“He’s making suits,” Dane said, disgust curling his lip. “He’s growing bodies for them to wear.”
“And fuel,” I whispered.
The truth hit me. Eamon. They killed him to harvest the energy. They turned his magic into a battery for the machine.
I looked at Riven.
“Varessia said this morning Eamon’s death wasn’t a waste. She said they ‘harvested’ him,” Riven said softly, his expression darkening. “Eamon was one of the strongest Light-wielders in the city. If Korenth needs to power a machine capable of tearing the Veil… he can’t just plug it into the city grid. He needs raw, compatible aether to prime the engine.”
“They drained him,” I said, my voice trembling. “They used my father to jumpstart the apocalypse.”
“If the machine is already primed with his magic,” Aelira said, her voice grave, “then it is already humming. It is idling, waiting for the Eclipse to engage the gears.”
“If he is right,” Aelira continued, looking back at the diagram, “and there are entities on the other side strong enough to survive the death of a world… then we cannot let them set foot on this one.”
She traced the fading ink of the circles.
“Korenth is Shadow-born. He is drawn to that darkness. But if he succeeds, he invites the same catastrophe that broke our home. History will repeat itself. This world will burn just like Vaelor.”
Riven straightened up. The silver magic in his eyes spun slowly.
“Then we don’t let them cross,” he said. “If the Eclipse is the key, and the machine is the hand turning it… we break the hand.”
The adrenalinethat had sustained us through the extraction and the revelation finally began to bleed away, leaving behind a hollow exhaustion.
In the centre of the atrium, the strategy session dissolved into a tense silence.
Riven turned to Goran. He picked up the dense canvas-wrapped bundle from the table—the iron box containing the metal he took from the lab. He held it for a moment, the muscles in his forearms tightening, holding the box like a live grenade.
“Hide this,” Riven said, his voice rough. “Deep. We need to make sure the magic inside doesn’t leak out.”
Goran nodded, taking the box into his steady hands. “I know of a place.”
“And the books,” Aelira added, collecting the history texts and the ledger. “I will begin the translation immediately. If there is a key to stopping Korenth, we will find it.”
I looked at Dane. He was leaning his full weight against the stone table, his face a shade of grey that frightened me. He was trying tohide it, but the way he held his left side betrayed the agony of his healing spine.
Una stepped up to him, her expression brook-no-nonsense. “You’re hurt,” she said, reaching out to steady him. “Come. Let’s get you to the infirmary.”
Dane hesitated, his eyes flicking to Riven. The distrust was still there, sharp and amber, but it was dulled by fatigue.
“Go,” I said softly. “I’m safe here, Dane. Get healed.”
He let out a breath that was half-sigh, half-growl. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m away.”
“No promises,” I managed a weak smile.
He squeezed my shoulder—brief, grounding—and then allowed Una to lead him away towards the healing wing.
“Right then,” a bright voice cut through the gloom. “Tour guide duty calls.”
The black-haired twin moved forward, grinning as if we weren’t standing in a bunker beneath a city on the edge of collapse.
“Sleeping quarters are down the right tunnel,” he said, gesturing with a theatrical sweep of his arm. “I’m Torvin, by the way, and this is my beloved sister, Karys. Five-star accommodation. Stone beds, draughty corridors, and if you’re lucky, the ambient sound of dripping water to lull you to sleep.”
His sister, the silver-haired twin, rolled her eyes. “Ignore him. He thinks he’s charming.”
“I am charming, Karys,” Torvin shot back, winked at me, and started walking. “It’s my burden. Come on.”
