The vents were a labyrinth of forgotten history. This island, the Vort-Isle, had once been a grand citadel before the Taint turned it into a graveyard for scrap. Now, it was a hollowed-out shell, filled with the whistling wind and the scurrying of vermin.
Kiron and Taz tumbled onto a heap of discarded copper coils. Kiron was the first to his feet, his hand instinctively gripping the rusted crowbar he still held. His shoulder throbbed where the rope had jerked it, and a deep, dull ache was beginning to bloom in the center of his chest—right where the "Pulse" should be.
"They're going to kill us," Taz whispered, his voice trembling in the dark. "Kiron, those were the Executioners. Nobody survives them. Why are they here for us? We're just scrappers!"
"They aren't here for us," Kiron said, his eyes narrowing as he stared up at the sliver of purple sky visible through the grate. "They're here for me."
He looked at his hands. In the pitch black of the vents, he saw a faint, almost invisible flicker of gold beneath his skin, like a dying ember trying to catch fire. It vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving him feeling cold and hollow.
"We need to get to the Lower Docks," Kiron said, helping Taz up. "If we can find a cargo-skiff, we can drop into the Shush. They won't follow us into the white sand. It's too thick for their beasts to fly."
"The Shush is a death sentence, Kiron! Nobody comes back from the sand!"
"We're already dead if we stay here," Kiron countered.
As they began to crawl through the narrow tunnel, the nightmares returned. But this time, they weren't silent. Kiron heard the voices clearly—a thousand-man choir screaming a single word over and over.
"Rise."
The tunnel wall to their left suddenly exploded. A massive, clawed hand reached through the dust, grabbing Taz by the waist.
"KIRON!" Taz screamed as he was yanked backward into the darkness.
"Taz!" Kiron lunged, his fingers catching the hem of Taz's tunic for a split second before the strength of the beast pulled him away.
Standing in the breach was a Mist-Ghoul, its vertical mouth-slit opening to reveal rows of needle-like teeth. It didn't eat Taz; it held him like a trophy, waiting for the Guard to arrive.
Kiron stood alone in the dark, his rusted crowbar shaking in his hand. He was weak. He was a boy against a monster. But as he looked into the faceless void of the Ghoul, the stinging in his palms became an unbearable burn.
For the first time in his life, Kiron didn't run. He took a step forward.
"Let. Him. Go."
The Ghoul tilted its head, a low hiss escaping its throat. It lunged, its blade-like fingers whistling through the air toward Kiron's throat.
Kiron closed his eyes, and the world slowed down. He didn't see the tunnel. He saw the fire of Koda. He saw the blood-prayer. And deep within his marrow, a seal that had held for sixteen years began to develop a single, hairline crack.