The light shifts and slides across the black earth like a warning. Or a promise.
“It’s called the Gemini Moon, milady,” Kael says, his voice low.
“Gemini…” I whisper. “Two faces.”
He inclines his head. “Always watching. Always weighing.”
Below us, the world stirs.
The Ember Vein hums beneath the surface, a shift change rolling through it like thunder.
Even up here—even though I’m only human—I can hear it.
The clang of hammers bouncing off stone echoing through cavernous halls, the hiss of pressurized steam escaping through vent towers, the slow, soul-deep groan of the pulleys and levers carrying precious ore up from the deep.
It’s not chaos.
It’s rhythm.
A heartbeat.
The living pulse of a realm that breathes fire and shadow.
And for the first time since Thorne left me aboveground, I don’t feel alone.
Not exactly.
Not entirely.
It feels like the very earth is breathing.
And drifting on that heat-washed wind?
The unmistakable scent of meat cooking over open flame. Spiced and savory, rich with rendered fat and charred herbs.
My stomach actually growls, even though I already ate my weight in spicy dream food earlier. I’m not even hungry.
So yeah, sitting here with these two? This is a good distraction.
Alaric and Kael stand a few feet away, their game is set up now and they begin.
I was right, at first glance this looks a lot like cornhole, but with one tiny, deadly difference.
Instead of bean bags, they’re flinging double-edged, hiltless knives in the air with casual precision—catching them mid-spin with bare hands before launching them at a kind of hovering dartboard that pulses with red sigils and fires the damn blades back like it’s got an attitude problem.
“So, this isn’t a game? This is a battle?” I ask dubiously.
“Of course it is a battle, Lady Delia,” Kael says with mock offense, tossing a blade into the air and catching it so fast I blink. “This is called Steel Chance, a sacred test of reflex, wit, and combat instinct.”
“Right. And cornhole’s an Olympic sport,” I mutter, smirking.
He throws the blade. It hums through the air and hits the target dead center.
Only for the board to glow—and fling the blade straight back at him.
Kael ducks and swears in a language that sounds like fire crackling over glass.
Alaric rumbles something smug and steps up for his turn.
