So I step forward.
“The Wards don't kick in right away,” Ezzy calls after me. “I don’t know when, but you’ll probably feel it. If you do make it through, maybe we’ll see each other again sometime. But if not, if you feel the Wards, don’t be stubborn. Come back. It’s not worth dying over. Oh, and when you reach the junction, make sure to take the—Oh! Hey, Brian, you’re back already?”
I get the hint and move fast, hands shaking. Heart pounding.
No second chances—this is it.
I step inside,and the tunnel swallows me whole. Each footfall carries me deeper, boots skimming slick stone that’s uneven beneath the soles. And the deeper I go, the darker, the colder it gets. Lanterns hang along the wall—too far apart, too dim—casting more shadow than light so most of the tunnel stays buried in black. Claustrophobic doesn’t even begin to cover it.
The smell hits next, not just damp, but rot, thick and wet, bleeding straight through the walls, clinging to my skin like something alive. Makes sense. We’re under the Citadel now, beneath the moat that feeds the four Veins of Power—splitting the realms, keeping the peace. Or so they say. But beneath the smell there’s something older. Darker.Magic.
Exhaling hard, I shake my hands out, trying to bleed off the tension before it settles too deep and keep walking. My Threads are still recovering from Ryven, but they’re waking up, prickling under my skin—tight, twitchy, feeding off my nerves.
Okay, Lyra. You can do this. Just get as far as you can without setting off the Wards, or dying. But every step echoes too loud, too sharp, like the tunnel’s announcing me on purpose. Fuck, so much for subtle. And I’ve already lost any real sense of direction, I can’t tell how far I’ve descended or how deep this goes. It’s disorientating; it’s intimidating, and it’s getting worse.
After five minutes—maybe ten, maybe twenty, who the hell knows—the gradient finally flattens, and my boots hit level stone with a jolt that snaps through my knees. Every muscle pulls tighter, adjusting too late. God, I didn’t realise how steep the descent was until it stopped.
Squinting into the dark, I take a step forward and notice that the tunnel ahead splits—one path left, one right.
No markings, no clues. Just a fifty-fifty shot in the dark thanks to Brian—so horny for Thread Resonance and Ezzy, he came running back before she could finish telling me the directions.
Fuck. Which way?
Breath clouds the air as I stall at the split, hesitation bleeding time I don’t have. The cold creeps in the longer I stand still, leeching from the damp stone and sinking deep until it finds the fresh burn on my left arm.
I wince, rub at it.
Well. Guess my arm’s made up its mind.
I follow the pain. Left it is.
But then only three steps in and already I feel it. Tension. Static. That thick, humming pressure, the same I feel every time I cross the border at the Innerlands wall.
Wards.
I push a little, not much, but just enough to test it. Right arm lifts, palm angled down the tunnel. My Threads feel distant, weak still, but there’s something there so I try and coax a single one forward, barely a whisper.
No force, no flourish, just a flicker to feel the resistance.
But my magic never listens. It jumps, sparks lick across my hand, and the air in front of me convulses, not soft but violent. The pulse slams into the Ward like a hammer and rebounds instantly, blasting down the passage behind me—dragging my hair with it in a whip of wind and heat.
Shit.
I glance down, checking my palm for damage, but before I can breathe another gust tugs a strand of hair. Then another.
And another.
Not mine.
TheWards.
I feel it—pressure building, fast and wrong, like something ancient waking up and it’s pissed off and coming this way.
Correction, it'sracingthis way.
Heart hammering, pounding in my ears now. Fuck, should I move?
Maybe it’ll pass. Maybe it’s a bluff. But I don’t trust that pulse, don’t trust this place.
