Chapter 269
Wake curses under his breath, low and sharp. “Gods. The shit is everywhere.”
His eyes sweep the dim room, like he can already see it threading through the walls and the vents, soaking into the bones of this place.
“If it’s reacting to the will and intent of everyone it comes into contact with, in a place like this,” he mutters. “This could be a disaster.”
Could be? I’m pretty sure it already is.
I look down at the orb in my hand—still warm, still pulsing, still impossibly alive—and feel a sudden pull in my chest. Not physical. Not quite emotional either. It’s like… a thread catching in the wind. A current, trying to drag me along.
I draw a breath, press my palm to the surface, and let just a little of my power slip into it.
The orb flares.
The swirling light inside goes nova—colors blooming like a galaxy caught mid-explosion. Every shard of glitter becomes a star. Every streak of purple becomes a nebula. It’s like I’m holding a tiny, impossible universe in the palm of my hand.
It’s alive.
I stumble back, heart racing. “It wants me to follow it.”
Wake watches me carefully. “Or maybe it’s just reacting to you. Pulling from what’s already there. What do you want?”
I glance at him. “What if it’s both?”
He crosses his arms. “Then what does your subconscious want, Phoebe?”
I stare into the heart of the orb, watching the stars spin. I don’t even need to think.
“I want to understand,” I say softly. “I want answers.”
Wake’s jaw tightens. Then, almost reluctantly, he nods. “Then we listen.”
We move quietly through the facility.
It’s late. Most of the staff have gone to sleep or buried themselves in data labs. We avoid the cameras—Tyler helped reprogram a few loops into the security feed a few days ago—and the guards are easy enough to avoid once you learn their rotation schedule.
I lead, the orb cradled in my hands like a torch, and Wake trails behind me, deadly and silent.
The orb leads us deep.
Down past the living quarters and medical bays, past the research wings and war room simulations, through a maintenance corridor that doesn’t look like it’s ever seen a proper cleaning. Eventually, we reach a sealed bulkhead—stamped with hazard warnings, radioactivity symbols, and a keycard reader.
“This is where the cache of Darklite is held,” I whisper.
Wake uses his ID to unlock the door.
My eyes widen. “You have access?” I ask.
“This room is attached to the ship bay where the submersibles are stored. I have access to that room, I figured the credentials might be the same.”
The cavern beyond is enormous.
I step inside and my breath catches.
It’s not like the rest of the facility—clean and clinical, humming with tech. This place is rough-hewn stone and jagged stalactites, with mounds of Darklite piled high across the room like a dragon’s hoard. The mineral pulses faintly, barely visible… until I raise the orb and spark it again.
The reaction is instant.
The mountains of Darklite ignite—one by one, like dominoes. A chain reaction of light bursts lit up the cavern.
Wake’s mouth opens slightly, and for once, he can’t play off his utter awe.
“This…” I breathe, spinning slowly in place. “This is what the Ether looks like.”
He doesn’t ask me any questions. He just stares.
The air hums. The cavern trembles.
I clutch the orb tighter and whisper, “Tell us what you are.”
The light around us warps. Flares. And then everything shifts.
The cavern disappears. The stone beneath our feet becomes smooth and glassy. Light bends, and suddenly we’re somewhere else entirely—still standing side by side, still holding the orb, but surrounded by a projection, or a memory, or a dream so vivid it might as well be real.
It’s a simulation. A vision. A story.
And we’re in it.
We see the beginning—darklite bubbling up from the deepest trenches of the ocean, forming in cracks and chasms, glowing with power. Leviathan’s presence coils around it—vast and ancient, more pressure than shape, more intention than voice.
Then: civilizations.
Ancient Enkians wielding Darklite in its purest form. Not corrupted. Not tainted. They use it to build. To heal. To power entire cities beneath the sea and machines that defy gravity above it. A technology so advanced that it makes everything we have now look like toys.
We see towers of crystal and bone rising into the water, connected by glowing bridges. We see people soaring, dancing through waves of Ether. Harmony, balance, magic.
But then it shifts.
Darklite in the wrong hands. Not what’s happened, but what might be to come.
The vision cracks, dims, then flares into chaos.
The crust of the Earth shatters. Volcanoes erupt across continents. Giant machines powered by corrupted Darklite spiral out of control. Tidal waves the size of mountains swallow entire islands. Beasts rise—twisted, monstrous things with claws and teeth to rip and gnash, and eyes that burn. They hunger. They only exist to hunt, to feed.
Cities crumble. Above the sea and below.
We watch indestructible monsters tear through defenses, break walls, rip through Enkian warriors like they’re made of sea foam. People run. Cry. Die.
Flaming rocks fall from the sky—skyscraper-sized meteorites hurled like divine punishment. Fire meets water, water turns to steam, oceans run dry, and the world starts to burn.
It’s everything I’ve seen in my dreams. Every nightmare. Every premonition.
The end of the world.
I stagger back, pulse jackhammering in my ears. My grip tightens on the orb as if letting go might make it all real.
Wake’s face is pale, lit by the firestorm unfolding around us. Even he—stoic, unshakeable—looks rattled.
“This,” he says quietly. “This is what’s coming.”
I shake my head. “This is what could come. If we get it wrong.”
And so far, I don’t think we’ve yet to get a single thing right.
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