The darkness was absolute, save for the sick, pulsating blue light emanating from Julian's right hand.
He sat hunched on a narrow concrete ledge, shivering violently. The sludge of the sewer—a vile cocktail of oil, waste, and industrial runoff—coated his skin like a second, suffocating layer. He tried to wipe his face, but stopped when he realized he was about to touch his eyes with fingers that were no longer human.
He held his hand up. The crystal had advanced.
Before the workshop, it had been just the fingertips. Now, the translucent blue mineral had consumed his entire hand up to the wrist. The bones inside were visible as dark, dense shadows suspended in blue ice. The flesh at the wrist, where the transformation met living skin, was raw and blistered, weeping a clear fluid that smelled like ozone.
"Stop staring at it," Lyra's voice came from the shadows. She was wringing out her cloak, the sound of dripping water echoing loudly in the tunnel. "You're going to make yourself sick."
"It burns," Julian whispered. His teeth chattered, not just from the cold. "It feels like... like my hand is asleep, but the pins and needles are made of fire."
Lyra stepped into the halo of blue light. Her face was smeared with grime, her hair plastered to her skull, but her eyes were sharp, scanning the tunnel ahead. She knelt beside him, pulling a small metal flask from her belt.
"Drink," she ordered.
Julian took a swig. It wasn't water. It was raw, burning alcohol that tasted like distilled rust. He gagged, coughing, but the warmth spread through his chest, pushing back the shivering.
"That was reckless, Vane," Lyra said, taking the flask back. "You didn't just vibrate those clocks. You flooded the whole room with Resonance. I felt my fillings vibrating."
"I just wanted the noise to stop," Julian murmured, staring at the dark water flowing sluggishly past their feet. "The Hunter... it called me a 'little gear'."
"Hunters don't make jokes," Lyra said grimly. She stood up, looking down the tunnel. "And they don't give up. It's blind for now, but its sensors will recalibrate. We need to move."
"Move where?" Julian asked, struggling to his feet. His boots squelched heavily. "We're in the sewer. There's nothing down here but rats and shit."
Lyra looked at him, a strange expression crossing her face. "You really lived your whole life looking up, didn't you? You think the city ends at the pavement?"
She pointed to the wall of the tunnel.
Julian looked closer. In the dim blue glow of his hand, he saw markings scratched into the slime-covered brick. They weren't graffiti. They were symbols. A gear with a broken tooth. A wrench crossed with a musical note. A series of arrows pointing against the flow of the water.
"This isn't just a sewer," Lyra said, adjusting her belt. "It's a highway. The 'Veins'. It's how the Resistance moves without the Empire noticing. Come on. And keep that hand covered. You're a walking lighthouse."
They walked for what felt like hours. The tunnel twisted and turned, diving deeper into the earth. The air grew warmer, humid and thick, carrying a low, rhythmic thrumming sound that vibrated in the soles of Julian's boots.
Thum-thum. Thum-thum.
"Do you hear that?" Julian asked, pausing to wipe sweat from his brow.
"The heartbeat of Arcadia," Lyra replied, not stopping. "We're getting close to the Core supports."
As they walked, Julian found himself watching Lyra. She moved with a predator's grace, stepping silently over debris, her hand always hovering near the knife at her belt. She was young, maybe his age, but her eyes held a weariness that belonged to someone decades older.
"Why did you save me?" Julian asked suddenly, his voice loud in the quiet tunnel. "Back at the station. You could have run. You came back."
Lyra stopped. She didn't turn around immediately. The blue light from Julian's wrapped hand cast her shadow long and distorted against the curved wall.
"My brother was a Tuner," she said softly. The hardness in her voice fractured for a second. "The Empire took him when he was twelve. Said he had 'potential'. Two years later, I saw him working on a steam-dredge in Sector 4."
She turned to face him.
"He wasn't driving the dredge, Julian. He was part of it. They had fused him into the control unit. He didn't have eyes anymore, just gauges. He didn't have a mouth, just a speaker for outputting pressure readings."
Julian felt a chill that had nothing to do with the damp.
"I tried to talk to him," Lyra continued, her hand gripping the hilt of her knife until her knuckles turned white. "But he didn't know me. He was just... code. Just a component." She looked at Julian's glowing hand. "When I saw you on that platform... when I saw you look at the train and hear it... I knew. You're not like the soldiers. You're not like Elias. You're just another component they want to plug in."
She stepped closer, her grey eyes fierce.
"I didn't save you, Julian. I stole you. because I'm not letting them build another machine out of a person. Not while I'm breathing."
Julian looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time. She wasn't just a thief. She was a woman waging a war against a god of steel, armed with nothing but a knife and grief.
"I'm sorry," Julian whispered.
"Don't be sorry," Lyra snapped, turning back to the darkness. "Be useful. We're here."
She stopped in front of a seemingly blank section of the tunnel wall. The water here was rushing faster, and the thrumming sound was deafening.
Lyra reached up and pulled a rusted lever disguised as a loose pipe fitting.
CLANK-HISSS.
The brick wall didn't slide open. It folded inward, revealing a hidden airlock mechanism powered by ancient hydraulics.
Beyond the door, there was no darkness.
Julian gasped, shielding his eyes.
They weren't looking into a room. They were looking into a cavern so vast its ceiling was lost in shadows. Suspended in the center of the cavern, hanging by massive chains that disappeared into the gloom above, was a structure made of lashed-together pipes, scavenged metal sheets, and the hulls of crashed airships.
It was a shantytown hanging over an abyss. A city of rust clinging to the underside of the world like a barnacle.
Lights flickered in the windows of the makeshift houses—warm, yellow, human lights. Bridges made of rope and copper wire connected the floating platforms. And everywhere, there was the sound of life—hammers ringing, children shouting, music played on tin flutes.
"Welcome to 'The Dregs'," Lyra said, a faint smile touching her lips. "The only place in Arcadia where you can scream without asking for permission."
Julian stared at the impossible city. For the first time since he touched the Sovereign, the tightness in his chest loosened.
But as he stepped forward, his crystal hand pulsed violently, a sharp spike of pain shooting up his arm.
The machine is here too, the voice in his head whispered. Deeper. Darker.
Julian gripped his wrist, hiding the pain. He followed Lyra onto the swaying bridge, leaving the sewer behind, but carrying the curse with him.