Lucien stepped into the light.
The reaction was immediate.
Stone scraped against stone as the Lithrens turned as one. Tools were raised. Bodies shifted into defensive stances born of long habit rather than training. Mineral plates thickened instinctively along arms and shoulders.
Fear hardened into vigilance.
Rurik moved first.
Grief had not dulled him. It had sharpened him.
"…run," he said.
The others hesitated only a heartbeat before pulling back, retreating toward the deeper tunnels. Rurik did not follow them.
He stepped forward instead.
His hand closed around one of the constructs at his feet. It was compact, angular, and worn smooth by use. He pressed a recessed trigger without hesitation.
Light screamed.
A beam of compressed energy tore through the chamber. The air distorted violently along its path. The force behind it was not crude. It was focused and refined. The kind of power that did not waste itself.
Lucien did not flinch.
He raised one hand.
