Chapter 9 - Chapter 9: Ashes and Echoes

The tunnels reeked of smoke and charred stone, the fractured pit still glowing faintly like an ember refusing to die, and Lucien leaned against the wall with his breath shallow, the faint glow in his hand finally dimming though the ache remained deep in his bones as if the shard had left a scar beneath his skin. The girl crouched in front of him, firelight flickering in her eyes as she studied him with uncharacteristic seriousness, no teasing grin, no reckless spark, just raw focus. "You pushed too far," she said finally, her voice a low murmur that carried more weight than any shout. "That thing—it wanted to eat you alive, not help you. Don't pretend otherwise." Lucien said nothing, only adjusted his coat and rose slowly to his feet, his body steady despite the storm that still raged quietly inside him. "It stopped them," he answered at last, silver eyes cold and sharp. "That's all that matters." She stood with him, blade still drawn, her fiery gaze never leaving his face. "No," she whispered, shaking her head slightly, "that's what scares me. You don't care what it costs you." Before he could respond, a faint scraping echoed through the broken tunnels, boots against stone, and both of them stiffened instantly. Lucien raised his pistol, the girl tightened her grip on her blade, and out of the shadows stumbled one of the surviving cultists, robes torn, face bloodied. He fell to his knees before them, clutching at his chest, eyes wide with terror. "He… he left us," the man rasped, voice trembling as if every word scraped his throat raw. "The master… he said… only the chosen would follow." Lucien's gaze sharpened, silver eyes narrowing like blades. "Who is he?" he demanded, voice cold enough to freeze the air between them. The cultist trembled violently, his hands clawing at his own skin as though something burned beneath it. "He… he is the first, the unbroken… the one who fed on the moon's blood… the one who—" The words cut off in a scream as his body convulsed, smoke pouring from his mouth and eyes as if unseen hands crushed him from within. In seconds, he collapsed into ash, leaving nothing but a faint, acrid stink. The girl cursed under her breath, sheathing her blade with a harsh motion. "Whoever your 'leader' is," she said grimly, "he's not just a cult master. That was a leash. A leash that kills when they speak too much." Lucien holstered his pistol slowly, his face carved from stone. "That makes him smart. Dangerous. And afraid of being known." The girl stepped closer, lowering her voice though no one else remained alive in the chamber. "You recognized that chant, didn't you? The rhythm—it was old, older than anything people should still remember." Lucien didn't answer immediately, his silence saying more than words. Finally, he turned, his coat sweeping the ash from the floor. "If he's what I think he is… then this city isn't his only target. He'll spread, and when he does, no one will see it coming." She walked beside him, gaze sharp as ever, but softer when she looked at him. "Then we don't let him spread. We hunt him before he builds another pit." His silver eyes flicked toward her, something unreadable in their depths. "You talk like this is your fight too." She smirked faintly, but there was steel under it now, not just fire. "It is. Because whether you admit it or not, you can't do this alone." For a moment, neither spoke, the broken subway swallowing their words, only the drip of water and the crackle of dying embers filling the silence. Then Lucien nodded once, sharp and decisive. "We start at dawn. The city still hides things, and so do its people. If we're going to hunt him, we need to know where he crawled out from." She gave a sharp grin, some of her recklessness returning. "Finally. A plan. About time you stopped brooding and started moving." Lucien allowed the faintest smirk to tug at his lips, brief as lightning, gone in an instant, but enough to make her blink in surprise. Then his face hardened again, and together they climbed out of the broken tunnels, the night air biting cold as the city stretched before them—burning in places, silent in others, neon flickering like false stars. Somewhere in those shadows, the cloaked figure walked freely, already preparing his next move, and though Lucien could feel the shard's poison still simmering in his veins, he also felt something new—a bond forged in the fire of battle, fragile but real, and for the first time he did not feel like he was hunting the dark alone.