The radio sputtered, giving one last burst of static before falling silent. I stared at it, feeling the weight of Fernandez’s words sink in. Out of ammo. Health tanking. Civilian with him.

  "Southwest wing," Andrews muttered, breaking through the fog of my spiraling thoughts. His Sentinel drone hovered close, its faint blue light bouncing off the shattered glass of nearby exhibits. "That’s where the Spanish exhibits are." If they’re heading there, they’re not far, but…”

  “Yeah,” I said, my voice clipped as I lowered my Glock slightly, just enough to adjust my grip. But close doesn’t mean safe; the museum groaned around us, its long-abandoned halls stretching like the ribs of some ancient, decaying beast. Emergency lights flickered above, casting erratic flashes of red and gold that danced across the walls, illuminating fragments of chaos and despair. Ahead, the corridor curved sharply to the left, but not before opening into a broader gallery. I stepped forward, my boots crunching on broken glass—every sound in this place amplified like a shot in the dark. "Fernandez is running out of time. We need to move, now!" Andrews nodded, anxiety etched on his face, his hand tightening around his tablet as he glanced nervously down the hall. “Think someone’s after him?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I said, keeping my voice low as I advanced. “We’ll deal with it when we get there. Just stay sharp!”

  …

  The gallery loomed ahead, broken exhibits and toppled artifacts littering the floor. Shattered glass glinted like jagged stars under the weak emergency lights, and the odd smear of crimson marred the tiles. I caught Andrews’ sharp intake of breath as we passed a twisted pile of bodies crumpled against the far wall; I didn't need to look closer to know, The scene was hauntingly vivid: people, maybe a family or a group, once full of life, now reduced to desperate claw marks and defensive wounds on their bodies, all huddled together, their final moments . Blood smeared across the floor like a gruesome painting, a brutal reminder of how quickly survival turns into slaughter.”

  “Jesus Christ…” Andrews whispered.

  “Eyes up,” I said sharply, though the tension in my voice betrayed the unease gripping my chest. “Keep moving.”

  The copper tang of blood clung to the air like a miasma as we passed the bodies. With a sense of dread creeping in, Andrews muttered something under his breath—a prayer, maybe, or a curse—but I didn’t ask. My focus remained razor-sharp, each calculated step echoing in the oppressive silence, every sound dissected for lurking threats. The radio hissed faintly again, a soft crackle that barely broke through the silence. With every pulse of static, the dread and desperation surged, driving us forward—time was slipping away, and Fernandez’s life hung in the balance, a stark reminder of the darkness that lurked in the shadows.

  …

  The shadows clung to the museum like a second skin, muffling sound and stretching every flicker of light into ghostly silhouettes. Fernandez crouched low, his breath shallow, each exhale scraping against the oppressive silence. Blood seeped through his torn sleeve, pooling in his palm as he gripped his sidearm. Beside him, Izzy pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, her wide eyes darting between the mangled bodies littering the corridor ahead.

  “We need to move,” Fernandez whispered, his voice hoarse but steady.

  Her gaze locked onto the body in front of her—a small figure, curled like a question mark in death, What stopped her cold wasn’t the size. It was the purse.

  A woman’s purse, worn and cracked at the seams, was somehow fused the the small spine. A thin film of something clung to the tiles around it. Almost like honey—except it shimmered faintly. Like the inside of a gemstone.

  She stopped cold. She couldn’t make her legs move.

  Izzy shook her head violently, her body stiff with shock. “I-I can’t… I can’t step over—” Her voice broke, her gaze fixed on the remnants of what might’ve once been a child, lying broken on the floor. The faintest smear of handprints trailed beside the body, as though they'd tried, and failed, to crawl away.

  Fernandez shifted slightly, positioning himself between her and the carnage. His voice softened, but the edge of urgency never left. “I know it’s bad. But staying here is worse. If we don’t move, we’re next.” He leaned closer, his blood-slicked hand gripping her arm, pulling her gently but firmly getting her to move her feet. “Eyes up. One foot in front of the other. Don’t look down.”

