Chapter 3 #2
The corridor twists and bends beneath the district, passing collapsed side passages and sealed drainage arches that lead nowhere now. At one point the tunnel opens briefly into a wide chamber where ancient canal mechanisms rust quietly along the walls.
I pause there, lifting the lantern slightly. “Quick rest,” I say.
Everyone exhales. The girl leans against her mother.
Varek stands beside me, watching the group. “You run this route well,” he says quietly.
I shrug. “Been doing it a while.”
“Yes.” His gaze lingers. “You lead them with confidence.”
“That’s because I know where the walls fall down.”
“Confidence is not only knowledge.”
I snort softly. “Pretty sure it is.”
He studies me another moment. Then nods. “Continue.” Not an order but encouragement. The bond between us warms faintly.
We move again. The tunnel narrows into single file, forcing the group to follow closely behind me. Water drips steadily somewhere ahead, echoing through the stone like distant footsteps. There are no patrols or alarms. Even so, tension fills the air.
Halfway down the passage, it’s the girl’s turn to stumble.
This time I catch her. “Easy,” I murmur.
She looks up at me. “Are we almost there?”
“Getting close.”
Behind us Varek speaks softly to the boy again. Whatever he says earns a quiet laugh.
“What did you tell him?” I ask over my shoulder.
“That he walks like a warrior.”
The boy beams with pride.
I shake my head. “You’re terrible,” I say in Nyxerian. I don’t want to humiliate the kid.
“He needed confidence.”
“Now he’s going to try to fight something.”
“I advised him not to.”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. The sound surprises both of us. The bond flares briefly, warm and bright.
We round the final bend of the tunnel a few minutes later, and I raise a hand. Everyone stops. The exit lies just beyond—a narrow arch leading into the outer drainage tunnels beneath the city wall.
I move forward alone. Lantern light flickers beyond the arch and my pulse jumps. For a moment, none of us moves.
The tunnel chamber is just wide enough for the lantern light to spread across the damp stone, turning the shallow canal water into a wavering sheet of copper reflections.
Shanae stands just beyond the archway that marks the outer drainage tunnels, her posture relaxed but alert, shaped by years of living half a step ahead of danger.
She looks exactly like I remember her—tall, broad-shouldered, and solid in a way that makes most people instinctively assume she knows how to handle herself.
Her dark skin catches the lantern glow, the long braids pulled back from her face revealing the keen intelligence in her eyes.
Even in a damp tunnel under the city, she carries herself like a commander.
Not that she’d ever use that word.
Beside me, Varek’s reaction is immediate and unmistakable.
He goes still.
Not the controlled stillness he usually wears like armour, but something deeper—relief breaking through before he has time to hide it.
“Shanae.”
The sound of his voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it.
She grins. “Took you long enough, Commander.”
I glance between them. “All right,” I say, gesturing back towards the group behind us. “Reunion later. Let’s get these people moving before someone decides to patrol a tunnel for fun.”
Shanae steps aside slightly and gestures deeper into the drainage passage.
A second figure waits there in the shadows—a Riftborn male with pale grey skin and eyes that reflect lantern light like glass, one of the regular contacts from Dathanor who meets the escape groups once they clear the city tunnels.
He nods when he sees me. “Route’s clear.”
“Good,” I say, turning back to the group. “All right, you’re with him now. He’ll take you the rest of the way out to the outer ridge, then on to the settlement.”
The parents exchange a look that’s half relief, half disbelief.
The human woman squeezes my hand briefly as she passes. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” I say. “You still have a bit of walking to do.”
The boy pauses beside Varek. “You’re really the commander?”
Varek crouches so they’re eye level. “I am.”
The boy nods seriously. “I’m definitely going to be a warrior.”
A faint smile touches Varek’s mouth. “Then walk carefully and listen to your mother.”
The boy grins and hurries after the others.
Within a few moments, the small group disappears down the drainage passage with their guide, their lantern light shrinking until it vanishes around the bend that leads towards the outer valleys beyond the city.
Silence drapes over the tunnel, broken only by the distant drip of water somewhere in the dark.
Shanae steps forward. She doesn’t hesitate as she wraps Varek in an embrace that looks like it could crack ribs if she decided to squeeze harder.
For a split second, he looks startled. Then his arms close around her just as firmly.
I try not to react. Really I do. But watching someone hug Varek without hesitation—without worrying about horns or height or terrifying monster war commander energy—is… frustrating.
