Rakkh’s hand closes briefly around my wrist, welcome in the way it steadies and grounds me.
“Then we move,” he says. “Before it decides preparation requires sacrifice.”
That sends a cold knot through my chest.
We start forward again, slow and deliberate, keeping to the edge of the corridor where the light is dimmer and the air feels marginally less dense. Tomas leans harder on Rakkh. He doesn’t argue when Rakkh adjusts his pace to match.
Behind us, the chamber remains quiet. Ahead, the path waits.
And with every step deeper, I can’t shake the growing certainty that whatever is seeping into the desert outside—whatever twisted the land around this buried ship—started right here.
Not as a weapon or an intentional attack, but as a consequence of something meant to last forever… suddenly forced out of orbit, or woken too soon.
20
LIA
The farther we go, the quieter Tomas gets. He’s not calmer, but quieter.
And it’s the wrong kind of quiet. The kind where words take effort, where even breathing feels like something you have to remember to do on purpose. His grip tightens on Travnyk’s forearm, knuckles pale, and this time he doesn’t bother pretending it’s nothing.
“I’m not—” He stops, swallows hard. Tries again. “I’m not dizzy. It’s more like… my head’s full.”
Travnyk slows, adjusting so Tomas doesn’t have to keep up with a pace that’s too fast. Pausing his steps, Travnyk crouches and presses two fingers to the floor, then to the wall. His brow furrows.
“The particulate density is increasing along this route,” he says. “Still diffuse. Still below acute thresholds, but higher.”
“For humans,” I say.
“Yes.”
Rakkh growls under his breath. “Then this route is unacceptable.”
“It may be unavoidable,” Travnyk replies evenly. “The ship is channeling flow inward. The further we go, the more contained the environment becomes. I think there will be less of whatever is causing Tomas to react.”
“That doesn’t help him now,” Rakkh snaps.
Travnyk straightens, unoffended. “It will.”
I step closer to Tomas, crouching so we’re eye level. His pupils are still too wide, his skin faintly flushed.
“Look at me,” I say softly.
He does, but it clearly takes effort.
“Talk to me,” I prompt. “What do you feel?”
He frowns, searching. “Like… pressure. Not pain. Like being underwater without the water.”
My stomach tightens. Rakkh’s tail flicks once, sharp.
“We are not leaving him,” Rakkh says.
“I know,” I say quickly. “I’m not suggesting that.”
The ship doesn’t react to our pause. The light ahead remains steady, the walls unchanged. It isn’t rushing us. That’s almost worse.
“This isn’t an attack response,” I murmur. “It’s a byproduct.”
