That gives me pause.
The band of light along the floor widens slightly, extending until it reaches the edge of the chamber where we stand. The air ahead feels different—cooler, drier, charged with something that prickles across my scales.
The alcove behind Lia hums faintly, the recess dim now, as if temporarily deprioritized. This is not about the tool. This is about movement. I plant my feet.
“If this is a trap—” I say, but Lia cuts me off.
“It already had us trapped,” Lia says quietly. “This is… something else.”
She steps closer to me—not past me. Her shoulder brushes my ribs, deliberate, grounding. I feel the warmth of her through my scales, steady and real. The ship hums again, softer this time. Almost approving. I do not like that either.
Another scrape echoes through the hull—farther away now. The beasts outside have lost interest or lost access. Either way, the pressure on the chamber eases by a fraction. The corridor ahead brightens. Travnyk exhales slowly.
“It is opening an internal buffer route,” he says. “Away from the hull. Away from external threat.”
“Toward what?” Tomas croaks, still shaking.
Travnyk’s gaze returns to Lia. “Toward purpose.”
I snort. “That is not an answer.”
“It is the only one it has,” Travnyk replies.
The light pulses again, more insistent. I lower my head, letting my horns angle forward, wings shifting just enough to shield Lia as we move.
“Stay behind me,” I tell her. “No matter what it shows you.”
Her fingers brush my forearm—light, grateful, and oh so tempting. “I will.”
I step onto the illuminated path. The metal beneath my feet warms slightly—not heat, not really. It seems to be recognition. The hum adjusts again, recalibrating around my mass, my movement. The ship does not stop us. It guides.
As we move deeper, away from the sealed corridor and into the structure’s chosen route, one truth seems to be clear. This vessel is not waking because it wants to speak. It is waking because it believes the war that led to the Devastation never ended. And it has finally found something worth defending again. Which means testing whether I am worthy of standing beside her.
The corridor narrows as we follow the ship’s chosen path.
Not abruptly. Gradually. The walls curve inward with the slow inevitability of stone worn by water, grown rather than built. The light along the floor remains steady—violet edged with pale blue—guiding without urgency, but without options or choice.
I do not like paths that assume compliance.
My wings scrape softly along the metal as I move despite keeping them folded tight to avoid brushing Lia or Tomas. The structure adjusts around my size—subtle flexes in the walls, minute shifts in pressure—like it is learning how much space I require.
I suppress a growl. I do not consent to being learned.
Lia walks close behind me. Too close for safety. Too far for comfort. I feel the heat of her through my back, hear her breath when the hum dips low enough to allow it. Her pulse remains fast but steady. Focused.
She is afraid, but she is choosing anyway. That is brave but also a dangerous combination.
The corridor slopes downward, then levels out. The air cools slightly, drier than the outer chambers. The scent changes too—less dust, less rot now. Something faint and sterile under it, like old stone and cold metal.
Travnyk murmurs behind us, “This section was sealed for a long time.”
“How do you know?” Tomas whispers.
“The ship stopped listening to the surface,” Travnyk replies. “This path is inward. Toward core systems.”
“Define ‘core,’” I ask, giving him a sharp look.
Travnyk inclines his head, looking thoughtful as he seems to debate how to answer.
