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Geth stepped forward, his massive form towering over me as he took a slow, deep breath of the sulfurous air. "Let the canopy child run blindly into the dark," he boomed, a deep, fanatical resonance vibrating in his chest as he gestured to the ancient console. "He thinks he comes for a rescue, but he only accelerates the inevitable. His bloodline failed this world centuries ago. Today, yours will serve its replacement."

Sila threw her head back and let out a sharp, piercing shrill—a clicked Vakra whistle that cut through the cavern. Instantly, a dozen guards materialised from the lower shafts, unholstering heavy skymetal pikes and taking up defensive, ambush positions around the structural arches. They were preparing a killing floor.

Sila turned back around, her blood-red eyes locking onto mine as she dragged me back up, forcing my raw, flayed hand right above the interface.

"Let him come," she whispered, her lips stretching into a horrific, anticipating grin as the shadows swallowed Tyler's retreating form. "Let's see how long you'll stay stubborn when your mate's skin is being torn from his bones."

Chapter 63

Kaelen-Thul

The industrial maze widened, the narrow veins of the weeping rock fracturing into a sprawling, cavernous void where the world split into a dozen different directions.

I skidded to a halt on the damp, gritty floor, the calloused soles of my bare feet digging into the loose dirt and stone. Above us, rusted conduits and iron bracing beams were driven straight into the heavy black bedrock, wheezing black smoke and hot, pressurised steam that mixed with the ancient, stagnant dust of the deep crust. I tilted my head back, my chest heaving as I drew a desperate, ragged breath into my lungs, trying to claw my way back to her.

But the scent was gone.

The brilliant, metallic sting of Lyra’s blood—the line of light that had been pulling me through the dark—had vanished, swallowed whole by a sudden, choking wall of sulfur, burnt grease, and the heavy, electric ozone of Vakra machinery. The red haze in my mind flared violently, a suffocating panic clawing at my throat as the trail went completely dead against the raw earth.

Behind me, the rapid, soft patter of bare feet echoed. Toren and Mara breached the threshold a second later, weapons raised and chests heaving as they flanked me, their sharp vanguard eyes scanning the dizzying web of dark tunnels splitting off into the rock.

"The trail is masked," Mara hissed, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her blade as she glared at the branching darkness. "The air is too thick down here. Kaelen, which way?"

"I can't smell her," I growled, a terrifying, hollow ache opening up behind my ribs. I tore the collar of my armour, teeth bared as I spun around and stared at the dark mouths of the tunnels. "The rot is drowning her out. She was just here. I swear it. She was just here!"

Before my fury could shatter what little restraint I had left, a sharp scuffle echoed from the third archway to the east, where the rock had been violently blasted away to make room for a row of iron pipes.

Every vanguard instinct in my body locked into place. I lowered my daggers, my muscles coiling to spring, but before I could leap, a figure stumbled out from the gloom.

It wasn't a Vakra soldier. It wasn't a grey-skinned dreg.

Toren reacted instantly, throwing his massive, heavily muscled frame in front of me, his skymetal sword swept out in a lethal arc to intercept the threat. "Hold!" he commanded, his voice a low, protective rumble.

But as the phosphorescent moss light caught the stranger's features, a tense, heavy shock gripped the chamber. We all froze. The male was small compared to a vanguard, his clothes tattered and stained with soot, but the shape of his ears, the structure of his jaw, and the unmistakable texture of his skin were identical to Lyra’s. Another human. Deep within the belly of the Vakra crust.

The shock lasted only a heartbeat before my mind snapped back to the only thing that mattered. The beast inside me roared to life, recognising something the others couldn't.

I didn't care who he was or how he got here. I lunged past Toren, my hand shooting out like a striking viper.

I slammed the human male back against the stone wall, my fingers locking directly around the thick, heavy iron collar forged around his neck. I wrenched him upward, hoisting him until his feet lost their grip on the dirt floor. His breath hitched in a sharp gasp, his hands instinctively coming up to grip my wrists, but he didn't scream. He didn't beg. His jaw locked, and he forced his eyes to meet mine, masking the terror in his chest behind a rigid, defiant glare that refused to break. He was putting on a brave face, but the subtle tremor in his fingers gave him away.

"Where is she?" I snarled, my face inches from his as my alpha aura flared, heavy and suffocating enough to make the loose grit on the floor rattle. I leaned in, my nostrils flaring as I caught the faint, undeniable trace of the stars on his clothes. "Tell me where they are keeping her! I can smell her on you, human! Speak before I tear the answers from your throat!"

The male choked against the iron band, his muscles straining against my grip, but his eyes remained fiercely levelled with mine, holding an exhausted, bitter resilience.

Before the violent urge to snap his spine could take over, a large, warm hand gently pressed down on the forearm I was using to pin him to the rock.

"We will save her, Kaelen." Toren’s voice was steady, a grounded, calm weight cutting through the violent static in my mind. He didn't pull at me, didn't use force. He just kept his hand firmly on my arm, his dark eyes locked onto mine with a brother's certainty. "Leave the poor human alone. Look at him. Can you not see he does not wish to be here either? He is a prisoner to the dark, just as she is."

The raw truth in Toren's words slowly pierced through the red haze. My chest heaved, my fingers trembling as the primal need to kill warred with the realisation that this male wasn't the enemy. With a sharp, frustrated growl, I released my grip, letting the human slide back down the rock wall.

He hit the dirt floor and found his footing instantly. He didn't cower. He straightened his shoulders, brushing the loose soot from his shirt, though he kept his back pressed against the stone. Before he could turn or retreat into the shadows, Toren’s heavy hand clamped onto his shoulder, anchoring him firmly in place.

Toren leaned down, his massive frame towering over the male. A sudden, quiet flicker of awe passed through Toren's sharp eyes as he studied the stranger up close—marvelling at the raw, undeniable proof that there were more of Lyra's kind surviving in the depths of the world.

"Name, human?" Toren demanded, his voice dropping into a low, inquisitive rumble.

The male swallowed hard, his hand hovering near his bruised throat, but he kept his head high. "Tyler," he muttered, his voice rough from the sulfurous air.