We stay like that for a while, resting in the shadow of the ruin, the obelisk pulsing in the distance like a beacon.
Eventually, we stand. We walk back together.
And as we re-enter the chamber, I press my hand to the obelisk one more time. It flares to life, brighter than before. Maybe it feels the truth now. Maybe it knows what I am—whatweare.
“Let’s go home,” I say.
Jaela grips my hand.
I believe that home is real.
CHAPTER 25
JAELA
Ican feel the rumble before I see it—like the bones of the mountain knowing we’re stealing power. The floor beneath me vibrates. Dust drifts in every seam. The ruin shakes. Glyph lights flicker and pulse faster, responding to something wild behind the walls.
Kyldak is crouched beside me, one arm braced on a control panel, his other hand clasping mine, his cybernetic core humming with stabilized feedback. The device we’ve awakened—the wormhole generator—breathes energy, coils of light sliding across glass and metal. I’ve tied the circuits, calibrated the resonance pathways, matched his core’s output to the glyph conduits.
Now we’re tethered to it.
I call out, voice trembling: “I’ve got the sync. You keep the tether stable.”
He nods, jaw set, eyes blazing in the low light. “Don’t die.”
I swallow. “You too.”
The coils flare. A ribbon of blue-white energy arcs across the chamber, threads of luminosity weaving a door in the fabric of reality. The wormhole begins to form. A portal opening into the unknown.
But the earth beneath us groans. Cracks spider outward across the stone, conduits shudder, glyph panels fracture. The mountain’s core fights to reclaim what we steal. The ruin groans, walls splitting, metal groaning in protest.
From the entrance, the warband retreats—engines roaring, orders shouted. They know: this is the moment we risk everything. They scramble, pulling back down the corridors to safety, leaving us alone with the machine’s hum and the mountain’s wrath.
“Time’s going,” I yell. “We have seconds!”
He grips my hand harder. “Anchor with me!”
I nod fiercely. Slide behind him. We brace our bodies against the control console. The wormhole’s light pulses, flooding the chamber with glare. Heat surges. The air tastes of ozone and old power. The hum turns into a roar.
The walls tremble. Stone flakes rain. Panels crack. Power flickers. The coils flicker. The portal dips, stretches, flickers.
I feel fear in my bones. But I swallow it. Because everything depends on this.
“Come on, come on—” I chant, voice ragged, as I redirect feedback loops, stabilize resonance dampers, reroute leakage to secondary coils.
Kyldak’s cybernetic core glows, feeding energy. A lifeline. Without it, the portal collapses. His body strains. His eyes flick. Sweat beads on his brow.
The portal warps. It bends at the edges. The light sharpens in the center.
Behind us, fissures crack overhead. Dust curtains fall. Metal groaning. A roof panel splits.
“They’re coming,” he shouts. “We need to jump!”
I glance at him. Our eyes lock. The wormhole surges, widening, sucking in energy. The mountain’s roar intensifies.
My throat closes.
I grip his hand. “On three,” I shout.
