The storage locker's door buckled under a sharp blow, metal groaning as black-clad figures pressed against it, their red visors glinting in the floodlights' harsh glare. Elias Varn scrambled back, the faded jacket slipping on his shoulders, his too-big boots scraping the concrete as he clutched the yellowed notebook to his chest. The ember flared, a searing heat beneath his ribs, and his eyes glowed faintly, cutting through the blur of his missing glasses to reveal the hunters' silhouettes—sleek, mechanical, relentless. The chopper's thrum roared overhead, its spotlight piercing the night, painting the locker in stark white as rain resumed, a drizzle that hissed against the roof.
Rory Tate leapt to his feet, duffel slung over his shoulder, his skateboard gripped tight as vibration hummed in his hands. His red hair dripped wet, his freckled face set with a grim determination that belied the exhaustion lining his eyes. "No time to think—move!" he shouted, kicking the tarp-covered lump—a rusted generator—into the door's path, slowing the breach with a screech of metal on metal. He grabbed Elias's arm, yanking him toward a back wall where a cracked vent gaped, barely wide enough for a person.
Elias's breath hitched, the ember pulsing as the hunters' devices whined—a piercing tone that stabbed his skull, dimming the glow in his eyes. "They're—they're too fast," he stammered, stumbling as Rory shoved him toward the vent. The notebook slipped, pages fluttering, and he lunged for it, the Shroud's voice whispering: "The mines—the truth waits." His fingers closed around it, the ember flaring brighter, and a pulse broke free, weak but sharp, rattling the locker. The generator sparked, toppling into the figures as they breached, buying seconds.
"Nice one!" Rory grinned, vibration pulsing as he widened the vent with a crack of concrete, dust billowing. "In—now!" He pushed Elias through, the jagged edges snagging his jacket, and followed, his skateboard clattering behind as they dropped into a narrow crawlspace, the air dank with mildew and rust. The hunters' shouts echoed—"Target fleeing!" "Seal the perimeter!"—and the chopper's beam swept close, its downdraft shaking the walls.
Elias crawled, his bare knees scraping the cold stone, the notebook clutched tight as the ember guided him, a heat syncing with a faint blue glow pulsing ahead. "The mines," he gasped, voice raw. "He said—find the mines. It's—it's where the Shroud is." His eyes glowed, illuminating Rory's silhouette, and the crawlspace widened, spitting them into a drainage ditch beyond the facility, rain pooling in its muddy trench.
Rory hauled him up, the duffel bouncing as he scanned the dark. "Mines, huh? Old coal pits—shut down years ago, out past the river." He wiped rain from his face, vibration settling as he gripped his skateboard. "Long haul, but we've got no choice—those creeps aren't quitting." The chopper's thrum grew distant, circling wide, and drones buzzed faintly, their red lights blinking through the drizzle.
They ran, Elias's oversized boots slipping on wet grass as they crossed the ditch, the city's neon fading behind a sprawl of weeds and rusted fences. His lungs burned, the ember a steady pulse keeping him upright, and Rory stayed close, guiding him through shadows as the rain thickened, a cold lash against their skin. The river loomed ahead, its black current sluggish under a sagging bridge, and beyond, the hills rose—dark, jagged, hiding the mines in their folds.
Hours blurred, the trek a haze of mud and exhaustion, until the bridge creaked under their weight, its rusted rails slick with rain. Elias stumbled, catching himself on a post, and squinted at the hills, the ember flaring as a faint blue glow pulsed from their base—a call he couldn't ignore. "There," he panted, pointing with a trembling hand. "It's—it's there."
Rory nodded, his breath fogging in the cold. "Good—let's—" He froze, head snapping back as the chopper's roar swelled, its spotlight cutting through the rain, pinning them on the bridge. Drones swooped in, darts firing, and Rory tackled Elias behind a rail, the projectiles clanging off metal. "Crap—they're on us!"
Elias's chest heaved, the ember surging, and his eyes blazed, a pulse ripping outward through the rain. The drones stuttered, one crashing into the river with a splash, but the chopper held, its beam unwavering as figures rappelled down, boots splashing into the mud below. "Suppress him!" a voice barked, mechanical and cold, and the white light flared, a tone that locked Elias's limbs, dimming the ember.
"No—no!" Elias cried, the pulse faltering, but Rory swung his skateboard, vibration pulsing as he cracked a drone midair, sparks flying. "Fight it, Elias!" he shouted, ducking a dart as the figures closed in, their devices syncing into a piercing hum. The ember fought, a heat breaking through, and Elias's eyes glowed brighter, a pulse surging wild—stronger, fueled by fear and Rory's defiance.
The bridge trembled, rusted bolts snapping, and the figures stumbled, one's device sparking as it shorted out. Blue tendrils flared from the hills, not the Shroud's shadow but a figure—the translucent man from the locker, his blue eyes blazing as he floated above the river. "Beacon," he rasped, tendrils lashing, knocking a figure into the water with a splash. "The mines—go!"
Rory grabbed Elias, vibration flaring as he widened a gap in the rail, shoving him through. "Move—now!" They leapt, hitting the muddy bank hard, and scrambled toward the hills as the man pulsed again, blue light clashing with the hunters' white, the chopper's beam flickering in the chaos. The figure faded, his voice a whisper: "Claim it—before they do."
They reached the hills, the rain a cold lash as they climbed, Elias's boots slipping on wet rock, the ember guiding him to a jagged mouth—a mine entrance, its timbers rotted, blue glow pulsing deep within. Rory pushed him inside, the air shifting to a dank chill, thick with coal dust and a hum that vibrated through the stone. The chopper's thrum faded outside, blocked by the earth, and they collapsed against the wall, panting, the blue intensifying ahead.
Elias clutched the notebook, its pages damp, and the ember flared, his eyes glowing as the Shroud's voice roared: "You are here." The tunnel shook, dust sifting from the ceiling, and a shadow loomed—not formless, but etched into the wall, a massive figure with eyes of blue, its presence alive, watching. "The source," Elias breathed, tears streaming as the ember burned, syncing with the glow.
Rory dropped the duffel, vibration humming as he gripped his skateboard. "That's it? The big bad?" But the shadow pulsed, tendrils snaking out, and Elias staggered, a pulse breaking free—strong, deliberate, meeting the Shroud head-on. The chamber flared, blue light clashing with his glow, and the voice thundered: "Claim me—or burn."
Elias's knees buckled, the heat overwhelming, but he clenched his fists, the stranger's words—"Your tool"—echoing with Rory's: "You're stronger than you think." "I—I claim it!" he shouted, voice raw, and the pulse surged, not wild but focused, wrapping the tendrils, pulling them in. The Shroud shuddered, its shadow rippling, and the ember burned brighter, a heat he shaped, a spark he wielded.
The glow steadied, the tendrils retreating, and the voice softened: "You begin." Elias slumped, the ember settling, his eyes dimming as Rory caught him, vibration fading. "You—you did it," Rory panted, grinning through the dust. "You bossed that thing!"
But the tunnel rumbled, a distant whine cutting through—drones, hunters, closing in. The Shroud's glow lingered, a power Elias held, fragile and new, and the mines stretched deeper, a reckoning still ahead.