The mine's air hung heavy with coal dust and the faint hum of the Shroud's blue glow, a pulsing veil that clung to the jagged walls as Elias Varn slumped against Rory Tate. His oversized boots scraped the stone floor, the faded jacket loose on his trembling frame, and his bare hands pressed to his chest, where the ember burned—a steady heat now, no longer wild but tethered, a spark he'd claimed. Without his glasses, the tunnel blurred into smears of shadow and light, but his eyes glowed faintly, a shimmer that pierced the haze, syncing with the Shroud's pulse. His breath steadied, the weight of his choice settling like dust after a storm.
Rory eased him down, his patched hoodie stiff with dried rain and mud, his red hair catching the glow as he dropped the duffel beside them. His freckled face glistened with sweat, and his green eyes flicked between Elias and the tunnel's depths, wary but lit with a grin. "You're a badass, man," he said, voice rough but warm, echoing off the rotted timbers. "Told that shadow who's boss—didn't think you had it in you." He clutched his skateboard, vibration humming faintly in his hands, a lingering echo of Elias's power.
Elias's lips twitched, a weak smile breaking through the exhaustion. "I—I didn't either," he rasped, wiping his face with a sleeve, the coal dust smearing into streaks. "It's still there—watching—but it's… mine, I think." The ember pulsed, a heat he could nudge, not just endure, and the Shroud's voice whispered, softer now: "You begin." He shivered, the notebook still clutched in his lap, its damp pages a lifeline to the mines' truth.
Rory rocked back, spinning his skateboard's wheel absently. "Yours, huh? That's a start—beats it yanking you around like a puppet." He dug into the duffel, pulling out a granola bar and tossing it to Elias. "Eat—bossing creepy shadows looks like hard work."
Elias caught it, the wrapper crinkling as he tore it open, the sweet crunch grounding him as the ember settled into a dull warmth. "Thanks," he mumbled, swallowing hard, the taste a faint echo of normalcy. "You—you kept me going, Rory. I'd be… lost without you." His voice trembled, gratitude mingling with the fear still gnawing at his edges.
Rory's grin softened, a rare crack in his bravado. "Yeah, well, you're my mess now—stuck with me." He leaned against the wall, wincing as his bruised ribs shifted, and glanced at the notebook. "That thing said the Shroud's been here forever—waking people like you, like stone lady. What's it want, though? World domination? Superhero army?"
Elias squinted at the blurred pages, the ember flaring faintly as he traced the scrawled words. "I don't know," he admitted, voice low. "It said I'm its voice—to ignite potential, not save or destroy. It's… old, Rory. Older than us, than the city." The Shroud's glow pulsed, tendrils brushing the air, and he nudged the ember, a gentle push that stilled them—a control he barely grasped. "Maybe it just wants to be heard."
Rory frowned, chewing his lip. "Heard, huh? Sounds like a needy ghost—hope it's got better plans than haunting mines." He stood, stretching, and froze as a low whine cut through—the sharp, mechanical hum of drones, echoing from the entrance. "Crap—they're back. Thought we'd get a breather."
Elias's stomach dropped, the ember surging, and his eyes glowed brighter, a pulse rippling outward—not wild, but shaped, a wave he aimed at the tunnel's mouth. The hum stuttered, a drone crashing outside with a crunch of metal, and he gasped, the effort trembling through him. "I—I did that," he breathed, awe and dread tangling in his chest. "On purpose."
"Damn right you did!" Rory grinned, vibration flaring as he grabbed his skateboard. "Let's use it—keep 'em off us!" He hauled Elias up, the duffel slung over his shoulder, and they moved deeper, the blue glow guiding them as the tunnel sloped down, timbers groaning under the earth's weight.
The mines stretched, a labyrinth of shadow and dust, and the Shroud's presence thickened, its etchings lining the walls—figures with glowing eyes, a silent chorus watching their flight. Elias's boots thudded, the ember a steady pulse he nudged with each step, testing its reins—small waves that rattled loose stones, stilled tendrils, a power he wielded, fragile but growing. "It's—it's like breathing," he murmured, voice shaky but firm. "I can feel it."
Rory glanced back, his grin widening. "Breathing fire, maybe—you're getting the hang of this." But the whine returned, sharper, and a drone swooped from a side tunnel, its red light locking on. Elias's eyes blazed, a pulse surging—focused, tight—crashing it into the wall, sparks flying as it crumpled.
"Nice shot!" Rory whooped, but the tunnel rumbled, a deeper sound—boots, not drones, echoing closer. Black-clad figures emerged, their visors glinting, devices humming with white light, and a voice—cold, distorted—barked: "Target confirmed—engage containment!" A pulse fired, sharp and piercing, and Elias staggered, the ember dimming under its weight.
"Fight it!" Rory shouted, vibration pulsing as he swung his skateboard, cracking a figure's arm, the device sparking. Elias clenched his fists, the Shroud's voice whispering: "You are mine." He pushed back, the ember flaring, and a pulse broke free—stronger, shaped, slamming the figures against the wall, their visors cracking as they slumped.
Breath ragged, Elias sank to one knee, the glow in his eyes flickering. "I—I can't keep this up," he panted, but Rory hauled him forward, vibration steadying the trembling stone. "You can—look at that! You're kicking ass!"
The tunnel split, one path glowing blue, the other dark, and a new figure stepped from the shadows—not black-clad, but cloaked in tattered gray, their face obscured, a staff glowing faint orange in their grip. "Beacon," they rasped, voice dry as ash, and Elias's ember flared, his eyes glowing as the Shroud pulsed in recognition. "You've claimed it—good. They're deeper now—hunters beyond her."
Rory raised his skateboard, vibration humming. "Another one?! Friend or freak?" But the figure lowered their staff, orange light pulsing softly, calming the air.
"Friend—if you choose," they said, stepping closer, their hood slipping to reveal a lined face, eyes sunken but sharp. "I woke years ago—orange flame, from the mines. The Shroud's spark runs deep—hunters buried it, but you've stirred it." They pointed down the blue path. "There—its heart. They'll kill to silence it."
Elias's chest heaved, the ember syncing with the orange glow, and the Shroud whispered: "They come." "Who—who's 'they'?" he asked, voice trembling but firm, the pulse steady in his grasp.
"Beyond Voss," the figure said, orange flaring. "Old hands—keepers of the quiet. They've hunted us—silenced us—since it slept." The tunnel rumbled, drones whining closer, and the figure pulsed, orange light cracking the ceiling, slowing the pursuit. "Go—choose your fire, or they'll snuff it."
Rory dragged Elias toward the blue path, the glow intensifying, and the figure faded into the dark, their orange winking out. "Mines, hunters, creepy glow club—great," Rory muttered, vibration pulsing as he steadied Elias. "You're the boss now—where to?"
Elias clutched the notebook, the ember a heat he shaped, and nodded at the blue. "There—the heart. I—I need to know." His eyes glowed, a pulse rippling ahead, clearing dust, and they plunged deeper, the Shroud's hum a call he answered, the hunters' threat a shadow at their heels.