Chapter 128 Find the Tunnels Part 2
They hurried on, water dripping from overhead. Maribel’s breath came ragged, but her eyes stayed open, tracking every shadow. Xeris’s hand hovered near Daisy’s shoulder, as if ready to catch her if she stumbled, but she never did. Oliver moved ahead, but his glance traced Daisy’s knuckles, checking for trembling. Just behind, Xeris gave a subtle nod, a silent confirmation that the pace was right, that no one was falling behind. They pressed forward, their unspoken trust holding them together beneath the weight of panic.
A fork in the tunnel, and they heard voices—Eldergrove patrol, their words in the sing-song cadence of the old tongue. Daisy ducked them into a side passage, pressing herself and Maribel flat against the wall. The patrol passed, oblivious, but Daisy’s heart didn’t slow.
At the end of the passage, the tunnel opened onto a collapsed bridge. The gap was too wide for Maribel, and below, the detritus crackled with the harsh tang of old magic.
“We can jump it,” Oliver whispered, measuring the distance.
Daisy hesitated, sizing up the span. Her legs tingled at the memory of old leaps, the unforgiving gaps she’d cleared when the consequences were only bruises, not the fate of someone she loved. Now, with Maribel slumped against her, Daisy imagined not just her own fall, but her mother’s as well—the bitter plunge into magic-laced ruin that might follow a misstep. The responsibility pressed upon her: she could risk herself, as she always had before, but risking Maribel was unthinkable. The internal conflict—whether to seize the chance for escape or safeguard her mother—rose fiercely, forcing Daisy to confront what mattered most. The doubt flickered, raw and terrible, but she suppressed it, consciously choosing her mother’s safety over flight. She shook her head. “Not with her.”
Xeris stepped forward, uncoiling his body in a way that didn’t look human. He reached for Maribel, voice gentle. “May I?”
Maribel looked at him, then at Daisy, then nodded. “Don’t drop me, beast.”
He smiled, the edges of his teeth just a little too sharp. “Never.”
He cradled her easily, as if she weighed nothing, and leapt across the gap in a single, fluid motion. Daisy felt her breath catch. She made the jump herself, legs burning, and landed just behind them. Oliver was last, but he never missed his mark.
The passage beyond twisted downward, air growing colder. Here, the walls were carved with old Brightwater prayers, some so old that the language was reduced to lines and dots. Daisy read the nearest one—“Remember the Fallen. Remember Yourself”—and wondered if the city had always been this doomed. Just below, another line flickered in faded paint: “What we keep becomes what keeps us.” Daisy’s hand tightened around the locket. Even the city’s prayers understood—anything could turn, from comfort to weapon, depending on the need. A bitter echo of Maribel’s warning flowed through her, binding past and present together with every step.
They heard the next patrol before they saw it. Voices, a ripple of magic. Xeris handed Maribel to Daisy and ducked into the shadows, vanishing with a ripple. Oliver pressed himself flat, knife ready.
Two Veilseekers approached, faces masked, hands pulsing with a magic Daisy recognized: chain-breaker spells. As they drew closer, one began to hum softly under his breath, the tune haunting and familiar—a lullaby Daisy had not heard since childhood. The other paused for a heartbeat near the deep-etched heelprint of a child, gloved fingers hovering as if tempted to smooth it away. Under his breath, he whispered, “All debts must end tonight,” voice barely audible beneath the hiss of his spellwork. For a brief moment, he touched two fingers to his mask in a gesture Daisy half-remembered from old rituals, as if warding off regret. Rumors held that Veilseekers were once protectors of the city’s hidden wards before turning against their charges; perhaps old vows still bound them, twisted now into relentless pursuit. No one truly knew what drove them. For an instant, their menace seemed conflicted, humanity flickering beneath the masks.
She waited, holding her breath, as they passed within arm’s reach. Maribel’s hand found Daisy’s, squeezed, her grip as strong as the old days. The Veilseekers moved on, and Daisy exhaled.
