They glimmer with veins of crystallized mana, pale as bone, running in tangled cords that vanished into the black above. Some drip liquid light—beads falling like slow rain, dissolving before they touch the floor. Others dance to a rhythm long forgotten.
As I carry Auryn through caverns shaped like the hollow bones of titans, the tension in her body eases. Bridges arch across bottomless chasms, where only the faintest glow traces the depths. Somewhere far ahead, sounds echo—eerie and distant. The kind that linger too long in memory.
Reading the markings on the walls, I veer toward a narrow alcove nestled in a curve of the tunnel. A forgotten rest station, carved by travelers long since lost to time. The air is colder here. I cannot feel the drop in temperature, but Auryn shivers in my arms. Crystalline moss blooms from the ceiling in soft pulses of blue-green light.
I kneel and set Auryn down, slipping my cloak off and covering her trembling frame. Then I sit beside her, back pressed to the stone wall.
She says nothing for a long time.
Then, tentatively, her hand reaches for mine in the half-light.
I catch it with both of mine, relief slamming into me. I hadn’t realized how tense I was. How I hinged on her every breath. Counting them. Wondering if she would curse me still…or perhaps forgive me.
“I thought I could be strong,” she whispers, her voice hoarse from shouting. “But I’m always the one who falls.”
“You’re still here,” I tell her, even more relieved to hearhervoice. “You stand up every time.”
She turns her head toward me, her eyes staring at nothing. “Except now. Zarrek and Thessia fell for me. For us. And I left them there.”
I shut my eyes against the truth. Shame bites deep and unrelenting into the hollows of my ribs. “Zarrek is stronger than you know,” I tell her, my hand steady against her spine. “He will not fall so easily. He’s walked with me through war and ruin for over a century now. And Thessia…” I pause. “She’s the Lioness. Commander of the Riven Blades. Legend, in her own way.”
The Veinroads around us are too quiet. Too dark. As we press on, Auryn walks beside me, holding my arm for guidance. Silence surrounds us like deep water, unnatural and endless, broken only by our halting footsteps and the echo of moisture dripping from unseen heights.
Auryn flinches with every new sound. She bites her lip. Says nothing. Doesn’t need to. Her fear slithers through my skin. Her voice finally emerges—fragile, wounded.
“Kail…I still can’t see.”
I slow our pace, shifting her closer as my gaze sweeps the endless dark ahead.
“I know,” I reassure her. “But I can.”
She swallows. “That doesn’t help me.”
“It helpsus,” I say, brushing my cheek against her temple. Needing to feel her warmth. “Trust me. Lean on me.”
Another long silence passes. Her body, though exhausted, tenses anew—this time not from weakness but from guilt.
“You should’ve let me help them,” she says. “I could have done something…anything…”
I continue walking with her. No words I can shape in this moment will ease her pain. So, I focus on the priority at hand. To keep her warm, to keep her safe.
A flicker of light draws my attention—a symbol etched into the wall just ahead. A mile marker. I trace it with my fingers and shift direction, taking a narrow turn.
“You’d already given everything,” I say at last. “More than you had left. Don’t ask me to let you die for one more cause. Not again.”
“But he’sZarrek.He’s—he’s part of us. I felt it when he stayed behind. I felt the goodbye. It didn’t come from me. It came fromhim.” Auryn trembles. “And Thessia…”
I stop. Turn to face her fully. “Then carry that. Carry their faith in you. Inus. Let it guide your steps.”
Her lips part as if to argue. Then close again. She cannot find words enough to describe her grief. She gives a soft nod instead. Then, as if she were made of paper, she leans into me again. Fully now. Without a trace of pride or hesitation.
I catch her—always—my arms folding around her slight frame, pressing her close. Her breath stutters, fragile and uneven, every exhale scraping against my chest like it costs her too much. For a moment, neither one of us moves, suspended in silence so deep I can hardlyfeel my own skin. I hadn’t missed this absence of sound in nineteen years of Campaigning. Hadn’t missed this eerie nothingness.
Yet we move deeper into it with every step.
Closer to the Shields and home.
“You’re burning yourself out,” I say. “I can feel it.”