  Izzy gagged, her knees buckling as the scent thickened—sweet, like burnt sap or overripe fruit mixed with death and decay grew sharper with each shallow breath. She turned to the side and retched violently, the sound echoing off the cold walls. Fernandez stayed silent, his eyes scanning the darkness behind them for any sign of movement. His gaze swept the corridor, and for the first time, he noticed the walls weren’t just smeared with blood. Long, jagged claw marks ran deep into the plaster, curving in arcs that told a story of brutal, wild ferocity. The bodies on the ground weren’t clean kills either. Limbs were torn, flesh shredded, some pieces missing entirely as though something had… eaten them. But all the bodies had small glowing sacks covering them.

  His stomach tightened, the instinctual dread clawing at his composure. Whatever did this wasn’t just hunting—it was feeding.

  The ominous sounds of the museum played tricks on him,The faint sound of footsteps—of a predator stalking its prey—Teasing the edge of his hearing. Then came the abrupt chime, sharp and intrusive, as though it had been dropped straight into his mind:

  “System Notification: 387 Participants Remaining.”

  Izzy flinched at the sound, clutching at Fernandez’s arm. Her whispered voice trembled. “It’s… counting them. Counting us.”

  "Stay close," he said, his tone sharp but controlled. His eyes swept the corridor, lingering on every shadow and flicker of movement. "If something comes, we don’t stop. We don’t fight. We run."

  Izzy followed, her breaths still uneven, though she fought to steady them. “Where are we even going?” she asked, her voice trembling despite the effort to sound composed.

  Fernandez nodded toward the faint glow of a sign ahead: Spanish Artifacts and Legends – Southwest Wing.

  “There’s an axe in that exhibit,” he said. “Not a display piece—a real one. Emergency gear. Fire department-grade. It’ll do the job.”

  Izzy frowned, casting a wary glance at the oppressive darkness ahead. “A fire axe? That’s… not exactly subtle.”

  “We don’t need subtle,” Fernandez replied, “We need survival.”

  The sound of a distant crash echoed through the halls, sharp and jarring. Both of them froze, Fernandez’s hand tightening instinctively around the holstered handgun. The noise faded, but the silence that followed was somehow worse.

  Izzy whispered, her voice barely audible, “You think it’s… them?”

  Fernandez shook his head, jaw tight. “Doesn’t matter.”

  Fernandez pressed forward, his steps deliberate yet burdened, leading her closer to their destination. Izzy lingered for a moment, her gaze drawn back down the corridor where the bodies lay scattered like discarded dolls, a grotesque tableau of desperation and death.

  Her stomach churned as her mind betrayed her, dredging up an image she’d tried so hard to bury. Jace’s sword cleaving through the air. David’s head splitting open like a melon under a hammer’s blow. She could still hear the sickening crack, see the way his knees buckled before his body crumpled lifeless to the floor. The absurd detail came unbidden: Why did it look like it exploded instead of slicing cleanly?

  The memory clawed at her, her breathing quickening as her gaze darted back to the tiny, bloodied handprints smeared on the wall. If I’d never given them weapons, maybe Davis would still be alive… If I’d been courageous, maybe I could’ve stopped Jace.

  Her fists clenched tighter, nails pressing into her palms until they left raw crescents. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over. Courage? The word twisted in her mind, sharp and bitter. It’s easy to talk about courage when you’re not staring at someone like him. When you’re not choking on fear.

  Her breath hitched as her gaze dropped to the floor. The weight of her own inadequacy bore down on her, heavy and suffocating. I was helpless. And now… I’m still helpless. Still useless.

  Her eyes flicked back to the bloodied handprints on the wall, and something inside her fractured. Her breath quickened, shallow and ragged. “No,” she whispered, her voice barely audible at first. Then louder, harsher: “No. No, no!”

  She clamped her hands over her head, squeezing her eyes shut as tears streaked down her face. A scream of frustration bubbled in her throat, but she swallowed it back, shaking her head violently. If I don’t do something… If I don’t fight… I’ll end up just like them.

  Fernandez slowed, his boots scuffing against the floor as he turned back to her. His eyes scanned her face–their usual hardness softening just a fraction–noting the tear tracks and the raw determination that flickered beneath them. “You alright?”

  Izzy blinked hard, clearing her vision. “I’m fine,” she bit out, though her voice trembled at the edges.

  Fernandez didn’t press further. He gave her a brief nod, his tone steady. “Let’s move. We’re almost there.”

  Her legs felt like lead, each step a battle against the weight of her own fear, but she pushed forward, falling into step beside him. Her voice wavered, barely audible as she muttered, more to herself than to him, “Not again. Never again.”