When the way was clear, Xeris reappeared, his eyes gold and slitted. “We’re almost out,” he whispered.
The tunnel ended in a slab of stone. Daisy found the trigger—a glyph, worn by years of contact—and pressed it. The stone shifted, grinding open, and they tumbled into the last leg: a passage that sloped up, toward daylight.
At the end, sunlight filtered through a grating, painting stripes on the ground. Daisy paused, clutching the locket, her fingers clammy with sweat despite the cold. Her heart thudded in her chest, and a faint tremor worked through her arms. She reached for her magic, feeling her blood beat against the chain's pull, the ache of hunger curling in her stomach. When she let it out, just a little, it sent a flush of heat through her hands, steadying her trembling muscles and quieting the shiver in her breath.
Behind, a rumble: the patrol had doubled back, found their trail. The Veilseekers’ magic screamed down the tunnel, scraping at Daisy’s skull.
Xeris and Oliver braced the grating, but it would not budge. “It’s warded,” Xeris said, voice low.
Daisy stepped forward. She pressed her palm to the iron, feeling the cold bite, and forced her magic into the metal. The ward screamed in her ears, but she held, and the barrier resisted her, hungry for more than just strength. With each heartbeat, the metal pulled at her until her memories fluttered at the edges of her vision, fragments slipping free: her mother’s laughter, the taste of willowbark tea. Cost bled from her like heat as she poured herself into the spell. At last, the ward cracked, then shattered, leaving Daisy gasping as if a piece of her had splintered away.
Sunlight rushed in. Xeris shouldered the grating aside, and Oliver crawled through, then reached back to help Maribel and Daisy. They tumbled out onto wild grass, the air alive with cold and freedom.
Behind them, the tunnel collapsed. A blast of heat and force, the sound so loud that Daisy’s ears rang. She saw Xeris, arms around Maribel, shielding her. Saw Oliver’s hands bloody on the rocks. As the dust settled, Daisy felt a sharp tremor run through her magic, a flicker that wouldn’t steady no matter how she willed it quiet. Oliver flexed his fingers, but the right hand would not unclench, the blood trailing down his wrist. A cold ache lingered at the base of Daisy’s spine, an echo of the barrier’s scream, still gnawing at her from within. The aftermath hung heavy on the morning air, not only as a physical reminder but as a mark of the irrevocable cost inherent in their escape: wounds both invisible and seen, memories darkened by loss, and the certainty that freedom required sacrifice. As they gathered themselves on the wild grass, Daisy wondered if the tremor in her magic would ever fully fade, or if she had lost something she would never reclaim. Oliver kept his wounded hand pressed close, face paler than usual, and Xeris’s usual quiet confidence was shaken, his eyes scanning the horizon with a new wariness. The cost of their escape was not just left behind in the ruins; it had become an enduring part of them, reshaping their futures and shadowing every step from here on.
Saw the world tilt, just for a moment.
Then the chain inside her went quiet, for the first time in days.
They were out.
They were alive.
And somewhere behind them, the city burned.
For a heartbeat, Daisy remembered the sun cresting over Brightwater, streaking the rooftops in gold, painting glass and copper domes with hope. She could almost smell baking bread, hear the market bells ring, and feel the warmth seeping through the windowpanes in the morning—echoes of ordinary comfort now gone. Outside, the pungent tang of smoke stung her nostrils, and the sharp crackle of distant flames pierced the muffled silence. Smoke bled through the skyline, blotting the light, transforming the city she knew into a distant silhouette devoured by fire and unrestrained magic. The memory of what had haunted her senses, its vividness now sharpened by loss.
Daisy turned, just once, to look back. The spires of Brightwater were lost behind smoke and the glint of magic gone wild.
In her hand, the locket pulsed, alive and hungry, waiting for its next command.
She closed her fist around it and led them onward, into the wild unknown.