The shockwave from the crystal spire left the air thick with dust and the smell of ionized ozone. The cavern groaned, deep tectonic shifts echoing from the mountain's belly. Varga had been tossed back, her fur cloak singed, but she was already rising, her eyes wide with a manic, bloodthirsty glee.
"Seal the vents!" Varga shrieked to her remaining mercenaries. "Don't let them reach the tunnels!"
Soren was the first to find his feet. He didn't look at the enemies; he looked at Mika. The Omega was deathly pale, blood trickling from his nose—the price of channeling the mountain's raw heart.
"Mika!" Soren roared, catching him just as his knees buckled. He swung Mika onto his back, securing him with a strip of leather torn from his own cloak. He turned to Kael. "The lower vents are blocked. What's the alternative?"
Kael pointed toward a narrow fissure behind the shattered spire. "The Shadow Path. It's a vertical drop into the old smelting vats. It's suicide for an army, but for three people... we might make it."
"The Legion will hold the mouth of the cavern," Soren commanded his remaining officers. "Buy us ten minutes. That is an order from your Sovereign!"
The Heartwarming Shield
As they scrambled toward the fissure, the mercenaries closed in. Soren fought with a desperation that bordered on insanity, his sword a blur of silver as he protected the weight on his back. Every time a blade got too close to Mika, Soren took the blow on his own shoulder or forearm, his armor ringing with the impact.
They reached the edge of the smelting vat—a dark, yawning abyss that seemed to lead to the very center of the world.
"Hold on to me," Soren whispered, his voice vibrating through Mika's chest. "Don't let go, even if the world ends."
Mika tightened his grip around Soren's neck, burying his face in the fur of his collar. "I'm not going anywhere, Soren. Not without you."
With a roar of defiance, Soren leaped into the darkness, the sounds of Varga's frustrated screams fading as the wind of the fall consumed them.
The Shadow of the High Court
They didn't fall to their deaths. Kael had calculated the updrafts from the thermal vents perfectly. They slammed into a pile of ancient, rotted grain sacks in a hidden chamber miles below the main cavern.
As Soren pulled himself up, gasping for air and bleeding from a dozen shallow cuts, he realized they weren't alone. In the corner of the chamber sat an old man in tattered Imperial robes, his eyes milky with cataracts but his hands steady as he polished a blue crystal similar to the one in Mika's dagger.
"So," the old man wheezed, his voice like dry leaves. "The Core has returned to the basement. I've been waiting twenty years for a King brave enough to fall this far."
"Who are you?" Soren demanded, his hand on his sword.
"I am the Archivist," the man replied. "And if you want to defeat Vane, you're going to need more than just steel. You're going to need the Blood-Bond Ritual—the only thing that can stabilize the power in your Omega's veins before it kills him."