  Fernandez cast her a sidelong glance, his eyes narrowing briefly in quiet scrutiny. He said nothing, turning his focus back to the corridor ahead. The sign for the Spanish Artifacts and Legends exhibit loomed above, its faint glow flickering like a distant promise—or a warning.

  The corridor opened into the Spanish Artifacts and Legends exhibit, a shadowed room filled with remnants of a storied history. Dim emergency lights cast long shadows across ornate displays, highlighting rusted swords, tarnished suits of armor, and faded banners. The atmosphere was heavy, not just with the weight of the past but with the foreboding that hung thick in the air.

  Fernandez stepped forward, his eyes scanning the room with the methodical precision of a soldier. His movements were deliberate, his breath steady as he took stock of their surroundings. The faint hum of the museum’s systems echoed through the cavernous space, interrupted only by the occasional groan of strained infrastructure.

  “There,” he muttered, nodding toward the far end of the exhibit. Encased behind a clear protective panel, an emergency fire axe hung in stark contrast to the historical artifacts around it. Its handle gleamed faintly under the flickering light, its blade sharp and utilitarian—a weapon designed for survival.

  Izzy lingered at the edge of the room, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her gaze darted nervously to the displays, the suits of armor taking on a menacing quality in the low light. She felt the weight of their hollow stares, as though the remnants of forgotten warriors were silently judging her.

  “You sure about this?” she asked, her voice thin. “I mean, shouldn’t we be looking for something… better? One of these swords or—”

  “No.” Fernandez cut her off, his tone firm but not harsh. “Those aren’t options. They’re replicas, dull and brittle. The axe is real. He didn’t wait for her response, already moving toward the case.

  Izzy lingered a step behind Fernandez, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her gaze flickered between his bloodstreaked arm and the faint, jagged scars carved into the museum walls. Her thoughts churned, the memories clawing their way to the surface. Her mind churned, the weight of everything pressing down on her like a vice. Do I really want to do this again?

  The memories came unbidden, sharp and cruel. Davis screaming at me, pleading. Tyrell smirking as he grabbed the weapon out of my hands, Jace watching with that blank, dead-eyed stare. The argument had been loud enough to echo, and her voice had been drowned out in the chaos.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  She’d given in, overwhelmed, and the decision had sealed their fates. She could still hear the slice of the blade, the sickening crunch as Jace turned on them. I knew it wasn’t safe. I knew it was wrong. And I still—

  Her gaze flicked to Fernandez, his movements calm and deliberate as he hefted the axe and moved toward another case. He wasn’t like them. There was no cruelty in his eyes, no calculated malice. He wasn’t looking for power—he was looking for survival.

  Her jaw tightened. This isn’t like before. He’s not a child playing soldier. But the fear of what might happen if she was wrong again lingered like a shadow, clawing at the edges of her resolve.

  Her eyes darted to the walls, where claw marks and streaks of blood told a story of raw, brutal violence. The memory of Davis’s shattered skull flashed in her mind again, overlapping with the sight of tiny handprints smeared on the wall. A chill coursed through her, the weight of it sinking deep into her chest.

  If I don’t do something… I’ll end up just like Davis. Dead.

  She glanced back at Fernandez, watching as he pried a shield from its case, his movements steady despite the blood streaking his arm. He’s the right one, she told herself, a spark of conviction pushing her forward. He has to be.

  Izzy stepped forward, forcing herself to close the distance between them. Izzy’s eyes flicked to the plaque beneath the empty display, the faint emergency light catching on the engraved letters. Her voice was hesitant, shaky. “Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar… El Cid Campeador. What does that mean?”

  Fernandez didn’t answer immediately. The shield felt heavier than it should in his grip—not from its weight, but from the significance it seemed to carry. He ran a thumb along the edge, where faint etchings caught the light like whispers of a story he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  “El Cid,” he said finally, his voice low and deliberate. “They called him the Lord Champion. A warrior. A leader. He fought to unite people when everything was falling apart. Made himself a legend doing it.”

  Izzy’s gaze lingered on the plaque, her arms wrapping tightly around herself. “And you know this because...?”

  System Notification

  Item Recognized: Relic of Lineage - Shield of the Lord Champion

  Bearer Identified: Hector Fernandez

  Bloodline Connection Confirmed.

