The Queen's roar shattered the air.

Not sound but pressure.

A wave of force that slammed into Bright's chest and drove the breath from his lungs. The walls trembled. Dust rained from above. The crawlers behind them froze mid-charge, mandibles clicking in unison like a chorus of broken clocks.

Then they scattered.

Retreating into cracks and crevices, vanishing into the dark as if something far more terrifying had just woken up.

Bright's foresight screamed.

Not words this time.

Just a sensation—a crushing weight bearing down on his skull, suffocating, inevitable.

"She's coming," he whispered.

Duncan pushed himself upright, blood running down his temple. "How long?"

"Seconds."

Baggen raised his hammer. "Then we fight."

"No," Adam said suddenly, voice cracking. "We don't."

Everyone turned.

Adam stood at the far edge of the chamber, hands trembling as he studied the walls. His eyes darted across stone, fractures, mineral deposits—reading the cave like a language only he understood.

"We can't win," he said flatly. "Look at the size of this chamber. Look at the claw marks on the walls—those aren't from the workers. Those are from something that carves through stone like butter."

Rolf spat. "So what? We run?"

"We try to survive," Adam shot back. "There's a difference."

The Queen's roar rolled through the tunnels again—closer now, deeper, vibrating through bone.

Mara's grip tightened on her blades. "Adam, if you have a plan, now would be the time."

Adam pointed toward a narrow fissure in the chamber's far wall—barely visible, half-hidden behind a pillar of collapsed stone.

"There. The air's moving through it. I can feel the draft."

Bright extended his spatial sense—and yes, there it was. A thin current of air flowing out of the fissure, which meant it led somewhere.

Somewhere that wasn't here.

"It's tight," Bright said. "We'll have to go single file."

"Better than being crushed," Duncan muttered.

Another roar.

This time, light flickered in the tunnel behind them—a sickly green phosphorescence, pulsing like a heartbeat.

Baggen's face paled. "She's glowing?"

"Move!" Bright barked. "*Now!*"

They sprinted toward the fissure.

Bright reached it first, squeezing through the narrow opening. Stone scraped his shoulders. His ribs screamed. He forced himself forward, dragging his body through the gap until he spilled into a cramped tunnel on the other side.

Mara came through next, gasping.

Then Rolf, cursing every inch.

Then Baggen—barely fitting, armor scraping stone with a metallic shriek.

Adam squeezed through, panting.

Duncan came last—and he screamed.

Something grabbed his leg.

Bright spun, spatial sense flaring—

A worker-crawler had latched onto Duncan's calf, mandibles digging into flesh. Duncan kicked, roaring, slamming his spear down into its skull.

The creature convulsed.

Duncan ripped his leg free and threw himself through the fissure just as—

—the Queen arrived.

-----

Bright saw her for only a heartbeat.

But that was enough.

She was massive—easily three times the size of any crawler he'd ever seen, her carapace layered in overlapping plates of bone-white chitin that gleamed with veins of luminescent green. Six legs, each thick as tree trunks, drove into the stone floor with enough force to crack it. Her head was grotesque—mandibles wide enough to bite a man in half, crowned by a ridge of serrated horns.

But it was her eyes that froze Bright's blood.

Eight of them.

All locked on the fissure.

All glowing with cold, intelligent hatred.

She lunged.

Her mandibles slammed into the stone wall, jaws snapping shut just inches from where Duncan's head had been a moment before.

The impact sent a shockwave through the tunnel.

Stone cracked.

Dust exploded outward.

And then—

The fissure collapsed.

Rocks tumbled inward, sealing the gap completely, cutting off the Queen's furious roar.

Silence.

Bright lay on his back, chest heaving, ears ringing.

Slowly, he sat up.

The others did the same—battered, bleeding, but alive.

Duncan clutched his leg, blood seeping through his fingers. "I'm… fine. Just a bite."

Mara crawled over, inspecting the wound. "It's deep. You're lucky she didn't take the whole leg."

"Lucky," Duncan repeated bitterly. "Right."

Baggen slumped against the wall. "We're alive. That counts."

Rolf laughed—a ragged, half-broken sound. "We almost died because of a bad map."

Adam flinched.

Bright watched him carefully.

Adam hadn't spoken since they escaped. He sat hunched against the tunnel wall, face pale, hands shaking.

"Adam," Bright said quietly.

No response.

"Adam."

Adam's head lifted slowly. His eyes were red-rimmed, hollow.

"I nearly killed you," he whispered. "All of you. Because I thought I was smart."

"You are smart," Mara said gently.

"Not smart enough." Adam's voice cracked. "I got overconfident. I trusted bad intel. I didn't verify. And Duncan almost—"

"But he didn't," Bright interrupted.

Adam stared at him.

Bright leaned forward. "You made a mistake. A big one. But you also found the exit when none of us could. You kept your head when we were panicking. You didn't freeze."

"I should've—"

"You can't undo it," Bright said firmly. "So stop trying. Learn from it. Do better next time."

Adam swallowed hard.

Then nodded.

Duncan limped over, clapping a bloody hand on Adam's shoulder. "Besides, if we're going to die, I'd rather it be because of your stupidity than some random cave-in."

Adam let out a choked laugh. "That's… weirdly comforting."

"I try."

Baggen stood, stretching his back with a series of loud cracks. "Alright. Sentiment's nice and all, but we're still stuck underground with no idea where this tunnel leads."

Bright rose, dusting himself off. He extended his spatial sense down the tunnel—carefully, testing the flow.

