45. Riven
RIVEN
The tunnels devour sound.
We have walked for three days without rest, the glow from our sigils thinning to a sickly ember. The men mutter that the light is dying—that the Goddess’s breath lingers here and chokes it.
I tell them to pray louder.
My joints feel resinous; every step is a negotiation with pain. Iron and rot coats the back of my tongue as my silhouette flickers along the tunnel wall, cast by runes carved into my armour—lines that should blaze, but only sputter now.
The Light does not dim, I repeat, tracing the glyph of Solan across my palm. It flares for a heartbeat before fading. The Light is tired, just as I am.
Behind me the soldiers drag their feet. Their miren crystals barely pierce the gloom. These stones draw on belief and rays from the sun; the weaker the heart, the weaker the light. I can almost hear their doubts hissing through the cracks.
Uri’s voice slithers through the deepest parts of my mind where my thoughts turn wildly nonsensical the longer I stay in these darkened depths: She is near, Commander.
“You said that yesterday,” I breathe. My men glance at me but say nothing. It’s not the first time they’ve heard me speak to ghosts.
All paths to the divine are filthy, Riven. That’s why we crawl.
My laugh is brittle against the stone. “I will find her. I will bring her to you.”
To us, he corrects gently. When the shadow kneels, the Light will be made whole, and you shall have what you desire.
The voice fades, leaving the silence heavier than before. My stomach gnaws at itself. The last of the rations went to a dying soldier two tunnels back. A waste. He begged for light, but I gave him mercy instead.
We follow the snakes of ash that seem to morph into the silent dust of a dead kingdom. They trail alongside runes chiseled from shadows—marks that do not match our own. The stones remember the hymns of Nyx.
“Keep moving,” I bark. The men obey, but I see the fear spreading in their eyes.
Corin drops his crystal. The light gutters instantly, leaving a black stain on the floor. He stares at it as if it might breathe.
“Pick it up,” I order.
“It’s empty sir,” he whispers, his voice dripping with trepidation.
“Then fill it.”
“How?”
“With faith,” I snap. “Yours—or mine.” I snatch the crystal and press it to his chest, muttering the command: Luxor.
The glyph on my palm burns white, drawing energy from my own veins. The pain lingers longer than it should. For a moment, the tunnel floods with brilliance, reflected in the soldier’s terrified eyes. When I release him, smoke rises from my hand, smelling of copper and incense.
The resonance of the Light is simple: belief made manifest. But every act of channeling takes a toll. Faith spent as fuel. And mine is running low.
Hours—maybe days—later, a grate in the ceiling yields.
Fresh air and moonlight spill through, a mocking silver light that feels like a slap. My men scramble toward it, climbing over one another in a desperate, undignified heap to escape the dark. I am the last to emerge; it takes four of them to haul me up.
My men collapse on the stone, their breathing a chorus of wheezes. I want nothing more than to join them; but a Commander cannot be seen as weak. I stand over them, a monument of stiffened joints and pride.
On the far side, surface patrols wait with torches. They salute the moment they see my silhouette. How long were we buried?
“High Commander, sir!” One of the guards runs towards me. “We have swept the district as ordered.”
“And?” I ask, my voice like dry parchment. “Did you inspect every building?”
The guard glances at his comrade, his brows twitching.
“Out with it.”
“One building, sir. An old storehouse near the eastern dock. It showed signs of disturbance—an abandoned shaft with the grate removed.”
I step closer, the scrape of my boots echoing like a threat. “And why was it removed?”
They shift on their feet, a silent conversation passing between them as they decide who will die first. The one with golden hair loses.
“We—we don’t know, sir. We think they may have tampered with it to escape.”
“And have you sent men down there to investigate?”
“N—no, sir.”
My jaw clenches so hard a muscle throbs at my temple. “You piss-poor excuse for a soldier! I told you to scope every single building, yet here I am finding you’ve found evidence of activity and you’ve done nothing?!”
I close the distance until our noses touch. A pulse of heat climbs my spine, a desperate reach for the dregs of my power. Energy surges in my palms. I squeeze my hands into fists, trying to keep the tension from spilling, but it’s no use.
“But, sir—”
I don’t let him finish. I lash out, a snake of gold striking his chest. He drops with a heavy thud, his eyes dulling as they find a god he doesn’t deserve.
No one moves.
The air hums with the static of my rage.
“Take me there,” I tell the survivor. “If you’ve lost them, you’ll be meeting Solan sooner than you think.”
The storehouse door groans as we enter. Guards swarm the perimeter, scanning the dust for any shred of evidence.
“Sir!” a voice calls from the dark. “We’ve got something.”
She waits for you, Uri’s voice slithers through my mind. I storm past the sentries until my gaze finds the soldier who called.
“The bolts have been melted away, sir.”
The edges of my vision blur. Halos of light swim before my eyes. I rub the tension away. “The aqueducts,” I mumble.
Clever, Kael.
“You!” I point to the nearest guard. “Dispose of the man who thought it wise to slack on his duties. I’m a man of my word, am I not?”
The guard nods, then makes his way back out of the storehouse.
“Prepare to descend,” I rasp. The men groan but obey.
I grip the rim of the hatch. The metal is slick with condensation, cold enough to pierce. I stare into the depths as my mind becomes a house collapsing in on itself—a slow, inevitable crumble the longer I remain from the light.
Go, faithful one. Uri’s ghost whispers. Deliver her, and we will ascend together.
I close my eyes against the dizziness and step down into the black.
The Light follows me, trembling.