The weight of those numbers settled on Sylas’s shoulders like chains.
Fourteen dead because the grid failed. Because they lacked sufficient Moon Tears to maintain the defenses that kept their people safe from the mindless, feral creatures prowling the storm-woods.
His duty was clear. His priority absolute.
Install the core. Stabilize the grid. Protect his people.
“Assemble the engineering team.” The command came out flat, emotionless. “Begin installation prep—”
A soft sound cut through his words.
Sylas’s head snapped toward the dome. Elsa’s fingers had curled into the blanket covering her. Her brow furrowed, the first real sign of returning consciousness in hours.
The priest fell silent, following Sylas’s gaze.
Yarx straightened immediately, moving to the dome’s controls. “Brain activity spiking. She’s waking.”
Relief hit Sylas hard enough that he had to lock his knees to stay upright. He crossed the distance to the dome in three strides, pressing his palm against its warm surface.
Through the translucent barrier, Elsa’s eyelids fluttered. Her chest expanded with a deeper breath. Her head turned slightly, seeking something.
“Initiating wake protocol.” Yarx’s fingers flew across the control panel.
The blue light pulsed brighter, then dimmed. The dome’s hum changed pitch, shifting from healing mode to something gentler. The translucent barrier retracted with a whisper of pressurized air, folding away to expose her fully.
Elsa’s eyes opened.
Blue and unfocused at first, pupils dilating as they adjusted to the dim lighting. Then they sharpened, clarity returning in stages—confusion giving way to awareness, giving way to that familiar sharp intelligence that had intrigued him from the start.
Her gaze found Yarx. Found the medical bay’s familiar walls.
Found him.
“You stayed.” Her voice came out rough, barely above a whisper. Not accusation. Just observation wrapped in something that might have been surprise.
“You collapsed holding a Moon Tear core.” He kept his tone level despite the relief flooding his system. “I don’t abandon valuable assets in crisis.”
Her lips twitched into something too tired to be a proper smile. “Asset. Right.” She tried to sit up, the movement clumsy, her muscles not quite obeying properly.
Yarx moved immediately, supporting her shoulders with surprising gentleness for his size. “Easy. Your nervous system sustained significant trauma. You need to—”
“I’m fine.” She pushed through the healer’s protest, managing to prop herself upright despite obvious exhaustion. Her attention swept the room, cataloguing—the containment unit, the priest’s scanner, the tension hanging thick in the air.
Her gaze locked back on Sylas. “The core. You haven’t installed it yet.”
Not a question. Observation delivered with that unsettling accuracy she kept demonstrating.
“The Lux Priest was examining it when you woke.” Sylas gestured toward the old male, who bowed his head in respectful acknowledgment. “Verifying integrity before installation.”
“And?” She directed the question at the priest, not waiting for Sylas to filter information. Bold. “What did you find?”
The priest’s ears swiveled with surprise at being addressed directly. He glanced at Sylas, seeking permission.
Sylas’s tail flicked in approval. She’d bargained for information. Earned it by finding the core, nearly dying in the process. Denying her now would violate the terms he’d set.
“Perfect purity.” The priest’s voice carried reverence. “Beyond anything we’ve mined in generations. It could stabilize the entire eastern quadrant. Save lives. Buy us time to—”
“Then why isn’t it installed already?” Elsa’s interruption was sharp, cutting through the priest’s building enthusiasm. Her blue eyes narrowed. “What’s the delay?”