"It slopes upward," he said. "And the air's getting fresher. We're heading toward the surface."

"How far?" Rolf asked.

"Can't tell. But it's our only option."

Mara helped Duncan to his feet. "Can you walk?"

"Can I limp? Yes." Duncan grimaced. "Can I run? Ask me later."

They formed up again—looser this time, exhausted, but still together.

And they walked.

-----

The tunnel wound upward through the stone like a serpent's spine—tight, cramped, twisting. Bright led the way, feeling the path ahead with his spatial sense. It was still unreliable, flickering like a dying candle, but enough to keep them from walking into dead ends.

Behind him, the others moved in silence.

Except Rolf, who muttered a constant stream of complaints under his breath.

"Hate caves. Hate crawlers. Hate nobles. Hate trials. Hate everything."

"Noted," Mara said dryly.

They walked for what felt like hours—though Bright suspected it was only thirty minutes. Time felt warped underground, stretched thin by fear and exhaustion.

Finally, the tunnel widened.

And ahead—

Greylight.

Real, honest-to-gods greylight filtering through a crack in the stone.

Bright felt his chest loosen.

"There," he breathed.

They stumbled toward it, pushing through the final narrow gap—

—and spilled out onto a rocky hillside, blinking in the sudden brightness.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the rolling plains. In the distance, Outpost Vester's walls rose like a dark scar against the horizon.

They'd made it.

Bright collapsed onto his back, staring up at the sky.

Beside him, Duncan laughed—a raw, relieved sound.

Mara sat down heavily, head in her hands.

Baggen just stood there, swaying slightly, looking like he might keel over at any moment.

Rolf flopped onto the ground dramatically. "Never. Again."

Adam sat apart from the others, knees drawn up, staring at nothing.

Bright watched him for a moment.

Then he stood, walked over, and sat down beside him.

"You alright?"

Adam didn't answer right away.

"Adam." Bright turned to face him fully. "You're sixteen. We're all teenagers —except Baggen and Rolf. We're not supposed to have everything figured out. We're supposed to be learning."

"Learning costs lives."

"So does giving up."

Adam looked at him.

Bright held his gaze. "You're one of the smartest people I know. But you're not omniscient. None of us are. Not even me—and my whole talent is supposed to see things coming."

He gestured toward the collapsed cave entrance behind them.

"I didn't see the Queen. I didn't see the colony. My foresight failed me just as much as your map failed us. But we survived. Together."

Adam's throat worked. "You're not angry?"

"I'm furious," Bright admitted. "But not at you. At the situation. At the fact that we're children being forced to fight wars we didn't start. At the nobles who think this is entertainment."

He stood, brushing dirt off his jacket.

"But anger doesn't help us survive. Teamwork does."

He offered Adam a hand.

Adam stared at it for a long moment.

Then he took it.

Bright pulled him to his feet.

"Come on," Bright said. "Let's go home."

-----

They limped back toward Outpost Vester as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of bruised orange and deep violet.

Guards spotted them from the watchtowers and shouted down—first in alarm, then in confusion.

"Someone get a medic!"

The gates opened.

Healers rushed forward, surrounding Duncan immediately. Mara waved them off—she was fine. Baggen accepted a bandage for a cut on his arm. Rolf just grunted and kept walking.

Adam hung back, quiet.

Bright stayed beside him.

As they passed through the gates, a familiar figure stepped out from the crowd.

Captain Atheon.

He took one look at them—bloodied, exhausted, barely standing—and his expression darkened.

"Report," he said simply.

Bright straightened despite the pain. "Entered an unmapped section of the Shroud caves. Encountered a crawler colony. Queen-class. We survived."

Atheon's jaw tightened. "Casualties?"

"None."

A flicker of something—relief? approval?—crossed Atheon's face.

"Good." He looked past Bright to the rest of the squad. "Get yourselves cleaned up. Debriefing in one hour."

He turned to leave—

Then paused.

"Morgan."

Bright blinked. "Sir?"

Atheon glanced back. "Good work."

Then he walked away.

Bright stood there, stunned.

Duncan limped up beside him, grinning despite the pain. "Did the Fist of Men just compliment you?"

"I think so," Bright said faintly.

"Treasure it," Rolf muttered. "Probably won't happen again."

Mara laughed.

And despite everything—despite the terror, the mistakes, the near-death—

Bright smiled.

They'd survived.

Together.

And that was enough.

For now.

-----

Later that night, Bright sat alone in the barracks, staring at the two cores resting in his palm.

Larkin's cores.

Mental Dampening. Body Enhancement.

The ability cores had been weighing down his pack for weeks now—small, crystalline things that hummed with barely-contained power. At first, he'd told himself his old squad would benefit more, he'd reasoned. Better to strengthen the whole unit than just himself.

But his old squad was gone now.

The battle lines at outposts shifted like sand beneath a storm, allegiances fracturing overnight, and the faces he could trust may stand on uncertain ground—or no ground at all.

He pulled one of the cores from his pack, turning it over in his palm, the body enhancement core. Its surface caught the dim light, refracting it into pale threads of blue and gold. The power inside called to him, a siren song of strength he'd denied himself while clinging to the illusion that others would always be there to stand beside him.

But the tides had changed too fast.

External strength was a mirage—allies today could be enemies tomorrow, or simply gone, swallowed by the merciless calculus of war. The only constant, the only force he could truly rely on, was the strength he carried within himself.

He closed his fist around the core.

It was time to stop waiting.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

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