Page 97 of What Beats Within the Tunnels

Drew, her voice low and thoughtful, adds, “I think he might’ve hinted at it once, but it was ages ago. Lyra probably never connected the dots.”

I snap my gaze to Drew, eyebrows furrowing. “And how the hell are you in on this secret?”

Colton speaks up, his voice defensive but weary. “She’s an old friend. I needed someone to talk to after I found out. Nighthold wasn’t exactly brimming with confidants.”

Shaking my head, disbelief threatening to drown me, I declare, “This revelation doesn’t make us family, Colton. Don’t expect any brotherly bond.”

His eyes harden. “I never expected it to change things between us. But for Lyra it changes everything.”

Despite the animosity between us, I can’t deny what he’s saying. Drew steps in, her voice eerily calm. “It’s more than a torn heart, Nyx. Lyra’s destiny involves choosing between the two of you. The fate of all of us hangs in the balance.”

Colton and I exchange a long, searching look.

“Looks like it’s time we go to Zomea to get our girl,” Colton says with a maddening smirk. The audacity to refer to Lyra as “our girl!” I suppress the urge to snap at him, reminding myself that there are bigger things at play here.

Even if he is my father’s son, even if we might share some twisted brotherly bond, Lyra is not up for debate. She’s mine. Everything between us, every moment, every touch... It can’t all have been for nothing.

The memory of our recent intimate moment rushes back, igniting a fire within me. It’s a clear sign, isn’t it? A sign that despite everything, despite Colton’s sudden revelations and the prophecies, she still feels something for me.

Without another word, I reach for the door handle, ready to put this room and its stifling atmosphere behind me. Throwing it open, I step aside, offering a sarcastic bow to Colton. “After you, brother.” The word tastes like ash in my mouth, but I force it out, challenging him with my stare.

Chapter 35

Lyra

My heart thrashes wildly, its every frantic beat echoing the horror of what I’ve done. Panic pushes me to the cliff’s edge, where the bridge is located. Without a moment’s pause, without allowing my mind to replay the awful scenes, I jump. I surrender to the void, letting the darkness pull me in, enveloping me until the world shifts and I find myself in Zomea.

My feet touch the cold stone of the tunnel floor, and I’m running, running away from the monster I fear I’ve become. Tears streak down my face, each salty drop an emblem of my remorse and pain. If only I could distance myself from the memories, from the dark power that surged through me, from the lives it claimed.

The tunnels whisper, their eerie voices chasing me, almost as if they’re sharing my anguish. In this strange way, they offer solace. Their haunting presence is a distraction from the crushing weight of guilt threatening to tear me apart. I don’t know how to get to the surface. I need to find a portal, or my father needs to find me as he did before. Keep running.

I scream his name, my voice a desperate plea echoing through the winding pathways. But there’s no immediate answer, just the pounding of my heart — or is it? A distinct, calmer heartbeat resonates through the tunnels, so different from my own racing pulse. Its steady rhythm beckons me, drawing me deeper into the labyrinth than I’ve ever been.

Getting lost in these depths seems insignificant compared to the chaos I’m fleeing. I welcome the fear, wanting to feel anything other than what I’m feeling in this moment. I let the rhythmic heartbeat guide me, latching onto its steadiness, yearning for it to calm my own frenetic heart, hoping it might somehow drown out the memories of the council room’s horrors.

In a flash, I stumble, my foot snagging on something unseen. Momentum throws me forward, arms flailing to brace my fall. My palms smack against the wet, cold ground. Trying to catch my breath and reorient myself, my eyes adjust enough to identify the thick, dark substance coating my hands—blood. Oh gods, the council room flashes in my mind, the blood staining nearly every surface.

I push the memory aside and rise on shaky feet, acutely aware of the intricate mesh of roots that have started to dominate the ground. As I tread further, the entire tunnel transforms. Roots and branches envelop the walls, ceiling, and floor, creating a natural cave that seems to pulse with life—or maybe with dread. I recall the hauntingly vivid dream that has often consumed my nights and have a realization.

This place, this eerily familiar setting, it’s the very scene from those dreams. Why has my midnight mind brought me here? What does it want me to see?

Droplets fall from overhead, the same viscous blood splattering against my skin, confirming my worst fears. The distant heartbeat, that rhythmic lub dub, grows more pronounced, pulling me deeper into this nightmarish landscape. Every ounce of my being tells me to run, to flee from the escalating horror, but I can’t. I need answers. Steeling myself, I let the heartbeat guide me, desperate to confront whatever lies at its source. I need to know what beats within these tunnels and why I’m the only one who can hear it.

I round the corner, and the thick web of roots and branches in this part of the tunnel immediately demand my caution. With every step, I’m forced to navigate over, under, and around the maze of organic obstacles. The squelching sound beneath my boots is the only other sound accompanying the now deafening lub dub that reverberates through the tunnel.

Up ahead, I can see something, the faintest shimmer at the end of the tunnel. It’s like my dream, and I have the strangest feeling as I work to approach it. It’s as if an invisible wind has picked up and is tugging me forward, tugging me closer to the shimmering glow in the distance.

I reach the end of the tunnel and push through a tangled web of roots crisscrossing the entryway. I have reached it and stare for a moment, unable to move, while I try to comprehend what’s in front of me. I’ve stumbled upon an object unlike anything I have ever seen before.

It’s large, roughly the size of a boulder, yet its texture is unlike stone. The surface appears slick, glistening with a wet sheen that shimmers with light coming from within the object itself. It’s a deep red, almost black in some places, interspersed with patches of white and gray tendrils and vessels. These vessels creep over its surface like winding rivers and then break free at the top, where the branches extend out all the way to the ceiling and then branch off and spread across every surface of this place.

Its most astonishing feature is its rhythmic movement. Every second or so, the entire structure contracts and then releases, pulsating with a life of its own. This movement is accompanied by a deep, resonating thud, which sends subtle vibrations through the ground. This is the heart. This is the heartbeat I’ve been hearing, the heartbeat I’ve been searching for. The whole entity seems fragile and strong at the same time, as if it’s brimming with raw power.

It’s suspended in the very center of the room, and where branches break free at the top a lattice of roots stems from its base, snaking and intertwining, fusing with the tunnels from where I came. Parts of it are semi-transparent, revealing a maze of inner chambers, and with each pulsation I can see a surge of shimmering translucent fluid being pushed through them.

In a strange, mesmerizing way, this bizarre structure seems both otherworldly and deeply familiar. There’s an undeniable organic quality to it, reminding me of the inner workings of a living being. Energy radiates from it and the bleeding black, tarry substance pools at the ground beneath it and drips off the roots and branches.

“I knew you would be drawn here when the time was right,” a voice says, startling me. I spin around to find my father stepping into the dome-like chamber. Without a second thought, I rush into his arms, seeking comfort in his embrace.