Zane was counting the exits from the market square when the kid appeared at his elbow. He didn't know the face — maybe eight years old, dirty hands, eyes that wouldn't meet his. The kid pressed a folded paper into his palm and ran before Zane could speak. He unfolded the note. Three names at the bottom, written in his siblings' handwriting — he knew the slant of each letter like he knew his own scar. Above the signatures: a single line. *We're inside the mountain. Come alone.* Zane looked up to track the kid, but the child was already gone, swallowed by the crowd near the base of the spiked structure that rose at the edge of Krakenring. Purple light crackled at its peak, casting shadows that moved wrong. He'd passed it a hundred times and never seen anyone go in. Now he folded the note into his pocket and started walking, because his siblings had just told him exactly where they were, and whether it was a trap or a miracle didn't matter anymore. The kraken-topped lamp marked the spot where he stopped to read it again. His hands shook as he smoothed the rough paper flat. The sunflower and moon drawn at the corners — his youngest always drew those, called them the day and night siblings watching over each other. His middle sister's signature was half cursive, half print, exactly like she'd been practicing. The oldest had pressed so hard the pen tore through in one spot. Real. This was real. Zane lifted his eyes to the mountain of spikes. The purple portal at its crown pulsed like a heartbeat. He'd spent weeks chasing ghosts and breaking down doors that led nowhere. Now his siblings had found him first, reached out through a stranger's hands with a message that could only mean one thing: they were still fighting. He folded the note back into his pocket, felt its weight against his ribs, and walked toward the structure. The crowd thinned as he got closer. No one else was heading that direction. No one wanted to see where the mountain led. But Zane had stopped caring about what came after the moment he saw their names.

The stairs ended at a vault door set into thick stone walls. Crystals grew from the cracks between blocks, pink and yellow and pulsing with that same heartbeat rhythm. Zane stopped three steps from the bottom. The door was reinforced metal, heavy bolts around the frame, built to keep something in or someone out. He'd seen doors like this before — back when his father moved goods through locked warehouses in the old district. This wasn't a prison. It was storage. His chest tightened. If his siblings were behind that door, they weren't being held like captives. They were being kept like inventory. He descended the last steps and pressed his ear to the metal. No voices. No movement. Just a faint hum, electrical, like the buzz of a federal power grid. Zane pulled back and studied the door. No handle on this side either, but there was a seam where two panels met. He wedged his fingers into the gap and pulled. The metal groaned. His shoulders burned. The door shifted an inch, then stuck. He braced his boot against the wall and pulled harder. Something snapped inside the frame — a lock breaking or a hinge giving way. The door swung open and Zane stumbled back, catching himself on the stairs. The room beyond was empty. No cells. No children. Just a circular chamber lit by blue light from glowing seams in the floor. And in the center, coiled on the stone, was a rusted chain. Zane crossed the threshold and crouched beside it. The links were broken in three places, mineral deposits crusted over the metal like dried blood. He picked up one end. It was warm. Fresh. Someone had been chained here recently — recently enough that the metal still held their heat. He turned the chain over and saw scratches along one link. Letters. Initials. His middle sister's. Zane stood, the chain dangling from his fist. They'd been here. They'd left him proof. And now they were gone again, moved deeper into the mountain while he'd wasted time breaking through doors. But the chain meant something else too. It meant they'd gotten free, at least for a moment. Long enough to break the links. Long enough to leave a mark. He looked at the glowing seams in the floor, tracing the pattern they made — arrows, all pointing toward the far wall. His siblings weren't just leaving traces. They were leaving him a path. Zane dropped the chain and followed the light.