The darkness inside the ventilation shaft was absolute. It was a suffocating, oily blackness that smelled of grease, rust, and old ozone. The only sound was the distant, rhythmic thud-hiss of the massive pistons driving the Foundry's heart. It was a mechanical heartbeat that vibrated through the metal walls and settled deep in Vane's bruised bones.
Vane crawled on his elbows as he dragged his battered body forward. Behind him, Isole's breathing was shallow and ragged. The Holy light she usually radiated was dimmed to a faint, ghostly glimmer that was just enough to illuminate the curve of Vane's back and the blood drying on his uniform.
They reached a small maintenance junction. It was a cramped steel box where three ducts converged. Vane collapsed against the wall while his chest heaved.
