The cavern's blue glow pulsed softly, a fragile heartbeat casting faint light across the stone floor where Elias Varn sat, his back pressed against a stalagmite. His oversized boots rested in a scatter of dust and broken staff fragments, the faded jacket hanging loose on his trembling frame, and his bare hands clutched the notebook, its pages creased with the weight of his grip. Without his glasses, the Shroud's crystalline core blurred into a shimmering haze at the chamber's center, but his eyes glowed faintly, the ember in his chest a warm pulse he'd claimed—a spark now shadowed by doubt. The air hung thick with coal dust and the Beneath's hum, a presence steady but strained, echoing the fracture in his heart.
Rory Tate slumped a few feet away, his patched hoodie torn and stiff with grime, his red hair dulled by the mines' grit. His cracked skateboard lay beside him, its loose wheel still, and his freckled face was pale, his green eyes shadowed with a mix of exhaustion and unease as he clutched his bruised ribs, breath shallow. The bruise had darkened, purple veins creeping beneath his skin, a silent cost of the Shroud's spark. He stared at the stranger's crumpled form—tattered black cloak, green glow extinguished, dust spilling from his scars—and his voice broke the silence, low and tight. "He turned, Elias. One minute he's helping, next he's trying to take you out. What's stopping that from being me?"
Elias's chest tightened, the ember flaring as tears pricked his eyes. "It—it won't," he rasped, voice trembling but fierce, his glow cutting through the blur to meet Rory's gaze. "You're not him—you're not a tool, Rory. You're—you're my friend." He nudged the ember—a gentle pulse rippling toward Rory, brushing his ribs with warmth, easing the tension in his face. The Shroud's voice whispered, soft but heavy: "He burns with you." He flinched, the truth a blade—Rory's power, his pain, tied to the spark he'd ignited.
Rory pulled away, his hand dropping from his side, the bruise stark against his pale skin. "Friend, huh?" he muttered, forcing a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "Friends don't put each other in the ground—figuratively or not." He rubbed his ribs, wincing, and the vibration in his hands flickered weak, a spark fading. "That creep said the Order's got something—something that flips us. What if I'm next?"
"No!" Elias shouted, scrambling closer, the notebook slipping to the floor as the ember surged, his eyes glowing brighter. "I—I won't let it! I'll—I'll stop them, fix this!" He nudged a pulse—stronger, warm, wrapping Rory's glow, but it faltered, the Shroud's hum dimming—a limit he couldn't break. Tears streamed, and he grabbed Rory's arm, trembling. "You're not—you're not a battery, not a cost. I need you."
Rory's jaw tightened, his eyes flickering with doubt, but he didn't pull away, his voice softening. "Need me, huh? Kinda hard to say no to that." He sighed, running a hand through his hair, the grin flickering back, faint but real. "Okay—together, like always. But you've gotta figure this Shroud crap out—fast."
The stone woman shifted, her gravelly voice cutting through as she pushed upright, dust spilling from her cracked arm. "He's right," she rasped, her green glow faint but steady, her stony eyes locking on Elias. "The Order—they've broken us before. That shard—it's old, older than me. Splits the spark, turns it inward." She gestured at the core, its tendrils coiling gently. "You've claimed it—but they'll use us against you."
Elias's stomach dropped, the ember pulsing as the stranger's words echoed—"You're doomed." He stood, nudging a pulse toward the core—a wave, shaped and firm, tendrils spiraling in response, a dance he controlled. "Then—then I'll protect you," he said, voice shaky but growing. "All of you—I'll—I'll keep it safe." The Shroud's voice stirred: "They come—stronger." His glow flared, illuminating the chamber, and the air shifted, a low rumble echoing from the sealed tunnel.
Rory grabbed his skateboard, vibration humming weak as he stood, wincing. "Stronger? Great—more creepy robes?" But the rumble deepened, not stone but a mechanical groan, and the tunnel's wall cracked, dust billowing as a machine rolled in—not a drone, but a hulking rig, its steel frame glinting, purple light pulsing from a cannon at its core. Robed figures flanked it, their masks featureless, staffs glowing purple, and the silver-edged woman stepped forward, her rune-etched mask glinting cold.
"Beacon," she hissed, voice a low thunder over the rig's hum. "Your defiance ends here." She raised her staff, purple flaring, and the rig pulsed—a wave of violet light slamming the chamber, locking Elias's limbs, dimming the ember, the core trembling under its weight. Tendrils recoiled, the Shroud's glow fading, and its voice weakened: "They break me—again."
Rory lunged, vibration pulsing as he swung his skateboard, cracking a figure's staff, but the rig pulsed again, purple knocking him back, his board splintering against the stone. "Elias—hit it!" he shouted, scrambling up, blood trickling from a cut on his brow, his glow flickering weaker.
Elias's eyes blazed, the ember surging—a heat he shaped, a pulse he aimed, breaking through the purple's grip. The wave hit, blue and gold clashing with violet, sparking wildly, and the core flared, tendrils lashing, bolstering his light. "I—I won't let you!" he shouted, the pulse rippling, cracking the rig's frame, driving the figures back. The woman staggered, her staff sparking, but she pulsed again, purple deepening—a wave that shattered his pulse, slamming him to the floor, the ember stuttering.
The stone woman pulsed, green light flaring, clashing with purple in a burst of sparks, but the rig's cannon whirred, a sharper pulse hitting her square, cracking her chest, dust spilling as she fell with a groan. "No!" Elias cried, the ember surging—a pulse breaking free, blue and gold wrapping the rig, cracking its cannon, but the woman's staff pulsed, violet locking his limbs again, the core's glow dimming further.
"You're a child with a flame," she said, stepping closer, her mask glinting as the rig recalibrated, purple deepening. "The Order of Silence has buried the Beneath for centuries—your spark changes nothing." The cannon flared, a wave washing over the core, its blue fading to a flicker, tendrils limp, and the Shroud's voice whispered: "Save me—or lose him."
Elias's vision blurred, the ember fighting—a spark he clung to, a heat he shaped. Rory staggered to his side, vibration gone, his breath ragged as he grabbed Elias's arm. "Don't—don't quit," he panted, blood streaking his face, the bruise pulsing darker. "I—I trust you."
The words pierced Elias's despair, the ember surging—a heat he wielded, a pulse he aimed, fueled by Rory's faith. His eyes blazed, the wave breaking free—blue and gold, tendrils flaring from the core, a torrent of light clashing with purple. The chamber roared, the rig sparking, its cannon cracking, and the woman's staff faltered, violet shattering as the core flared, blue reclaiming the dark.
"Fall back—deploy reserves!" she barked, her voice tight as she retreated, the robed figures dragging the rig into the tunnel, purple winking out. The core steadied, its glow returning, and Elias slumped, the ember a warm pulse he held, his eyes dimming as Rory caught him, the stone woman stirring weakly.
"You—you did it," Rory rasped, his grin faint, blood dripping as he clutched his ribs, the bruise spreading. "Knew you could."
Elias clutched the notebook, tears streaming, the Shroud's voice firm: "You save me—save him." The cost burned, a trust he'd fight for, but the Order's shadow loomed—reserves coming, a silence unbroken.