The darkness inside the ventilation shaft was absolute. It was a suffocating, oily blackness that smelled of grease, rust, and old ozone. The only sound was the distant, rhythmic thud-hiss of the massive pistons driving the Foundry's heart. It was a mechanical heartbeat that vibrated through the metal walls and settled deep in Vane's bruised bones.

Vane crawled on his elbows as he dragged his battered body forward. Behind him, Isole's breathing was shallow and ragged. The Holy light she usually radiated was dimmed to a faint, ghostly glimmer that was just enough to illuminate the curve of Vane's back and the blood drying on his uniform.

They reached a small maintenance junction. It was a cramped steel box where three ducts converged. Vane collapsed against the wall while his chest heaved.

"Stop," Isole whispered. Her voice echoed tinny and small in the shaft. She crawled up beside him, her hands glowing with a soft, restorative blue light. "Your ribs are still knitting. If you keep moving like this, the bone will set wrong."

She placed her hands on his chest. The touch was cool. It was a stark contrast to the burning heat of the Foundry. Vane winced as the magic seeped into his marrow and stitched the hairline fractures Ashe had left behind.

"We can not stop," Vane grunted, though he did not push her hands away. "Ashe might get bored, but the Coalition will not. I can feel the vibrations in the floor. Heavy boots. Earth magic. They are sweeping the upper levels in a grid pattern."

"You can feel them?" Isole asked. Her brow furrowed as she focused on the healing spell. "From here?"

"I know how rats hunt," Vane said. He closed his eyes for a second. "And right now, we are the mice."

"You are patched," Isole murmured as she pulled her hands back. She looked exhausted. Her pristine white robes were smeared with soot and oil. "But your mana channels are inflamed. No more Silver Fang."

Vane nodded and turned to the junction. There were three paths. To the left, he heard the hiss of steam. To the right, silence. Straight ahead, he felt a rhythmic, crushing noise that shook the floorplates.

He needed to know the way. He placed his palm flat against the cold, vibrating metal of the tunnel floor.

[Skill Activated: Tactile Pulse (Grade E)]

There was no flash of memory. No trauma. The price for this skill had been paid years ago, and now it was just a tool in his arsenal that felt as natural as flexing a finger.

The world shifted in his mind. He did not see with his eyes. He saw with his touch.

Through the metal, he felt the health of the machine. He felt the chaotic vibration of the steam pipe to the left. It was too unstable and likely to burst if disturbed. He felt the stillness of the right tunnel. It was a dead end. But straight ahead, he felt the massive, rhythmic thump-thump of the primary piston drive.

"Straight," Vane rasped as he pulled his hand back. "We have to climb the piston housing."

"The pistons?" Isole sounded horrified. "Those are moving parts. If we slip, we will be crushed."

"It is the only way up. The main stairwells are choked with Earth magic signatures."

Vane started to crawl, but Isole did not move. She was staring at him. Her dual-colored eyes were wide as she analyzed him with a terrifying intelligence.

"You knew the rhythm," Isole said softly. "Before you even touched the wall. You knew exactly which path was safe."

Vane paused. "I am good at guessing."

"No," Isole said. Her voice trembled slightly. "I watched you with Senna. I saw you walk into her ward as a novice and walk out carrying her life's work. I saw the way you held her hand. The way you connected with her."

She crawled closer and ignored the grime on the floor.

"And now, you touch a wall and you have the instincts of a mechanic. You did not study this, Vane. You possess it."

She looked at his hand. It was the one that had just touched the wall.

"Who is she?"

Vane froze. He looked at the High Elf. She was smarter than the rest of them. She had seen the pattern that the nobles were too arrogant to notice.

"Her name was Mara," Vane said. His voice was flat. "She was a Grid Technician in the slums. She liked her wine sweet and her company quiet."

He flexed his fingers.

"I kept her warm for a week. In exchange, she gave me access to the grid maps and this Grade E skill. I do not feel the memory now, but I paid for it back then."

Isole stared at him. The realization dawned fully. She knew his Authority was called [Usurper], but she had not understood the mechanic. Now, looking at the "Rat" of the class, she understood the price.

"You..." Isole hesitated. A flush rose to her cheeks. "You sleep with them? To take their power?"

"I give them what they want," Vane said coldly as he met her gaze. "Comfort. Attention. A warm bed in a cold city. And in return, I take what I need to survive."

He waited for her to judge him. To call him disgusting. To look at him like the rest of the Academy did.

But she did not.

"Does it..." Isole whispered as she looked at the dark shaft below. "Does it leave a mark? Carrying them?"

"Always," Vane said quietly. "Mara was lonely. I still remember that loneliness. It is colder than this shaft."

Isole looked at him. For the first time, the barrier between them shattered. She saw a boy who had turned his own body into a currency for survival. And he saw a girl who was terrified of her own soul.

"We are a pair of monsters, aren't we?" Isole murmured. A sad smile touched her lips. "I hide my nature, and you sell yours."

"Monsters survive," Vane said. He offered her his hand. It was calloused, scarred, and covered in grease. "Come on, Saint. The top is waiting."

Isole looked at his hand. She took it. Her grip was firm.

They crawled to the end of the tunnel and kicked the grate open. They emerged into a massive, vertical cylindrical shaft. In the center, a piston the size of a train car was moving up and down with terrifying speed. THUD. HISS. THUD. HISS.

"Time your jumps to the rhythm," Vane shouted over the roar. "I will call the intervals."

They began the climb. It was grueling. Every time the piston slammed down, a shockwave of air blasted past them and threatened to tear their grip from the oily rungs. But they moved in sync. Vane led and Isole followed, bound by the secret they now shared.

Ten minutes later, they reached the service hatch at the very top of the shaft. Vane pressed his hand against the ceiling plate and activated [Tactile Pulse] one last time.

He felt them.

Vibrations. Footsteps. Dozens of them. Heavy boots pacing back and forth on the metal grating above.

"They are waiting," Vane whispered. "The Coalition. At least twenty signatures. They have fortified the exit with Earth constructs. They are waiting for us to pop the hatch."

Isole's face fell. "Then we are trapped? We can not fight twenty students in this state."

"No," Vane smiled. A cold, predatory glint appeared in his eye. It was a glint he had stolen from a long-dead gambler. "We just need to change the guest list."

He shimmied sideways along the maintenance rail until he reached a massive hydraulic junction box. It was the control mechanism for the main blast doors of the Turbine Hall. These were the doors that led to the exterior of the Spire.

Through his Grade E sense, he could feel something heavy impacting the doors from the outside. THOOM. THOOM.

It was not a hammer. It was a fist. A fist with the density of a collapsing star.

"Valerica," Vane realized. "She is punching the door. She did not take the stairs. She climbed the outside wall."

He looked at the hydraulic lock.

"Isole," Vane said. "I am going to break this lock. When I do, the blast doors open. The Coalition is facing us, which means their backs are to the door."

"You want to let Valerica in?" Isole asked.

Vane nodded before thrusting his spear into the junction box. He used the leverage to snap the pressure valve.

HISSSSS.

The hydraulic seal died.

Above them, the massive, ten-ton blast doors of the Turbine Hall groaned.

Vane pulled Isole back into the shadows of the hatch.

"Watch," Vane whispered as he pulled her close. The metal groaned above them. "The sun is about to rise."

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