The darkness in the sewer tunnel was absolute, broken only by the faint, sickly green glow of Kaelen's lumen-stone held aloft. It cast our shadows long and distorted against the curving, slime-coated walls, making monsters of us all. We moved in silence, a tense, unwilling trinity wading through ankle-deep filth. Kaelen took the lead, his elven sight piercing the gloom better than mine, navigating the twisting passage with grim determination. Caelum followed him, and I brought up the rear, the space between Caelum and me feeling both too small and terrifyingly vast.
Every splash of our boots echoed, unnaturally loud in the oppressive silence. Water dripped incessantly, a maddening counterpoint to our ragged breathing. The stench – decay, waste, stagnant water – clung to the back of my throat, thick and vile. It was a miserable, suffocating place, yet blessedly free of Templars and constructs. For now.
My body screamed with exhaustion. The Inferno Dash, especially the concussive burst I'd used escaping the loft, had drained me more than I'd realised. My muscles quivered, not just from cold, but from deep fatigue. The familiar ache in my scarred shoulder pulsed rhythmically, a metronome counting out the beats of my seven-year guilt, now complicated by a confusion so profound it made my head spin.
Alive. Caelum was alive.
I watched his back as we walked. The dark leather armour he wore was practical, clearly well-maintained, but scarred from countless battles – nicks, scrapes, a few deeper gouges that spoke of near misses. He moved with a controlled power that hadn't been there in the boy I knew. The boy from Havenwood had possessed a natural grace, an effortless lightness even when earthbound. This Caelum moved with the lethal precision of a blade, each step deliberate, measured, wasting no energy.
His wings, tucked tightly against his back, were magnificent, even scarred as they were. Larger than I remembered, or perhaps simply larger than they'd been when he was younger. Mostly obsidian black now, laced with veins of the original white-gold like kintsugi repair on shattered pottery. I could see the faint, silvered lines of healed breaks tracing across the membranes, testament to the fall that should have killed him. As we navigated a particularly low section of the tunnel, forcing us to stoop, I saw him wince almost imperceptibly as his right wing brushed against the curved ceiling. A constant ache, then? A permanent reminder of his sacrifice? My stomach clenched.
The coldness radiating from him was more than just temperament; it felt like a tangible aura, unsettlingly different from the ambient chill of the sewer. It prickled against my own internal heat, a constant, low-level dissonance now that the strange battle synergy had faded. He seemed utterly self-contained, locked away behind walls of ice forged in the fires of his solitary survival and vengeance.
How had he survived that fall? That awakening? Alone, broken, believing me lost? The sheer force of will required… it was unimaginable. And terrifying. What horrors had he endured, what choices had he made in those intervening years to become this… this force of destruction? His methods, his cold dismissal of the Resistance, his snap judgment that the technicians deserved death – it repulsed me, clashed violently with the memory of the kind, curious boy who had shown me such gentle acceptance.
Yet… he had come back for me on that cliff. He had shielded me with his own body. And tonight, he had landed between us and the Hunters, had drawn the Judicator's fire. Instincts, perhaps? Or was there still a flicker of the Caelum I knew buried deep beneath the ice and scars? The thought was a fragile, dangerous spark of hope I barely dared acknowledge.
We reached a section where the main tunnel narrowed, forcing us single file through a tight passage where the water ran deeper, swirling cold around my knees. Kaelen went first, holding the lumen-stone high. Caelum followed, his movements slightly stiff in the confined space, likely favouring his wings. As I stepped in after him, my foot slipped on a patch of slick, unseen slime.
I gasped, flailing for balance. Before I could fall face-first into the filth, a hand shot out, grabbing my arm. Not Kaelen's – he was already through the narrowest part. Caelum's. His grip was iron-strong, steadying me instantly.
His fingers were cool against my skin, even through my sleeve. For a split second, our eyes met in the dim light reflecting off the water. His glacial gaze held mine, unreadable as ever, but the physical contact sent a jolt through me, a phantom echo of Havenwood, of hands clasped while running from monsters.
Then, just as quickly, he released me, turning away without a word, continuing through the passage as if nothing had happened. My heart hammered against my ribs. Had I imagined the brief connection? Or was it just reflex, the ingrained instinct of the warrior to secure an ally, however unwillingly?
We emerged into a wider cavern, a junction where several tunnels converged. The air here was slightly less foul, hinting at ventilation or connection to larger spaces above. Kaelen stopped, holding up the lumen-stone, casting its greenish light around. Ancient brickwork, eroded by time and damp, formed vaulted ceilings. This felt less like a sewer, more like the foundations of something old – the catacombs he'd mentioned.
"This way," Kaelen decided after a moment, pointing towards a dark opening framed by crumbling stonework. "Leads deeper under the market. Less chance of patrols stumbling onto this access point." He glanced back at us, his expression tight. "We should rest here for a few minutes. Catch our breath. Decide our next move."
He leaned against the wall, pulling a small waterskin from his belt and offering it to me first. I took it gratefully, rinsing the vile taste from my mouth before taking a small sip. My hands were still shaking slightly.
Caelum didn't sit. He remained standing near the entrance to the next tunnel, partially turned away from us, scanning the darkness as if expecting an attack even here, in the bowels of the earth. The very picture of vigilance, or perhaps isolation.
The silence stretched again, punctuated only by dripping water. Kaelen watched Caelum warily. I watched them both, the exhaustion settling deeper into my bones, the reality of our situation pressing down. We were alive, together again after seven years, buried beneath a hostile city, hunted by the Ecclesiarchy. And the gulf between us felt wider and darker than the tunnels stretching out before us.
What now?