lapped at Aric's boots as he led Lyra deeper into the tunnel. The pipe walls narrowed until they were shoulder-width apart, slick with algae. The air was heavier here, damp and metallic, smelling of salt, oil, and something sweeter—like bruised flowers left to rot. The faint hum of the Mirror vibrated against his ribs.
Behind them, the clank of boots echoed on the ladder they'd descended. Voices muttered above. A beam of searchlight flicked down the tunnel, slicing across dripping pipes. Lyra flicked her fingers; a thread of blue light coiled around the corner and shimmered. The light bent, refracting their silhouettes into empty space.
"That'll hold for a minute," she murmured.
Aric didn't slow. "Then we need more than a minute."
He ducked under a collapsed pipe into a wider conduit where the water rose to his knees. Rusted catwalks crisscrossed above, their grates broken in places. Down here the walls glimmered faintly—not with echo-lamps but with embedded shards of pale crystal. Each shard pulsed at a slightly different rhythm, like scattered heartbeats.
Lyra brushed one with her fingertips. "Raw Echo seepage," she whispered. "The city sits on a vein of it."
Aric's gaze swept the crystals. "That's why the scanners fail down here."
"That's also why the Depthborn hide here," Lyra said. Her tone sharpened. "We're not alone."
A splash echoed ahead.
Aric's hand went to the hook knife at his belt. His breath slowed. He peered through the dim. Beyond the last catwalk, the tunnel opened into a cavernous chamber where the water pooled waist-deep. An old maintenance platform jutted out like a rusted tongue. The air was colder, heavy with the smell of kelp and iron. Something moved in the shadows under the platform—low, hunched, slick with moisture.
Lyra's threads flicked between her fingers like nervous insects. "Depthborn," she mouthed.
Aric had heard the stories: scavengers who lingered too long near raw Echo veins, bodies mutating, minds fraying, until only hunger remained. Some still bore human faces. Others… didn't.
The shape shifted again. Two pale eyes blinked open, reflecting the crystal light.
Aric stepped onto the platform, boots ringing softly. He lifted his free hand, palm out. "We're passing through," he said quietly.
The creature rose.
It was tall and thin, skin mottled with scales that glimmered faintly. Its arms were too long, fingers tipped with chitin. But its face—its face was still almost human, a gaunt mask of hunger and pain. Around its neck hung a string of bone charms. When it spoke, its voice rasped like water over stones.
"Fragment," it hissed. "Give… the fragment."
Lyra's threads tightened around her knuckles. "It can smell it."
The Depthborn tilted its head. More shapes stirred in the water behind it—smaller, crouched, their eyes catching the light. Not one. A whole clutch.
Aric's pulse ticked faster. He could fight one. Maybe two. But a clutch? Even Lyra's threads would snap under that.
He slid the Mirror from the satchel, holding it flat on his palm. The liquid surface rippled. "You want this?" he asked softly.
The Depthborn hissed again, stepping forward. Water sloshed. Behind it, the others moved closer, their whispers echoing: "Fragment… memory… ours…"
Aric's mind raced. The Mirror could record a Resonance Pattern. He'd used it once on Kell by accident. Could it record these creatures? Could he take something from them—just enough to mimic their instincts, their movement?
Risky. But better than drowning in claws.
He pressed his other palm to the Mirror. "Show me," he whispered.
The liquid surface flared silver. Pain lanced through him—a flood of alien impressions: cold depths, the taste of metal and blood, the urge to move unseen through black water. His muscles twitched. His heartbeat slowed. For an instant the tunnel brightened, every ripple mapped in his mind as if he were the water itself.
Lyra hissed, "What are you—?"
"Move when I move," Aric muttered. His voice sounded wrong in his own ears, lower, resonant.
The Depthborn lunged.
Aric stepped sideways into the water, body bending in a way it never had before. The creature's claws slashed empty air. He surged forward, hook knife flashing, slicing across its scaled arm. It howled, the sound echoing like a broken horn.
Lyra's threads snapped out, tangling the second attacker's legs, yanking it under. "Whatever you're doing," she spat, "do it faster!"
Aric felt the borrowed instinct guiding him—duck, roll, strike. He wasn't faster than them, but he was moving like them, predicting their angles. He slashed another across the throat; dark water spurted. The clutch hissed and drew back, wary now.
He raised the Mirror high. "Back," he growled. The word came out layered, his voice overlaid with theirs.
For a moment, the chamber held still.
Then the Depthborn hissed one last time and slid back into the dark water, vanishing like smoke. Ripples spread. Silence fell, broken only by Lyra's harsh breathing and the drip of water.
The borrowed instinct faded. Aric staggered, catching himself on the platform edge. His skin prickled. A faint metallic taste lingered on his tongue.
Lyra stared at him. "You copied them," she whispered. "You actually—"
"I borrowed it," Aric said hoarsely. "Not for long."
Her eyes glimmered. "Do you understand what that means?"
He wiped the knife on his sleeve. "It means we're still alive."
She stepped closer, voice low. "It also means you're already doing what no Resonant should be able to do. If you keep this up, you'll either ascend faster than anyone in the Reach… or burn out your soul."
Aric slipped the Mirror back into the satchel, feeling it pulse like a living heart. "Then I'd better learn fast."
Above them, faint clangs echoed—the Guild patrol reaching the lower ladder.
Lyra glanced up. "We can't go back."
"No," Aric said, eyes on the dark tunnel ahead. "We go deeper. To where the maps end."