“Our father never told us,” Aspen adds, quieter. “He branded us with runes we didn’t understand. Trained us like weapons. And he never—” He stops. Swallows. “He knew. He had to have known what we were.”
Torric’s hand finds his brother’s shoulder. Grips hard.
“Maybe he was afraid,” Aspen says quietly. “Of what we’d become if we knew the truth.”
“Then he was a coward.”
Aspen doesn’t argue. He just stands there, steady and solid, while Torric breathes through whatever’s breaking inside him.
Kaia moves closer. She doesn’t touch them — doesn’t intrude — but she’s there. Present. Her shadows curl around the edges of the hallway like they’re standing guard.
“This is your history,” she says softly. “Not his. Whatever he did with it, whatever he kept from you — this belongs to you now.”
Torric’s jaw works. He doesn’t look at her, but I see his shoulders drop. Just a little. Just enough.
“No,” he says roughly. “It belongs tous.”
She smiles softly, but it doesn’t meet her eyes, like she doesn’t know what to do with that idea.
“Of course you two get the murder-hallway,” I mutter, because someone has to break the tension before we all start crying.
Aspen’s mouth twitches. Almost a smile.
Torric snorts. “Shut up, Finn.”
Good enough.
We keep moving.
The hallway curves once more, and then the world opens up.
“Holy shit,” I breathe.
The cavern is massive — bigger than anything I expected, bigger than should be possible beneath a single tree. The ceiling arches overhead like the inside of a cathedral, studded with glowing stones that pulse like heartbeats. Bioluminescent plants climb the walls in soft blues and pinks and silvers, their leaves unfurling toward some invisible light source.
A bathing spring dominates the center of the space, crystal-clear water swirling with pink and white motes. A smaller pool feeds into it — drinking water, maybe. Fresh and clean and impossible.
Fruit-bearing trees cluster near the edges, their branches heavy with things I’ve never seen before. Probably shouldn’t eatthose until someone confirms they won’t kill us. My stomach growls.
Please don’t kill us.
Soft wind stirs from nowhere, carrying the scent of winter and growing things.
And everywhere — everywhere — motes drift like fallen stars.
Everyone goes silent. Even me. That’s how you know it’s serious.
Five tunnels radiate outward from the cavern walls. Dark. Silent. Waiting.
Behind us, the Berserker hallway glows softly — the only one lit.
Kaia is wide-eyed, her hand pressed to her chest like she’s trying to keep her heart inside her body. Carl tumbles past her ankles, fascinated by the glowing plants, while Linda drifts toward the spring like she’s checking if it’s safe.
“Over here,” Malrik says, nodding toward the warm side of the spring.
We lay Callum down gently. He doesn’t stir — still unconscious, still broken, still a problem we don’t know how to solve. Kieran kneels beside him immediately, one hand hovering over Callum’s chest.
The rest of us gather near the center, catching our breath. Shadows drift to the perimeter — Bob taking point, Mouse pacing a slow patrol. The Eds cluster near Kaia like nervous puppies.