  Fernandez’s breath caught as the notification flashed before his eyes, the glowing words hovering mid-air like an unspoken truth made manifest. . For a moment, the chaos of the museum faded into the background—He stared at the shield in his hand, his grip tightening on its edge. The rough texture of the metal seemed warmer now, alive almost, as though it had been waiting for him. Waiting for this moment.

  “Fernandez?” Izzy’s voice was cautious, but the underlying urgency couldn’t be ignored. She took a hesitant step closer, her arms dropping to her sides. “What is it? You’re freaking me out.”

  He blinked, the notification fading from his vision, but the knowledge it left behind felt permanent, etched into his bones. He turned toward her, his jaw set, but there was something behind his eyes—an unease that betrayed the stoic facade he always wore.

  “It’s the shield,” he said quietly, lifting it slightly as if that explained everything. He let out a slow breath and glanced at the plaque again, as though it might offer some kind of confirmation. “The system… it recognized it.”

  Izzy’s brows knit together in confusion. “What do you mean, ‘recognized it’? Like it’s… special?” She hesitated, her voice dropping.

  For a moment, Fernandez didn’t look at her, his attention fixed on the shield. “My great-grandmother,” he said, his tone quieter, more measured now. “She used to tell me about him when I was a kid. Said we were blood—his descendants. I thought it was just a family myth. Something to make us feel... bigger than we were.”

  Izzy tilted her head, her voice soft but pointed. “And now?”

  Fernandez finally looked up, his eyes dark but steady. He lifted the shield slightly, as though testing its balance, and exhaled slowly. “Now, I’m not sure it matters if it’s true. It’s here. I’m here. He said as he adjusted his grip on the shield, his tone hardening. “It’s not just a weapon anymore—it’s a tool for survival.”

  Izzy’s chest tightened as she watched him. Survival. That word echoed in her mind like a command she hadn’t yet obeyed. She thought of the claw marks on the walls, the blood smears, the bodies they’d stepped over to get here. All this death, all this chaos—and yet, Fernandez wasn’t hesitating. He was stepping into the fire without a second thought.

  Her gaze flicked to the axe in his other hand, the sharp edge gleaming faintly in the flickering light. He’d found tools to fight back. Tools to survive. And her? She clenched her fists, the conviction she’d found earlier bubbling to the surface.

  This was her moment. Her chance to step forward.

  “Fernandez,” she said, her voice breaking the silence.

  He turned toward her, his brow furrowing slightly. “What is it?”

  Izzy took a steadying breath, her voice trembling but firm. “I can make them better. The axe. The shield. Both of them.” Probably only one at a time right now I’ll have to take a break so you’ll have to decide which one I do first.

  Fernandez’s expression sharpened, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What do you mean?”

  “My ability,” she said quickly, forcing herself to push past the weight in her chest. “I can enhance things. Make them stronger, sharper, more effective.”

  He studied her for a long moment, his gaze flicking between her and the weapon in his hands. Finally, he held the axe out toward her, the edge glinting in the dim light. “Then do it.”

  Izzy adjusted her grip on the axe, the tool’s solid weight grounding her in the moment. Its edge caught the dim emergency lighting, a razer sharp blade that had seen no more than fire drills and training scenarios—until now. She set it on the cracked glass of a toppled display case, steadying her breath as she forced herself to focus.

  She placed her palm against the axe and closed her eyes, reaching inward for the strange energy she’d felt since the start of the integration. It resisted her at first, sluggish and stubborn, but she pushed harder, forcing it into motion. The world around her seemed to hold its breath, the tension coiling tighter and tighter.

  Then she froze.

  It was faint at first—a subtle pull in her chest, sharp and insistent, drawing her toward something else. Her brow furrowed as her focus broke, her eyes snapping open to scan the room. The pull sharpened, and her gaze landed on the shield hanging at Fernandez’s side.

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  “It’s not the axe,” she murmured, almost too quietly to hear.

  “What?” Fernandez asked, his brow furrowing.

  Izzy straightened, her eyes fixed on the shield. “I don’t know why but I think we should enhance the shield,” she said, her voice steadier now.

  Fernandez followed her gaze, his hand brushing the shield’s rim. “The shield?”

  “I can’t explain it, but… it feels important.” Izzy said, stepping closer as her fingers twitched with the urge to reach out.—” She hesitated, swallowing hard. “I think the system wants me to enhance it first.”

