Chapter 31 #2
“They’ve been taking Calysteri and Umbrakynn, mixing their powers together to balance the physiology, and then hollowing them out. Draining them until they are just breathing husks. I thought it was just cruelty. But if he believes something is coming through that tear…”
Riven trailed off, the implication settling in the room like ice.
“The augmented guards we’ve met are strong, but unstable,” he said darkly. “But maybe whatever Korenth thinks is on the other side of that door is too strong for a normal body.”
“He believes they need containers,” I realised, the horror of it cold in my stomach. “That whatever is on the other side can’t survive in our world without a shell.”
“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 adrenaline that 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 to hide 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.”
I looked at Riven. He stood motionless, staring at the spot where the iron box had been. He looked untethered.
“Riven,” I whispered.
He blinked, the mask sliding back into place, though it was thinner now. He nodded once, and we followed the twins into the dark.
The Cistern was a maze of centuries-old masonry, the air cool and still. Pale crystals were set into the high arched ceilings, casting long, watery shadows against the rough-hewn walls.
The scale of the place felt wrong for the few people we had seen.
The corridors were wide, worn smooth by centuries of footsteps that no longer fell.
We passed open alcoves filled with solid oak tables and empty chairs, accumulating dust in the gloom.
It felt like a hollowed-out city, built for a population that had long since faded away.
Torvin kept up a steady stream of chatter, his voice bouncing off the walls.
“Don’t mind the dust in the East Wing,” he said over his shoulder. “Karys was supposed to clear it out a decade ago, but she’s been ‘busy’.”
“I was busy keeping us alive while you were learning card tricks,” Karys said dryly, not breaking stride.
“Important card tricks,” Torvin corrected. “Morale is critical when the world is ending.”
He stopped at a junction where the corridor split.
“Alright, survivors. This is you.” He pointed to two solid wooden doors directly across the hall from each other.
“Luxury suites A and B. There are fresh linens inside, and the water in the basins is… mostly warm. The royal spa—or as Karys calls it, the shower block—is at the very end of the hall to the right. The plumbing has a bit of a personality, so try not to startle it.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Torvin’s grin softened into something more genuine. “Get some sleep. We’ll hold the perimeter.”
He nudged his sister, and they retreated back down the hall, their bickering fading into the distance.
Stillness rushed back in to fill the space.
We were alone.
Riven didn’t move towards his door. He leaned slumped against the rough stone wall, letting the masonry take his full weight, his head tipped back against the rock. He closed his eyes.
In the dim light of the orbs, he looked devastated. His shirt was stained with sweat and grime from the tunnels. His hands, resting on his knees, trembled.
I watched him, my heart aching.
The crushing weight of the events radiated off him—the destruction of the Manor, the death of Eamon, the return to the place of his exile. He looked like a man who wanted to unzip his own skin and step out of it.
I walked over to him and I stepped into his space.
Riven opened his eyes. They were blue, but dull, the magic inside sluggish and dim.
“I should have seen the ambush,” he murmured. “I should have known Varessia would be watching the Manor.”
“You couldn’t have known,” I said.
“I am supposed to know,” his voice cracked. “That is what I am. A weapon. A strategist. And yet…”
He looked up, and for the first time, I saw the devastation he was holding back. The cracks in his composure ran deep, revealing a hollow, desperate exhaustion.
“Every time I try to save something, it breaks.”
I moved closer, erasing the small distance between us.
“You didn’t break me,” I whispered. “You saved me, Riven. In the alley. In the lift. At the Manor. You saved me.”
“And look at the cost,” he rasped.
“I don’t care about the cost,” I said fiercely. “I’m still here. You’re still here.”
I reached up, gently resting my palm against his cheek.
The touch shattered the last of his resistance. He exhaled a long, shuddering breath and slumped forward, burying his face in the crook of my neck, collapsing into me as if he could no longer carry the weight alone.
I held him tight. I could feel the heat of him through the layers of clothes.
The magic woke up between us. It shifted into a low resonance, a grounding comfort. His shadow curled around my light, cradling it. We stayed like that for a long time, anchored together, breathing in each other’s survival.
Slowly, reluctantly, Riven withdrew.
His eyes were clearer now. The despair had receded, replaced by a ruthless exhaustion.
He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from my face. His thumb lingered on my cheekbone, his skin rough and warm.
“Sleep,” he whispered against my hair. “I’ll be right here.”
A nod was all I could manage, my throat too tight for words.
A selfish part of me wanted to pull him back, to stay anchored to him on the cold stone until the brutal reality of our situation faded entirely.
But the crack in his composure was already sealing over, and I understood he needed the solitude to rebuild his defences.
I turned away, my legs stiff as lead, and forced myself towards the thick oak door across the hall. At the threshold, I glanced back. Riven remained there, leaning against his own doorframe—a silent sentinel in the dim light, watching me go.
I slipped inside, the latch clicking softly shut, and pressed my forehead against the cool wood, listening.
Footsteps crossed the stone floor outside—measured, slow—followed by the sound of his door closing.
Darkness filled the room, but I wasn’t truly alone. The charge of his magic still buzzed against my skin—a silent promise that he was just on the other side of the wall.
And tonight, that was all I really needed.