The depot shook as if it were built on sand. Every slam from outside rattled dust from the rafters. Alarms whined overhead, voices breaking over the loudspeakers before cutting to static.
The Dead weren't stopping.
Rhea stood at the main doors like a human barricade. Fire curled off her arms, her chants tearing from her throat raw: "Ignis! Ignis!" Flames burst across the threshold, scorching the first wave. Her armour was cracked, leather straps blackened, sweat dripping down her chest in shining streaks. She was pure fury—yet the tide pressed forward, climbing over burning bodies, jaws snapping, eyes blind and hungry.
The smell was unbearable. Smoke, fungus rot, blood. It was thick enough to taste.
I shoved Spark into the relay again. The engine coughed, growled, and dragged us forward another two meters. The whole locomotive shuddered like it hated me. Too slow.
A scream ripped from the stairwell. A man stumbled, shoved down in the rush of bodies. His cry turned to gurgling as the Dead tore into him. The sound of ripping flesh echoed too clearly, even over the engine.
"Elias!"
The voice wasn't fire this time. Steady. Clear.
I spun as Lira vaulted into the cab, blonde hair plastered to her face, shirt soaked through. Her satchel swung against the wall, vials clinking like wind chimes.
"You're bleeding," she said.
"It's—"
"Not nothing." She grabbed my wrist, tugging my arm toward her.
Her thumb brushed over the cut on my forearm. Blood streaked her fingers. She bent close, her breath warm against my cheek as she chanted in a low, flowing rhythm.
"Aqua, flow, purify, mend…"
Blue light glowed across her palm. Coolness seeped into the wound, knitting skin. The sting ebbed away.
She didn't move back. Her hair tickled my jaw. Her chest pressed lightly against my arm with each breath. For a heartbeat, all I noticed was the smell of sweat and something sweet still clinging to her skin.
Not the time. Gods, not the time.
"There," she whispered. Her hand lingered before sliding away. "Try not to break again."
I swallowed, mouth dry. "…I'll try."
The glass beside us bowed inward with a crack.
A corpse collided face-first against the window, teeth grinding down the glass pane, blood smearing. More pressed behind it, clawing, their nails screeching like blades. The glass bowed like it wanted to shatter.
Lira jolted against me, gripping my sleeve.
"Hold on!" I ploughed the throttle forward. The engine jerked, wheels shrieking. The bodies slid down, leaving smears of red.
Rhea's roar carried over the flames. "Corridors are gone! Get them out, Elias!"
I turned. The inner passage was chaos. Survivors shoved past each other, faces pale with terror. Some tripped and never got back up. The Dead pounced instantly, dragging them down in sprays of blood. Behind the fleeing crowd came the flood—a wall of pale bodies, feet hammering too fast, jaws clacking like a single machine.
And then light split the hall.
A figure strode into it—blonde braid flying, eyes blazing, grin sharp even now. Kina.
"Move it!" she shouted, her chant rolling into song. She spun her hand upward, voice snapping into a single word: "Lux!"
The corridor exploded in blinding white. The Dead reeled, clawing at their faces. Survivors screamed, but they ran harder, pushing through the gap.
Kina didn't flinch. She twirled, skirt whipping high, and slammed a boot into one corpse's jaw. Another lunged. She ducked under it, kicked off the wall, and grabbed the rope dangling from the freight car.
"Don't stop!" she yelled back to the crowd, already hauling herself up. Then her eyes locked on mine through the window, and even with the world ending, she grinned like she was in on a joke.
"Don't stare too long, Driver!"
I bit my tongue. Fire. Screams. Blood. And she was still teasing.
The roof boomed above me.
Steel dented in with a groan. Nails scraped long, deliberate lines. Heavy. Too heavy.
Variant.
Each step sagged the roof lower.
Lira's hand tightened on my arm. "What is that?"
Another crash. The cab shook. Dust rained from the ceiling.
Rhea bellowed another Ignis! Firestorm lit the depot. Kina's light burned the corridors white. The train dragged itself another few meters.
And then—cutting through fire, screams, and metal—I heard it.
A laugh.
Low. Sly. Calm.
Mara.