  He tilted his head slightly, studying her. For a moment, it seemed like he might argue, but then he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I still think we should do the axe but you’re the one with the ability. If you think the shield’s the play, then go for it.”

  Izzy blinked, surprised. “Just like that?”

  “Just like that,” Fernandez said, his tone practical. “We need whatever’s going to give us the best shot at getting out of here. If that’s the shield, then let’s do it.”

  Her breath steadied as she stepped closer, brushing her fingers against the shield’s surface. The pull sharpened immediately, and the system’s voice cut through her mind:

  System Notification

  : Shield of the Lord Champion.

  Bloodline Match Detected: Hector Fernandez.

  Synergy Opportunity Detected: Combine with compatible weapon.

  Requirement: Bearer’s Blood.

  Izzy froze, the words burning into her mind. She looked at Fernandez, her voice tight. “The system’s saying it’s connected to you. Something about your bloodline. And it’s giving me the option to combine a weapon with the shield.”

  Combine?” Fernandez asked, his brow furrowing.

  She nodded. “But it’s calling it a ritual enhancement. It needs your blood to work.

  Fernandez sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as he glanced down at the. “Of course it does,” he muttered. “The system gives and the system takes away.” He rubbed his face with his uninjured hand, his expression flattening into something between annoyance and resignation. “I just got this damn gunshot wound closed up, and now I’ve got to cut myself open again? Perfect.”

  Izzy blinked, startled by the dry humor. “Seriously?”

  Fernandez gave her a faint smirk as he glanced at the axe and shield, his jaw tightening briefly before he nodded. “If it’s tied to me, then we’ll use it. Whatever it takes.”

  Izzy hesitated. “You’re sure? Once it’s done, it—”

  “Do it,” he said firmly.

  She didn’t argue. The pull in her chest was overwhelming now, urging her forward. She nodded and stepped back as Fernandez grabbed the axe. Without hesitation, he dragged the blade across his palm, blood welled immediately, dripping onto the shield below. For a moment, the room was still, the only sound was the faint drip of blood hitting metal. Then, the system’s cold voice echoed in Izzy’s mind:

  System Notification

  Blood Component Acquired. Ritual Enhancement Initiated.

  Enhancement Progress: 0%

  Blood Required: 15% of 100%.

  Then the blood began moving.

  Izzy’s breath hitched as the first droplets spread unnaturally, branching into thin, spider web-like lines that crawled across the shield’s surface. The veins pulsed faintly, their glow deepening as they snaked toward the axe, bridging the gap between the two.

  The items began to tremble, their edges warping as the transformation slowly took hold.

  Enhancement Progress: 12%

  Additional Blood Required: 88%.

  Fernandez’s breaths steadied as he held his bleeding hand over the shield. The crimson droplets continued to drip, sinking into the metal as though it were alive, drinking deeply with each passing second.

  The system chimed again in Izzy’s mind

  The blood moved faster now, the spiderweb-like lines thickening and spreading outward with purpose. The shield glowed faintly, its intricate etchings illuminated with a deep, pulsing crimson light. The axe began to respond as well, the blade trembling as veins of red crawled up its surface, wrapping around the handle like vines.

  Fernandez winced, his grip faltering for just a moment before he steadied himself. Izzy noticed the paleness creeping across his face, the way his shoulders sagged slightly as more blood flowed.

  “It’s taking too much,” she said sharply. “You need to stop for a second, or—”

  “Not happening,” Fernandez interrupted, dragging the axe blade across his palm again to deepen the cut. The blood poured faster, soaking into the shield with an almost greedy intensity.

  System Notification

  Enhancement Progress: 49%

  Additional Blood Required: 51%.

  The tension in the room was palpable as the shield and axe began to visibly take shape, their forms shifting and twisting under the strain of the ritual. The axe’s blade elongated, jagged edges forming along its surface, while the shield’s rim sharpened, spikes protruding along its circumference.

  System Notification

  Enhancement Progress: 78%

  Additional Blood Required: 22%.

  The hum in the room deepened, vibrating through the air like a heartbeat. Izzy’s stomach twisted as the crimson veins pulsed violently, spreading across the shield and axe until their surfaces were almost entirely consumed. The jagged edges of the shield glinted faintly, while the axe handle seemed to darken with webs of red glyphs pulsating like something alive beneath its surface.