I shove my hands into my pockets and study the tunnel wall like it’s extremely interesting.
They break apart after a moment.
Shanae steps back, giving him a once-over that’s half inspection, half approval. “You look like hell.”
“I am well.”
“You say that every time.”
“And I am usually correct.”
She snorts. “Not the first six months we were here.”
Something in Varek’s expression softens at that.
They arrived around the same time, years ago, when the rifts first started spitting species into this world without warning or mercy. They survived those early months together—two strangers from different worlds trying to figure out how not to die in a city that used newcomers as disposable labour.
It forged a kind of loyalty that doesn’t break easily.
Shanae glances at me. “You keeping him out of trouble?”
“Absolutely not,” I say. “Though he’s doing a pretty good job of that himself.”
Varek exhales quietly, though I swear I see the ghost of amusement in his eyes. Then his expression shifts again. “How is Dathanor?” His tone is all business.
Shanae’s grin widens. “Well.”
“Define well.”
“For starters,” she says, “Dawson’s finally awake.”
The words hit the air like a dropped stone.
Varek’s entire posture changes. “Awake?”
“Three days ago.”
His silver eyes zero in on her. “And his condition?”
“Improving every day,” she says. “Still weak, but stable. The healers say he’s gaining strength faster than expected.”
Varek nods slowly. Relief flickers across his features, quickly controlled but still visible. “And Aelith?”
Shanae laughs. “Oh, the prince has been insufferable.”
That gets my attention. “Insufferable how?”
“Hovering,” she says. “Doting. Acting like if Dawson so much as breathes wrong, the entire mountain will collapse.”
Varek’s expression grows thoughtful. “They are still unbonded?”
“Technically, yes,” Shanae says. “But if devotion alone counted, they’d have finished the bond weeks ago.”
I glance at Varek. “Didn’t peg the arrogant prince for the nurturing type.”
“Neither did anyone else,” Shanae replies. “Turns out nearly losing the person fate chose for you changes a few priorities.”
Varek absorbs that quietly while my gut twists. “And the prince supports the rebellion now?”
“More than supports it,” she says. “He’s stepped up—publicly in Dathanor. His guard captain—Kael—is backing him completely.”
I feel Varek’s attention fix on the name. “Kael has proven reliable.”
“More than reliable,” Shanae says. “Between him, the prince, and Solan joining the fight… we’ve got real momentum building.”
The name Solan brings another flicker of recognition. The Pyronox warrior. Fierce, unpredictable, and apparently extremely effective when pointed at the right enemy.
Shanae folds her arms. “And that’s why you need to come back.”
Varek doesn’t answer immediately. The hesitation is subtle but unmistakable.
“Plans are forming,” she continues. “For the first time since the rebellion started, we’ve actually got enough pieces moving in the same direction to make something happen.”
She glances briefly towards the exit where the escapees vanished. “The prince’s influence, Kael’s guard connections, Solan’s combat strength… and the research team working through the books from the citadel.”
Varek’s gaze sharpens again. “You have made progress?”
“More than we expected,” Shanae says. “The scrolls and records we pulled from the citadel are… complicated. But they’re starting to reveal things about the rifts.”
My head lifts slightly at that. “What kind of things?”
She looks at me. “Things we should talk about somewhere that isn’t a sewer tunnel.”
Fair.
Varek remains silent for another moment. Then he looks towards me, not at the tunnel.
At me.
The meaning is clear: He needs to go back.
Dathanor is where the rebellion lives. Where plans are made. Where this war might actually turn into something more than survival.
“You should go,” I say, ignoring the ache in my chest and the uncertainty flaring to life behind my ribcage.
Shanae nods immediately. “Exactly.”
But Varek doesn’t move. His gaze lingers on me longer than necessary, carefully neutral. “You could return with us.”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“Pax—”
“I’ve got work here.”
Which is true. The city network, the tunnels, the people slipping through the labour houses and factory districts every week looking for a way out or something as essential as food. Someone has to keep the door open.
“And you know it,” I add.
Varek studies me. He doesn’t argue, which somehow makes the moment heavier instead of easier.
Shanae looks between us with open curiosity. “You two still doing this dance?”
“Apparently,” I mutter.
She shakes her head slightly. “You know he’s impossible when he decides something.”
“Oh, I’m aware.”
Varek ignores both of us. His attention has shifted back to Shanae. “You said the scrolls are being studied?”
“They are.”
“And the rifts?”