Denna

DENNA

" L aren!" I called out. "How much longer?"

No response. I gritted my teeth and climbed faster, ignoring the burning in my arms. Laren had gone ahead to start the repairs, but something was wrong.

I reached the bottom of the shaft and slid out onto the ledge. Laren stood motionless in front of an open panel, her eyes vacant. Wires and strange, pulsing tubes spilled out like entrails.

"Laren, snap out of it!" I shook her shoulders, but she remained unresponsive.

The floor beneath us lurched violently. I stumbled, catching myself on the edge of the panel. My hand brushed against one of the writhing tubes, and I jerked back with a hiss of pain.

With a wince, I plunged my hands back into the mess of wires and tubes. The burning sensation returned, but I pushed through it. Something blocked the flow—I could feel it. My fingers probed deeper, searching for the obstruction.

There. A hard lump, about the size of a walnut. I wrapped my hand around it and squeezed.

The lump pulsed once, twice, then burst. A flood of warm liquid gushed over my hands, and I gagged at the coppery smell. Blood? No, that was impossible.

The temple's groaning subsided, but now a high-pitched whine filled the air. The sound bored into my skull, threatening to split it open.

"Laren, please!" I grabbed her arm. "I need your help!"

For a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of awareness in her eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by that terrible blankness.

I turned back to the panel. The whine grew louder, and I clapped my hands over my ears. Think, !

My gaze fell on a small, crystal-like structure nestled among the wires. It glowed with an angry red light. Without knowing why, I reached out and touched it.

Images assaulted me—star-filled skies, strange metal birds, people in gleaming armor.

The visions vanished as quickly as they'd come. I blinked, disoriented, but my hands moved with newfound purpose. I traced a series of symbols on the crystal's surface, my fingers leaving smears of blood—or whatever that liquid was.

The whine cut off abruptly. We were deep within the Temple of Terr, surrounded by old metal hallways that reeked of age. Everything about this place felt wrong, unnatural.

And there was no way out.

"Ready for the next task," Laren said flatly, her blank gaze sliding past me.

All our other companions were gone, leaving just me and what remained of Laren.

"Sector Seven North," came Brenna's voice from the grid—or what was left of her, now part of the temple itself.

I turned off the tool, my hand shaking. Would I ever get used to this horror? Laren moved robotically towards the next area.

Suddenly, I heard voices that made my blood run cold. The priests.

Their faces haunted my nightmares, their cruel firewhips a constant threat. And today, I just couldn't bear seeing them.

Panicking, I spotted an alcove nearby and pulled Laren into the narrow space. We pressed against the wall, surrounded by blinking lights and strange controls covering every surface.

Father Zarak's voice cut through the air. "We're running low on parts. If the biomech systems fail, we could lose control of the populace. We need new blood. Fresh...meat."

"The Drawing of Five Lots won't happen for months," Father Aronn replied.

"Then we'll hold a special drawing. A feast to celebrate our new acolytes' ascension," Zarak said.

"The flock will revolt if we demand more daughters. Our surveillance capabilities hang by a thread," Aronn disagreed, a rare note of contention.

I held my breath, barely daring to move. Laren stood unnaturally still beside me, more statue than girl.

"So we let the living machine wither and die? Let our divine mission collapse?" Zarak asked. "We didn't dedicate our existence just to lose control! We must find a solution, whatever the cost."

"Then let it be a matter of cost," Aronn said. "We'll procure women from the flesh pits," he continued coldly. "Paint them as villains, then emerge as their saviors."

"This could work," Zarak mused. "Why limit ourselves to the Five Lots when we can take as many as we need?"

I couldn't bear another word of their scheming.

As soon as they passed by, I tugged Laren's wrist, slipping into the darkness as the door slid shut with a soft whoosh, cutting off all light and sound.

"Sector Seven North," Laren mumbled in the oppressive black.

"This is a shortcut," I lied, the temple's labyrinth endlessly confusing even to us.

"This way, child," a familiar voice suddenly whispered—Niam, the Oracle.

I froze. Recently, Niam had changed, becoming more aware of the world around her. About those of us who lived in the Temple with her.

But she was still the servant of the priests. Could I trust her?

A seam of light appeared, widening into a doorway where Niam's shadowy figure beckoned. Cautiously, I approached with Laren trailing behind me.

In the small, illuminated round room, Niam gently cupped our faces, searching our eyes intently with her cool, papery touch.

"You are fully present. Good," she murmured as she examined me.

