I open my eyes to the muffled scream of blaring horns and the flavor of blood in my mouth. My skull aches where I struck it against the control panel. The corridor is strewn with wreckage around me — shattered panels, crushed conduits, spilt coolant. Groaning, I climb to my feet and Lirael is beside me.
Her eyes, at wide but steady violet, are wide but steady. She sweeps a silver-white strand of hair from her face and extends a hand to me. "You okay?" she asks, soft but fierce.
I catch her hand, and she helps me struggle to my feet. "Could be worse," I mutter, wincing as my side protests the presence of the shard of the Citadel. I lean against the wall for a second, inhaling deeply. "Where are we headed?"
She looks in the direction of the corridor that we had come in from, then toward the service stairs. "So the command center of the Vault," she says. "We need to summon the Shield Wardens and seal the last tear in the rift. It's our best chance at resealing Elyndros anyway."
A low growl of footsteps thunders through the tunnels—heavy, insistent footsteps. And Lirael is squeezing my arm in a vice. "Stay close."
We hurry, quiet and careful, Lirael leading me past singed walls and dim lights. By the time we come out, the more and more messages I see written across the metal panels – scrawls from the rebels and refugees: "Trust No One", "The Rift's Inside", "Find Lirael".
"Folks here know you," Lirael mumbles. "Your name is a light of hope!"
I laugh dryly. "Hope's in short supply right now."
She just smiles — a little, gentle thing in the dark — and squeezes my arm.
At the head of the stairs, we are at a crossroads. Three hallways diverge: one labeled Command, the other MedBay, and the third Armory.
Lirael tugs me forcibly toward the Command door. "That's our path."
Before I can turn, a figure in dark clothes is stepping into the corner's shadow, face hidden by the hood of his robe. And we see the Council's sigil on their chest. A thin, glimmering dagger it towers in one hand.
I tense. "Who are you?" I demand.
They lift the dagger. "You are not to get to the command center," the voice hisses, "under command of the High Chancellor."
Lirael steps forward. "What are you doing?"
The assassin doesn't answer. They stab at me, dagger to aim for my chest. I just manage to whirl away and save myself. The blade misses my armor and then slides past, raking my side. Pain flares; I stumble.
Lirael jumps at it, but the assassin is swift. I glower at them, attempting to think past the shock.
Then Lirael flows like water—her gauntlet bursts into violet light, and she arcs her arm. A burst of energy flings the assassin into the wall with a crash. They let the dagger fall with a clatter.
I take my chance and wrestle them to the ground. Sparks fly as my feasts connects and I squint in determination... They scream and try to crawl away, but I hold them in place.
Lirael crouches down next to us, her hand against my wound, frowning. "Are you hurt?"
I grit my teeth. "Just a scratch." I turn the arm of the assassin until they lower their hood. It is one of the Council's own advisors—silver haired, gray eyes like ice. "Why?" I ask, voice low. "Why attack us?"
They spit blood. 'Council wants to run the System. No outsiders—no rebels—no demigods." Their eyes flick to Lirael. "Especially not her."
Lirael's eyes flash. "Me? Why?"
The advisor coughs. "Your god-core tech… you knew it'd bring him round. "But the Council fears any power they can't tax or command."
I look at them, shock giving way to anger. "They would rather have Elyndros burn than allow people to live free?"
They shrug. "A shattered world under your control is better than chaos under your flag."
Lirael gets up, and I rise with her. "Thank you," she tells the advisor, softly. "For telling us."
They glare up. "Don't thank me." Then they push past us and wind up the hall to the Armory.
I look at them as they leave, the knot in my gut. "They are out of the question," and Lirael's hand clamps around my arm. "They'll warn the Chancellor."
I nod. "Then we need to hurry."
We slip into the Command corridor. Inside, anaemic holo‑screens flicker with schematics of the Vault, status reports, urgent alerts: "RIFT BREACH – LEVEL B2", "WARDENS FALLING", "COMMAND LOCKDOWN IMMINENT".
The room is half-empty—no more than a dozen Shield Wardens remain, armed and looking warily around. Commander Sylene is at the head of a large table, and her eyes widen when she spots me.
"Kairo Vale," she breathes. Relief equal parts surprise. "We thought you were killed in the Citadel explosion."
I force a grin. "Been busy." I look at Lirael, she's gripping my hand. "We need to close that B2 breach.
Sylene nods. "That panel there, behind that's a maintenance shaft," she says, pointing at a reinforced door. "It goes right to the break. "But then it's supposed to be locked on orders from the Council.
Lirael steps forward. "We found out why." She relays the advisor's warning. Sylene's jaw tightens.
"We cannot wait for orders," Sylene says. "Elyndros will fall." She pounds a gauntleted fist on the table. "Wardens, with me! Both of you, it's up to you two to guide the way."
A flicker of pride warms me. People trusting us. I take a steadying breath.
We run down the hall together. Sylene kicks the heavy door to the armored car open. Beyond is a shallow pit, laddered down to blackness. Above, a stroboscopic sign says "B2 BREACH – 20 METERS."
I look at Lirael. "You okay?"
She nods, jaw clenched. "Let's finish this."
Muscles tense, I climb onto the ladder. Nothing about it seems easy now: friend at my side, mission before me.
I hear the alarms of the vault fade behind us, replaced by the pounding of Wardens climbing after us.
I clutch the rungs, heart restabilizing. For the first time in a week, I feel the past and the future come together, hope and responsibility entangled.
At the floor, darkness recedes into a room pulsating with energy. Spanning the center of the rift is a tear in the air. Strands of black fire writhe, straining to be released.
Lirael takes my hand. "One breath," she whispers.
I nod, exhale, and take a step up.
The breach is coming — our challenge to come.