"Lead the way then."
Sound moved strangely here,sometimes echoing when it shouldn't, sometimes swallowed completely. The ground beneath our feet shifted between solid and not, as if we were walking on squishy moss. Cypher consulted a small compass-like device he'd pulled from his pocket. It didn't point north. I doubted directions like "north" even existed here, but its needle swung steadily toward something.
"The Genesis Engine creates ripples in reality according to the codex," he explained when he caught me staring. "This detects them."
"What is it?" I asked, trying to peer into his palm. It was small, circular and made of brass, but the face glowed like an anchor crystal. I wasn't sure what to look for, or how Cypher had learned to make sense of it.
"It's called a wayfinder. It detects changes in gravity and realm distortion. It runs on anchor crystals, ground up into a fine powder trapped beneath the glass." He held it out to me, and I took it, more curious than I was mad at him. "When it findsa distortion, the powder condenses to one side and the needle follows, and indicates which direction we should be heading in."
"Where did you even get something like this?" I asked as I studied the strange device. The powder inside swirled like miniature stars caught in a glass prison. "It's beautiful."
"It's a family heirloom, passed down through generations of Nytherian royalty. It was designed to help our people find their way through the Gallery when navigation was still primitive."
I handed it back to him reluctantly, trying not to think about how many hands had held it before us, how many lives it had guided home. How many of those people were dead now because of the Assembly's actions?
"How much farther?" I asked instead, eyeing the darkness around us. The shadows were thickening, coalescing into shapes that vanished when I tried to focus on them directly.
"The distortion is getting stronger." He tucked the way-finder back into his pocket. "We should?—
A sound cut through the silence. A high, keening wail. It raised the hair on my arms and sent ice through my veins.
"What was that?"
"Denizen," he whispered, drawing his sword. It was curved, and made from steel with a golden pommel, the same sword he'd wrapped in shadows as he fought Gideon. "One of the First Dark's native inhabitants. They hunt anything that doesn't belong here."
"And we definitely don't belong here."
"No, we don't." His eyes scanned the shadows. "Stay close to me. If it attacks, don't run. They're drawn to movement."
The wail came again, closer this time. I felt the First Anchor pulse against my skin, responding to the threat. My rift senses stretched outward, feeling for the source of that terrible sound. And then I saw it. It emerged from the shadows like it was madeof them. A tall, elongated figure with too many limbs and a face rearranging itself into different configurations of horror.
"Cypher," I breathed, unable to look away from the thing.
"I see it. Don't move. Let me handle this."
Thedenizentilted what might have been its head, studying us. It took a step forward, its movements jerky and wrong. It was so much worse than anything still living in Nytheris. Cypher raised his hand, and that corrupted magic curled from his fingertips again—oily darkness that seemed even more at home here than in the Gallery. The denizen paused.
"What is it doing?"
"Deciding if we're a threat or food," he replied, not taking his eyes off the creature.
The denizen took another step forward, clearly making its decision, and Cypher's magic flared. The corrupted magic lashed out from his outstretched hands, wrapping around the creature like chains.
"Run!" Cypher shouted, his face contorted with effort as he held the creature. "I can't hold it for long!"
I hesitated for a heartbeat, torn between self-preservation and not wanting to leave him. Then the denizen began to pull free of his magical bonds, and I made my choice. I grabbed Cypher's free arm and yanked him backward. "Together or not at all!"
He cursed, but we ran, the denizen's howls following us through the darkness. Cypher pulled the wayfinder out again, checking it as we moved.
"This way!" he hissed as if afraid to shout, tugging me to the left. We ran and ran, and with every step I imagined being thrown to the ground with the denizen on top of me, clawing at my skin. "There!" Cypher pointed ahead.
At first, I saw nothing but more darkness. Then my eyes adjusted, and I realized what I was looking at—a structure risingfrom the nothingness. It was massive, and appeared to be made of the same fog-like substance in the distance, only slightly more solid.
"Cypher, what is that?"
He followed my line of sight, squinting to make it out. A flare of purple light streaked across the sky, illuminating it for a brief moment. That's when I understood what we were looking at.
It was a wing ship. Broken and abandoned, and it looked like an out-of-fashion ancient vessel. The wings were cracked and brittle, the hull pocked with holes and scars. In the strange half-light of the First Dark, it looked almost ghostly, a relic from another time.