I suppressed a shudder. The Oracle had always unnerved me, her face as pale as the dead, the cap of red hair chopped so close to the scalp that it revealed the metal plate that ran behind her ear.

"We were on our way to—" I began, but Laren cut me off.

"Sector Seven. North."

"You concealed yourselves from the priests," Niam stated. I stayed silent under her penetrating gaze.

"Their desperation mounts daily. Yet the cause eludes them," she continued.

"Maybe because their maidens keep disappearing?" I snapped, unable to hold my tongue any longer. "They're vile, not stupid."

"Not stupid, but their minds are limited," Niam clarified. "Forces beyond the temple shift beyond their understanding or memory. They can only focus on dominion over the people."

"And the missing girls? Lita? Mila?"

Niam's eyes darkened. "The priests believe the living machine consumed them. Its hunger is... insatiable."

"Consumed?" Laren echoed, a flicker of fear crossing her vacant face.

"You've endured too long in the Tomb," Niam sighed, stroking her cheek. "I am sorry."

A shudder ran through me at the mention of that nightmare.

Fragments of my last session flashed through my mind. A man's strong arms encircled me, his unworldly gaze holding me fast as his voice murmured words in an unknown language. Yet I understood every syllable, as if the knowledge had always lived inside me.

The memory faded like smoke, leaving behind an ache of longing I couldn't explain.

I shook myself, trying to clear the hazy vision. "The Tomb... it does things to your mind," I said, more to myself than the others.

Niam's eyes narrowed as she studied me. "What did you see, child?"

I hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. "Nothing important. Just... strange dreams."

A flicker of a smile. "Our dreams may now be our salvation."

That made no sense. "The priests. What did they mean by fresh meat?" I pressed on.

For a moment, her eyes went blank, and I feared I had lost her to the Oracle's cryptic realm. But she managed to focus on me once more.

"It's an emergency protocol gone horribly wrong. A way to replace crew members who died suddenly. But since the crash, malfunctions have multiplied, the bugs in the programming evolved. Just look at Brenna…"

Her words left me reeling. Crew members? Crash? Programming?

What did any of that mean?

Niam tilted her head, evaluating me. "You are from the Five Ring, from a warrior clan. Will you fight? For your people? For yourself?"

Before I could respond to her insane request, she winced in pain as Father Zarak's grating voice rang out tinnily from the plate by her ear.

"Oracle! Meet me in the prayer chamber after your services!"

Niam pressed her temples, face contorting in concentration. "Decide now," she bit out. Her eyes flicked to Laren. "My options are limited...as are yours. Proceed to Sector Seven North, then rest until I find you again."

Laren disappeared, without a glance behind her, without any indication that she had understood the conversation around her.

Was that what my future held?

Did I really want to stay here, become nothing but a tool for the priests, for the temple? An empty shell?

"I'll go," I declared, my resolve hardening.

Niam nodded. "Then I'd best prepare you."

We descended deeper into the temple's bowels, the gloom pressing in from all sides. Niam led me through a maze of connected chambers, vast and dusty, filled with crates and boxes. She disappeared behind a stack of pallets, and I hurried to catch up, icy blades of fear clenching in my gut. What was I doing?

A wooden trunk sat atop a low stack of crates. Niam turned to me, a bauble hanging from a gold chain in her hand. "Follow this," she instructed, four gems surrounding the spindle, one blinking with blue light.

As I took the necklace, the light shifted to another gem, pointing in the same direction. "It will lead you to a relic. Mila has the sister part."

Shock rippled through me. "Mila? She's not dead?"

"She has chased down a fragment of Terr—one of the ones that were spread across this world."

"Past the Infinity Ring?" I breathed, my mind reeling.

Niam nodded. "The Infinity Ring is only a euphemism for the planet outside the city. But, yes. Mila is out there. Lita, also."

It was too much. I couldn't even be surprised. All I could do was move forward.

"Where are they?"

"The tracker will lead you to the relic. The relic will lead you to Mila."

Insanity , I thought. Venturing beyond the city, where only horrors stalked the woods? It was unthinkable.

"I've gone through the old donations to the temple, gathered what I think will be useful to you in that trunk," Niam said, her voice urgent. "The tunnel to the outside is at the end of this chamber. Remember, you won't be alone out there. This world has more secrets than you know. And there is more than one way to fight."

I opened the trunk, my fingers closing around the hilt of a sword. The blade, keen and glittering in the low light, was finer than any weapon my father had owned.

"Niam—" I turned to face her, a thousand questions on my lips.

But she was gone, leaving me alone with the sword and the weight of an impossible task.