Chapter 18

The Sacred Fire

The ancient doors groaned in protest as Julian's form slammed into them, the rotten wood splintering under the power of the otherworldly force behind him. Elara stumbled through the entrance, her mind a mix of terror and confusion. They were not running from individuals, but from something else. Something that spoke of guardians and lines and a power older than the city itself.

This way! Julian roared, pulling her to her feet and into a cave unlike any they had seen. It was an enormous, cylindrical cavern, a massive underground silo of breathtaking proportions. The air here was strangely warm and still, and the pulsing sound of rushing water was now a deafening roar. In the center of the cavern, a cascade of water fell from a massive, circular vent high above, crashing into a deep, circular pool below, the surface of which glimmered with the same iridescent, swirling light as the 'Child of Aethel.'

This was not a natural waterfall. It was a part of the 'Aethel' project itself.

The core's containment system, Elara breathed, her architectural mind kicking in despite the adrenaline. It's a kinetic energy hydro-generator. The water's constant pressure powers the core's field.

Julian didn't respond. He was gazing out at the water, an expression of deep realization on his face. The Sacred Fire, he breathed, his voice filled with wonder. My father's diaries, he said, held the key to Aethel's energy. It wasn't water; it was the project's lifeblood.

Behind them, the ancient wooden doors exploded inward with a sickening crack. The 'Child of Aethel,' its form now a churning vortex of shimmering light and enraged whispers, flowed into the chamber. It was faster now, a lethal blur of power. It moved to cut them off, its single voice echoing from all sides, a chorus of angry accusations: The Thorne! The one who seeks to profane the Sacred Fire! Surrender the lineage, or be cleansed!

Julian pushed Elara forward, towards a catwalk that led out over the gleaming basin. Go! I'll hold it back!

What do you plan on doing? Elara screamed, her heart racing.

Julian pulled out his gun, yet his gaze was not on the creature but on the huge hydro-generator overhead. My father left me a means. The Thorne line wasn't simply a guardian of Aethel; we were supposed to be its counterbalance. Its failsafe. He turned to her, his face a grim mask of resolve. My blood can disrupt its system. Disorient it. Give us time.

He breathed deeply, targeted a vital control panel on the wall high above, and shot. The bullet missed. The 'Child of Aethel' moved forward, a silent, lethal tide of incandescent fluid.

Your arm! Elara cried, seeing that his wound was rendering his aim impossible.

Then we need to get closer! he roared, grabbing a thick, rusted chain hanging from a winch. I'll swing across and overload the system manually. You head for the other side!

Elara did not hesitate. She crawled onto the catwalk, her hands trembling as she went out over the shining void. She looked on in horror as Julian, with one last, despairing glance at her, swung himself out over the void, his body a dark curve against the sparkling water.

The 'Child of Aethel' sensed his move. It surged from the water, forming a massive, tidal wave of liquid power that swelled to meet him. It was a race against time, a clash between flesh and magic, between a desperate man and a furious, ancient force.

As Julian neared the control panel, the entity's wave crashed over him. His body was engulfed in the shimmering light, and a final, guttural cry was torn from his lips as he disappeared from view, absorbed into the glowing, churning vortex. The sacred pool roiled, its light pulsing with a triumphant, menacing beat.

Elara was motionless on the catwalk, a soundless scream stuck in her throat. Julian was gone. She was on her own. The 'Child of Aethel' turned its shining, triumphant gaze upon her, and its voice, now victoriously angry, echoed through the cave.

The profane is gone! The lineage is ours! Join us, child of Aethel!

Elara was frozen, tears rolling down her face. She had lost her protector, her last hope. But then, as her mind was about to shatter, she gazed at the portfolio she grasped in her hands, her father's blueprint, his last secret. Her father had a solution to everything, a plan for every eventuality. He had to. She opened the portfolio, and her eyes fell upon a cryptic diagram, an odd, lovely symbol scribbled in the margins. It wasn't an architectural notation. It was a rune. One potent symbol that she recognized with a horrifying certainty was intended to be used on the very thing that had just taken Julian Thorne.