The lights brightened gradually, shifting from starlight to a pale dawn that filtered through the vents. I woke slowly, aware first of warmth, then of the steady hum beneath it—the mountain’s pulse, low and constant.
For a moment, I forgot where I was.
Then I remembered the workbench. The tea. The way his hand had closed around mine as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
I lay still, listening.
Rygnar was already awake. I could hear him moving on the far side of the partition, quiet and deliberate—the soft scrape of a boot, the muted click of a tool being set aside. He wasn’t trying to hide the sound, only to keep from waking me.
I sat up slowly, testing my ankle. The wrap held snugly, supporting it. The pain was still there, but distant now—manageable. I exhaled, relieved.
“Good morning,” he said from his side of the room, his voice calm, as if we’d shared mornings like this before.
“Morning,” I replied, surprised at how steady it sounded.
The partition shifted slightly as he stepped back, giving me space without asking. When I emerged, he was already pulling on his outer jacket, movements efficient and contained.
“You slept,” he observed.
“I did.” I hesitated, then added, “Thank you. For the tea. And… everything else.”
He inclined his head. “You’re welcome.”
The simplicity of it eased something in my chest.
We shared a quiet meal—bread, dried fruit, and water warmed just enough to take the edge off. Nothing ceremonial. Nothing awkward. Just two people occupying the same space without the need to defend it.
When he reached for the door control, he paused.
“Tonight, patrols will sweep the outer passes,” he said. “Veklan asked me to assist.”
“Will it be dangerous?”
“Less than before,” he answered. “Not none.”
I nodded. “Then I’ll stay out of the way.”
His gaze met mine. “You won’t be in the way.”
The words landed softly—but they stayed.
When we stepped into the corridor together, the mountain was fully awake—voices, footsteps, the low mechanical thrum of rebuilding life. Whatever last night had been, daylight had not undone it.
If anything, it had made it real.
The mountain hummed differently at night.
During the day, it was a living engine—air pumps, miners’ tools, and voices echoing through the galleries. After curfew, the sound sank into itself until only the heartbeat of the thermal vents remained. The hush was so complete I could hear my own pulse against the stone.
I wasn’t ready to sleep.
The day had left my body tired, but my mind was still pacing. Outside our quarters, the light from Rygnar’s workshop strip still glowed green.
I hesitated, then followed the sound of quiet movement down the short corridor.
He stood at his workbench, hands deep in the exposed casing of a broken power cell. The biolight traced shifting patterns along the ridges of his arms. His scales caught the light in muted bronze and green, like metal that remembered being alive.
“Do you ever stop?” I asked.