  Fernandez swayed slightly, his breathing labored, but he kept his hand pressed against the shield. The system’s final notification echoed in Izzy’s mind:

  System Notification

  Enhancement Progress: 100%.

  Ritual Complete.

  The trembling stopped, and with it, the oppressive hum that had filled the room. A final burst of crimson veins surged outward, crawling over the shield and axe in jagged, spiderweb-like patterns. The air stilled, heavy and electric, as the glow dimmed to an ember-like pulse.

  Izzy squinted through the faint haze of blood-tinged light. Where there had been two separate tools, there was now one—a monstrous hybrid forged from necessity and sacrifice.

  The shield had grown in size, its surface rippling with veins of hardened crimson alloy that seemed to shimmer and twist beneath the light. Razor-sharp spikes lined the outer edge of its circular form, each protrusion gleaming like a predatory fang. The rim itself was sharpened to an unnatural degree, capable of cutting as much as defending. But what drew her attention most was the axe handle—now seamlessly fused to the shield’s back. It jutted outward, sturdy and brutal, allowing the shield to double as a devastating two-handed weapon.

  Fernandez crouched, testing its weight. As his hands gripped the shield’s reinforced edge, the axe handle retracted into the shield’s surface with a faint mechanical hiss, locking into place for defensive use. He shifted his grip, grasping the handle again, and the shield shifted, its edges vibrating slightly as though eager to strike.

  Izzy’s breath caught as she took it in, awe and exhaustion mingling in her voice. “It’s… alive,” she murmured, almost too softly to hear.

  Fernandez let the weapon rest for a moment, his attention drawn to his hand. The deep cut from the ritual was already knitting itself back together, the blood flow slowing. He turned his palm, flexing his fingers experimentally, and exhaled through his nose.

  “I’ll say this for the system,” he muttered, his voice dry. “It doesn’t waste time. Out of combat, and I’m already healing.

  Fernandez shifted his grip, letting the axe handle extend again with a faint mechanical hiss. The shield portion hit the floor with a dull thud, the weight of it echoing through the room like a challenge to anyone listening. He leaned against it, his posture casual, but the weapon’s sheer presence was anything but.

  The crimson veins across the hybrid relic pulsed faintly, the glow soft but insistent, like a heartbeat finding its rhythm. Fernandez’s breaths slowed, each inhale steadier than the last. The tension in his shoulders eased, the frantic edge that had been driving them softening into something steadier, more deliberate.

  He flexed his fingers experimentally. The faint sting from his earlier wounds had dulled, and the cut on his palm no longer throbbed as it should have. His energy wasn’t surging, but the weight of exhaustion had lifted, replaced by a strange equilibrium that felt both alien and reassuring.

  Then came the chime.

  Worldwide System Notification

  A Legendary Relic Has Been Forged!

  Blood-Borne Shield-Axe of El Cid

  ? Type: Hybrid Weapon (Bound to Hector Fernandez)

  ? Creators: Hector Fernandez and Isabel Hart

  Legendary Designation:

  This relic was forged through extraordinary means and bloodline resonance with Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar, El Cid Campeador. A turning point in the System Apocalypse, its creation will shape the future of those who wield it—and those who seek it.

  Fernandez closed his eyes briefly, letting the system’s words sink in before glancing at Izzy. The weapon’s weight in his hands felt heavier now—not from its size, but from what it represented.

  “Fucking great,” he muttered, his voice dry but sharper than before. “And now the whole world knows.” He straightened slightly, rolling his shoulders as his weight shifted onto his back foot. Whatever fatigue had lingered in his expression was gone, replaced by something colder, sharper. His lips twisted into a faint smirk as his gaze flicked toward Izzy. “Let’s hope it was worth the blood.”

  Izzy stepped closer, her eyes flicking from the glowing relic to Fernandez. The way his stance had shifted—more stable, almost grounded—didn’t escape her notice. Her voice was quieter now but steady, layered with a mix of awe and conviction. “It will be.”

  The faint sound of distant movement reached their ears. Footsteps ricocheted through the halls, sharp and uneven, echoing like the first strike of a drumline.

  Fernandez turned toward the sound, his grip tightening on the hybrid weapon. The calm that had settled over him now hardened into focus. “Stay close,” he said, his voice low but commanding. “Something’s coming.”

  The pounding footsteps grew louder, closer, until it was impossible to tell if they belonged to prey—or predator.