The maintenance shaft was a gash of corroded metal at the far edge of the cavern, half-hidden behind a curtain of dripping crystal. Rusted ladders disappeared upward into darkness. A faded warning sign still clung to the wall:
[RAIL NETWORK DECOMMISSIONED – DO NOT ENTER]
Aric tested the first rung. It creaked but held. "Up," he said.
Lyra wiped wet strands of hair from her face. "You're sure this leads anywhere?"
"Old Reach schematics put a freight line above this chamber," Aric said. "If it hasn't collapsed, it'll take us under Pier Nine."
"That's a lot of 'if,' Vale."
He started to climb. "Better than waiting for another chord-beast."
Water dripped steadily from his coat as he ascended. The shaft was narrow, walls lined with dead conduits and brittle cables. The smell changed as they climbed—less brine, more dust and stale air. The Mirror pulsed against his ribs, quiet but insistent, like a caged heart.
Halfway up, Lyra's voice floated from below. "What did you actually take from it?"
"A note," Aric said. "A way of seeing."
"That's not an answer."
He smiled faintly, though she couldn't see it. "It's the only one I've got right now."
They climbed in silence until the shaft ended at a sealed hatch. The metal was cold and pitted with corrosion. Aric set his palm against it. A faint pulse of alien resonance flickered in his veins—the chord he'd taken whispering of pressure points and stress lines. He shifted his hand a few inches and pushed. The hatch groaned and swung inward.
Dust rolled over them like a wave.
They emerged into a tunnel carved from old basalt and lined with skeletal rails. Their boots sank into a layer of powdery grit. The air smelled of rust, ozone, and something sweetly rancid—old oil mixed with forgotten flowers. No lights burned, but faint blue motes drifted above the rails, echo residue left like will-o'-wisps.
Lyra's threads flickered between her fingers. "This place… it's like walking into a ghost."
Aric scanned the rails. The freight line stretched away into darkness, arches rising overhead like the ribs of a buried beast. Patches of graffiti marked the walls—symbols of scavenger crews long gone. He crouched, touched the metal. Warm. Too warm for an abandoned tunnel.
"Someone's been down here recently," he murmured.
Lyra frowned. "Guild?"
"Maybe," Aric said. "Or someone else."
A faint vibration tickled his boots. He stood quickly. Far down the tunnel, a dim glow flickered—then another, like lanterns swinging.
Lyra stepped closer. "We're not alone."
"Off the rails," Aric whispered. They moved to the wall, slipping behind a collapsed service panel. Through a gap, they watched as a procession came into view.
Five figures in dark oil-skin coats marched down the tunnel, boots silent despite the grit. Their faces were hidden behind smooth masks of black ceramic etched with faint sigils. Each carried a staff tipped with a prism that glimmered faintly—Echo-charged. At their center floated a small iron cage on chains, suspended between them. Something inside it pulsed with pale light, irregular and weak.
Lyra's breath caught. "Mask-bearers," she mouthed.
Aric's brow furrowed. "Not Guild. Not Sanctum. Who?"
"The Gloam Cartel," she whispered. "Smugglers. They traffic in living fragments."
Aric glanced at the cage. The thing inside it shifted, emitting a faint chime like cracked glass. Even at this distance he felt the pull of its resonance, thin and desperate. The Mirror in his satchel stirred.
"They're taking it somewhere," he murmured.
Lyra's eyes flicked to him. "And you're thinking of taking it from them."
He said nothing, but his grip tightened on the satchel strap.
The procession passed, their lantern-staffs casting long shadows across the tunnel. As the last one moved by, Aric caught a glimpse of a tattoo on the man's neck—three interlocking triangles. Not a cartel mark he knew.
Lyra's threads twitched nervously. "Vale, if you pick a fight down here—"
"I won't," he said. "Not yet."
He watched the mask-bearers vanish into the dark. The faint vibration faded.
Lyra exhaled. "Good. Let's find another way out before—"
A distant screech cut her off. Metal on metal. Then a low boom rolled down the tunnel, rattling the rails under their feet. Dust rained from the ceiling. The blue motes flickered.
Aric's eyes narrowed. "What was that?"
Lyra closed her eyes, fingers splayed. Threads spread out from her like invisible feelers. She opened her eyes a heartbeat later. "Something's moving up-track. Big."
Another screech. The air trembled. Far ahead, a glow swelled—red this time, not blue.
Aric slung the satchel over his shoulder. "We go the opposite direction. Now."
They slipped from behind the panel and jogged down the tunnel opposite the glow, boots crunching softly. The air grew warmer with each step, the smell of rust giving way to scorched ozone. Overhead, the arches began to change—less regular, more jagged, as if the rock itself had melted and re-hardened.
Lyra muttered, "This isn't just a tunnel. It's a channel."
"A channel for what?"
Before she could answer, the Mirror pulsed violently. Aric stumbled, catching himself on the wall. Images flashed behind his eyes: rails turning to rivers of light, a station of black glass, a crowd of masked figures waiting.
He sucked in a breath. "We're heading for something. A hub."
Lyra glanced at him sharply. "Vale—"
"I saw it," he said. "The chord showed me."
"Or it's showing you what it wants you to see."
He didn't answer. The vibration underfoot was stronger now, rhythmic, like a heartbeat in the stone.
They rounded a bend—and stopped.
The tunnel opened into an enormous cavern where half-collapsed platforms jutted over a chasm. Rails vanished into the void. In the center hung a suspended station built of black metal and glass, connected to the platforms by trembling chains. Blue-white echoes flickered along its surface like veins of lightning. A single word was carved into the arch over its entrance:
[RELAY]
Lyra stared. "I thought the Relays were a myth."
Aric's mouth was dry. "Not anymore."
Below, in the chasm, something stirred. A deep, grinding sound rose, shaking the chains. Red light flared far below, rising.
Lyra's threads flicked out instinctively. "Whatever's down there is waking up."
Aric's eyes stayed on the Relay. He could feel the Mirror humming harder than ever, as if drawn to the station. Patterns flickered behind his eyes—maps, routes, chords interweaving.
"This is it," he whispered. "This is what it's been leading me to."
The grinding deepened into a roar.
Lyra grabbed his arm. "Vale—we don't even know what it is—"
He tore his gaze from the Relay and looked at her. "We're about to find out."