Crescent Betrayal, The Ring That Remade Him

The Weight of the World

The hardest part of saving someone is realizing that holding onto them might be the very thing that kills them.

Lincoln knelt in the dust, the everflame core in his hands giving off a sickening, sputtering light. Beside him, Santiago was shivering, his skin pulled tight over bones that seemed to be turning to glass. The air in this chamber was cold, but the heat radiating off the old man was feverish and wrong.

"You have to breathe," Lincoln said, his voice tight. "Santiago, please. Just breathe."

"I am trying," Santiago wheezed, his eyes unfocused. "It is just... so heavy. The air is so heavy."

Lincoln watched the way Santiago chest rose and fell. It was ragged. Broken. He looked down at his own hand, pressing it against the stone floor to steady himself, and he saw it. A thin, black vein was snaking up his wrist, pulsing under his skin. The toxicity of the mine was getting inside him, too. It was eating them both alive.

"We need to move," Lincoln said, though he knew it was a lie the moment the words left his lips.

"I cannot," Santiago whispered. He tried to sit up, but his shoulder gave way, and he slumped back against the rock. "Leave me, Lincoln. You know I cannot make another mile."

"I am not leaving you," Lincoln snapped.

"You have to," Santiago insisted, his voice surprisingly strong. "Look at me. I am done. If you carry me, we will both be dead before the next shadow passes."

Lincoln looked away. He couldn't bear to look at the resignation in Santiago eyes. "I promised my mother I would protect you. I promised I would get us out of here."

"Your mother would want you to survive," Santiago said, reaching out to grab Lincoln sleeve. His grip was weak, trembling. "She would not want you to become a martyr for a dying old man."

"Stop," Lincoln said, his throat tightening. "Don't talk like that. You are not dying. We just need time. We need a safe zone."

"There is no safe zone in hell," Santiago murmured.

Lincoln stood up, pacing the small, cramped cave. He needed to think. He needed to be the strategist the System demanded he be. He looked at the map in his mind, the one he had been building, the one that showed the labyrinth of tunnels stretching out below them. There was a pocket, a deep crevice he had spotted earlier that was shielded by natural rock formations. It was stable. It was hidden.

"I found a place," Lincoln said, stopping in front of Santiago. "It is sealed off. I can block the entrance. I can make it so no scavenger can find you."

"And you?" Santiago asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Where will you go?"

"Deeper," Lincoln said. "There is energy down there. I can feel it. It is raw, dangerous, but it is enough to power the forge. I can make medicine. I can make stronger light. I can make a way out for us."

"That is a death trap," Santiago said, fear creeping into his tone. "The deep layers are where the constructs are. Those things are not animals, Lincoln. They are machines. They are war engines."

"I know," Lincoln said, kneeling back down so he was eye level with the servant. "But I have to go."

"Why?" Santiago asked, a single tear cutting a path through the grime on his cheek. "Why risk everything for me?"

"Because you are the only family I have left," Lincoln said, his voice raw. "Do you think I want to leave you? Do you think I want to be down there alone?"

"Then stay," Santiago pleaded. "Just stay here with me until the end."

"No," Lincoln said, standing up, his heart hardening like forged steel. "I refuse to let the end be here. I refuse to let Cressida win."

He grabbed his supplies, packing them with quick, efficient movements. He took the last ration bar, the dagger he had crafted, and the ring.

"You are going to come back," Santiago said, a statement rather than a question.

Lincoln leaned over and grabbed the old man's hand. He pressed the ring into Santiago palm, closing the man's fingers around it. "On my mother soul, I will come back. I will find what we need, and I will be back before this light dies."

"Lincoln," Santiago started, his voice cracking.

"Don't," Lincoln said, shaking his head. "Don't say goodbye. It isn't goodbye."

He turned and hauled Santiago to his feet, guiding him toward the small, concealed alcove he had discovered. It was a tight fit, a fissure in the rock that opened into a surprisingly secure pocket. Lincoln cleared the debris, creating a soft bed for the old man.

"Get inside," Lincoln ordered gently.

Santiago moved into the darkness, his body limp. "What if you don't return?"

"I will," Lincoln said, pushing a massive slab of stone into place to seal the entrance. He left a small gap for air, enough for Santiago to breathe, but small enough to hide him from sight.

"I am trusting you," Santiago whispered from behind the rock.

"And I am saving you," Lincoln said, though he didn't know if he was saying it to Santiago or himself.

He turned his back on the safe zone and started walking toward the deep tunnel. His heart felt like it was being ripped from his chest. Every step away from the alcove was a step into a nightmare.

He moved into the deep zone, the air changing. It grew cold, metallic, and heavy. His cough returned, deep and rattling in his chest. He clutched his side, feeling the black veins on his arm pulse with the rhythm of his own fear.

He stepped over a pile of rusted metal. He wasn't sure what it was, but the System pinged in his mind, warning him of high radiation levels. He ignored it. He kept moving, deeper, further, into the belly of the beast.

He reached a junction where the walls were lined with strange, glowing runes. He stopped to examine them, his head spinning.

"What are you?" he whispered, reaching out to touch the stone.

The runes flared. The ground beneath his feet groaned. He pulled back, his hand shaking.

"Too deep," he murmured. "I have to be too deep."

He turned to look back at the path he had come from, wanting to run back, wanting to check on Santiago. But he couldn't. He had made his choice.

He didn't notice the shadow that detached itself from the ceiling behind him.

It was massive, a multi-legged construct made of brass and bone. It hung in the air, silent, waiting. It skittered across the ceiling, its metal claws making no sound, passing directly over the entrance to the safe zone where Santiago lay sleeping.

The creature stopped, sensing something. It tilted its head, a rhythmic clicking sound coming from its center. It looked at the rock Lincoln had moved to seal Santiago in.

Lincoln took another step forward, deeper into the dark, completely unaware that his path had just intersected with a monster that did not need to hunt. It only needed to find.