if it recognized kin.
His skin crawled. He pressed his palm against the wall to steady himself, but jerked it back with a hiss. The stone was warm.
Too warm.
"Elian," Lyra snapped softly.
"I'm fine," he lied. His voice cracked on the word.
She gave him a long, piercing look, then turned away.
He wasn't sure if she believed him—or if she was simply calculating how far she'd get if she left him behind.
They finally reached a small chamber where the tunnel forked again. One path sloped down into black water. The other angled up, faint drafts of cooler air whispering through.
Lyra set the lantern down, crouching. "We rest here. Briefly."
Elian sagged against the wall, breath ragged. He wanted to collapse, to let exhaustion swallow him whole, but the warmth of the stone beneath his back made him shiver.
Lyra pulled a flask from her belt and drank. Then, after a long pause, she handed it to him.
He blinked. "You're sharing?"
"Don't flatter yourself." Her tone was sharp, but softer than usual. "If you faint, I'll have to drag you. I'd rather not."
Elian took the flask. The water tasted metallic, like everything down here. But it soothed his throat, however briefly.
He handed it back. "Thank you."
Lyra didn't answer. She was staring into the darkness of the downward tunnel, lantern light tracing the edge of her jaw. Her expression was unreadable, but her hand rested near her blade.
"Elian," she said suddenly, voice low. "If whatever's inside you wakes again, if it draws those things to us…"
He tensed. "What are you saying?"
Her eyes met his, hard as steel. "I won't let you take me with you. Do you understand?"
The words cut deeper than the chill of the cavern.
Elian's mouth went dry. He wanted to protest, to promise, to plead—but the void thrummed louder, like it was laughing at him.
He nodded, barely. "I understand."
Lyra held his gaze a moment longer, then looked away.
The silence stretched, heavy and fragile.
Somewhere far below, the dragging sound began again.