Ines steps out of the lift and looks around. Her eyes adjust slowly to the dimness. Humans can’t see in the dark like we can. But there’s enough ambient light from the crystals embedded in the walls to guide her.
“This way,” I say, and start walking.
The tunnels are much taller than my head and wide enough for heavy moving equipment. Our boots crunch on the rocky floor. Some sections of the tunnel are smooth, cut by boring machines, while others are rough and natural.
She reaches out and trails her gloved fingers along the wall as we walk. “The crystals are everywhere,” she breathes.
“This is a working level. The Illibrium grows in veins throughout the rock. We follow the veins, extract what’s ready, and leave the rest to mature.”
We turn a corner and the tunnel opens into a larger cavern. Here, the crystals are embedded in every surface—walls, ceiling, jutting from the floor. They glow white and blue, like a starry sky brought underground.
Ines stops walking. “They’re beautiful,” she whispers. Her face is lit by the glow. The soft light catches the curve of her cheek, the shine of her dark curly hair. She looks almost ethereal standing there, surrounded by Illibrium.
I force myself to look away.
“Can I touch one?” she asks.
I hesitate. Not everyone is allowed. The crystals can be temperamental with strangers, and we’ve had incidents where they’ve gone dim for days after being touched by someone they didn’t like.
But she was tested at intake. Strongly compatible, they said.
“Yes,” I tell her. “Go ahead.”
She approaches the nearest crystal carefully, reverently. It juts from the wall at shoulder height, smooth and sleek. She reaches out and gently runs her fingertip along its edge.
The crystal glows brighter under her touch.
She hums with delight. “It’s cool,” she murmurs. “I expected it to be warm.”
“They warm when they’re being harvested. At rest, they’re cool.”
“Thank you,” she whispers to the crystal.
“We should keep moving,” I say, my voice rougher than I intended.
She drops her hand reluctantly and follows me deeper into the mine.
As we walk, I find myself talking more than I planned to. Explaining the work. The drilling, the precision blasts, the careful extraction. How we use old-fashioned mining techniques because the Illibrium is temperamental and can’t be rushed.“We work with the crystals, not against them,” I tell her. “Force and speed doesn’t work. Not just anyone can be a miner. You have to earn their trust.”
“How long does that take?”
“A lifetime. Our father was a miner, as was our grandfather and great-grandfather. It’s in our blood. The crystals know us. They chose us.”
I explain the crew roles without thinking about why I’m sharing so much. I tell her that Hook, Claws and Rook are drillers. Heavy and I are blasters. Scar is in charge of debris removal. Chief oversees everything—safety, data, coordinating with the mining techs.
She asks specific questions that show she’s actually listening, not just waiting for her turn to speak. “So the crystals have to approve of you?”
“Something like that.”
I catch myself. Realize I’ve been talking too long, sharing things I don’t normally share with outsiders. This is exactly what journalists do—they make you comfortable, make you forget they’re recording everything, and then they use it against you.
“We should get to lunch,” I say abruptly.
If she notices the shift in my tone, she doesn’t comment on it.
The cafeteriaon ground level is busy with the lunch rush. The smells hit me as soon as we enter—spicy meat, fresh bread, the sharp tang of ale. Human food, prepared by a human chef.
Jana stands at the first station, directing her staff with practiced ease. Nells and Roda move around her, plating food and serving the long line of hungry miners. This is Jana’s domain, and she runs it like a well-oiled machine.
