Chains groaned overhead like the hull of an ancient ship. The black-glass station hung in the center of the cavern, suspended by a dozen trembling links anchored to the rock. Blue sparks crawled over its surface like veins of lightning. Below, the red glow was rising, pulsing in time with the grinding roar of something vast and mechanical waking beneath the chasm.
Aric's fingers flexed around the strap of his satchel. The Mirror's pulse had become a vibration he could feel in his bones. Every beat whispered the same word: Closer.
Lyra's threads glimmered faintly between her fingers. "Tell me you're not planning to step into that thing."
Aric's mouth was dry. "If the Map inside my head is right, this isn't just a station. It's a gate."
"Gates can close."
"Then we move before it does."
They crept onto the nearest platform. The iron underfoot was slick with condensation, and the smell of ozone mixed with a faint metallic sweetness. From this angle Aric could see that the Relay wasn't built so much as grown — panels overlapped like scales, and each reflected their own distorted image. A low hum resonated in his teeth.
Halfway across the platform, a tremor shook the cavern. Dust trickled from the ceiling. Far below, the red glow brightened, coalescing into rivulets of molten light snaking up the walls of the chasm.
Lyra hissed, "It's climbing."
Aric broke into a run. Chains rattled above them, sending showers of rust down as the platform swayed. The gangway leading to the station was a narrow spine of black metal stretching into the void. No railings. Only a line of faint blue motes dancing along its edge.
Lyra's voice came sharp and low. "Something's behind us."
He didn't look back. "Cartel?"
"Four signatures. Mask-bearers."
Aric's jaw tightened. "We're out of time."
They sprinted. The gangway thrummed under their boots as if alive. With each step the Relay loomed larger — a great ovoid of black glass and silver veins, no windows, only a single arched door where lines of blue light converged. Symbols burned faintly above it, not letters but chords of geometry his mind translated without thought: Pathway Active.
He slammed his palm against the arch. Cold fire licked up his arm. For a heartbeat his vision inverted — dark became light, echoes became solid. The door melted open with a hiss of displaced air.
Inside was night and mirrors.
The chamber stretched like a cathedral carved from obsidian. The floor was a mosaic of interlocking spirals. Walls curved upward into a vaulted dome where thin threads of light hung like cobwebs. The smell was faintly sweet and antiseptic, like dried flowers over steel.
Lyra stopped just inside the threshold. "This… is not built by human hands."
"No." Aric stepped forward. The Mirror inside his satchel vibrated in harmony with the hanging threads. Images flickered across the walls — glimpses of tunnels, seas, towers of bone. Routes. Memories. Lives.
The grinding roar from the chasm rolled through the station, making the threads quiver.
Lyra turned. "They're here."
Shadows flickered at the doorway. The four mask-bearers emerged, staff prisms glowing. Their black ceramic faces reflected the threads like pools of oil. Behind them floated the iron cage, its pale prisoner pulsing weakly.
One raised his staff. "Hand over the fragment," a filtered voice said. "And walk away."
Aric's fingers brushed the Mirror. "Not today."
Lyra's threads coiled up her arm. "We can't fight them all in here."
"We won't," Aric murmured.
He closed his eyes for a heartbeat. The chord he'd stolen from the beast surged, mapping the chamber in cold lines of resonance. The Relay's own hum became a pattern — a lattice of pathways, intersections of force.
He moved.
The first mask-bearer lunged. Aric ducked, letting the staff swing over his head. His palm struck the floor at a junction of spirals. Blue light flared outward in a ripple. The second bearer's footing vanished as the mosaic under him folded like paper, dropping him into a hollow chamber below. His shout was cut off by a splash of echo-fluid.
Lyra snapped her threads, tangling the staff of another and yanking it sideways. Prism met floor, discharging with a crack of ozone. She pivoted, slammed a knee into the figure's chest, and sent him sprawling.
Aric rose, pulse hammering. The third mask-bearer advanced with precise steps, staff held like a spear. Behind him the cage rocked violently — whatever was inside sensing freedom. The Mirror in Aric's satchel sang louder.
The bearer thrust.
Aric sidestepped and pressed his palm to a hanging thread. A shiver of power cascaded down it. The entire dome flickered; for an instant the chamber wasn't a chamber but a crossroads of countless tunnels. The mask-bearer froze mid-stride, disoriented by the sudden shifting geometry.
Aric grabbed the chain of the cage and pulled.
It came free with a clang. The prisoner inside pulsed once, hard enough to make the air warp. The remaining mask-bearer shouted and reached for the chain — but Lyra's threads wrapped around his wrist, jerking him backward. His prism staff clattered across the floor.
Aric slung the cage over his shoulder. It was lighter than it looked, but cold, radiating a faint static.
The station shuddered again. From far below came a shriek of tearing metal. Red light speared up through cracks in the mosaic floor.
Lyra's eyes widened. "Vale—whatever's down there—"
"Gate's closing," Aric snapped. "Find us an exit."
She looked around wildly, then pointed at a spiral pattern near the far wall. "There!"
They ran. Behind them the remaining mask-bearers scrambled to regroup. One hurled a prism bolt that shattered against the floor where Aric had been a moment earlier, spraying shards of frozen sound. The threads overhead flickered wildly as the Relay's hum climbed to a fever pitch.
They reached the spiral. Aric pressed the Mirror against its center.
The world inverted.
For a heartbeat he was falling through a lattice of light, corridors branching off into infinity, each lined with faces whispering in languages he almost understood. The cage on his back pulsed in time with the Mirror. Lyra's hand clamped onto his arm, anchoring him.
Then gravity returned.
They staggered into a narrow corridor of black glass lit by dim blue veins. Behind them the spiral closed, sealing the chamber like a pupil contracting. The grinding roar was replaced by a deep, echoing silence.
Lyra leaned against the wall, breath ragged. "What… did you just do?"
Aric steadied himself. "Opened another path. The Relay's network still works — at least partly."
"Where are we?"
He looked around. The corridor curved away in both directions, vanishing into mist. The smell was clean and dry, like old stone under moonlight. No sound but their own breathing and the faint pulse of the cage.
"Somewhere else," he said. "Another station. Or another part of the same one."
Lyra eyed the cage warily. "And that?"
Aric shifted it off his shoulder and set it on the floor. The thing inside pressed against the bars — a mass of pale filaments shaped almost like a child curled in sleep. Its surface shimmered like wet silk. When it moved, a faint chime rang, brittle and sad.
"It's a living fragment," Lyra murmured. "They shouldn't exist anymore."
Aric crouched. The Mirror in his hand vibrated in sympathy with the creature. Images flickered behind his eyes — a map of chords, the faint outline of a sigil he'd never seen before.
"It knows something," he said softly. "Something about the Domains."
Lyra's voice hardened. "And the Cartel wanted it badly enough to send mask-bearers into the Reach's deepest holes. That makes us a target."
"We were already targets." Aric stood, slipping the Mirror back into his satchel. "Now we have leverage."
The cage chimed again, higher this time. Threads of light flickered across the corridor's walls, converging at a distant archway. Beyond it glowed a faint, pulsing blue.
Lyra exhaled. "Whatever this place is, it's not dead."
"No." Aric started toward the archway. "It's awake."