Souls Below - Rebellion

Chapter Thirty-Five

The silence of the street was thick, broken only by the echo of our footsteps. Pipes hissed faintly above us, the air dense with the faint smell of oil and metal decay. We were close now, the restricted sector door loomed ahead like a final judgment, rusted edges swallowed in shadows. A checkpoint to the unknown.

Krane walked beside me, close enough that our arms brushed occasionally. He hadn’t left my side since we started moving, not once. He watched everything, every corner, every flicker of shadow. And always Braken.

The rebel leader had drifted a few steps ahead with Calian, the two of them speaking in low voices, too quiet to catch. Calian’s expression was taut, like something was gnawing at him. Braken’s, as usual, was unreadable—half smirk, half calculation. I couldn’t tell if they were arguing or forming some private understanding.

Krane clearly didn’t like it.

We slowed as the street widened before the restricted door. Pipes and conduits spidered along the walls, many snapped or leaking in slow, rhythmic drips. The heavy door stood sealed a few metres ahead, its console dark and unwelcoming.

Krane touched my arm gently, pulling me back as the others kept walking.

“You sure you’re going to be okay?” he asked quietly. I blinked up at him, his voice wasn’t just soft—it was small, like he didn’t want to hear the answer if it wasn’t yes.

“I’ll survive,” I replied with a faint smile. “I’ve come this far, right?”

His eyes searched mine. “That’s not the same as being okay, Mira.”

I hesitated, then looked away. “I don’t really know what ‘okay’ looks like anymore.” That made something flicker across his face—pain, maybe. Or guilt.

“I don’t like this,” he muttered. “Any of it. You being hurt, the rebel leader involved, you dragged into whatever this is.”

“I chose this,” I reminded him, gently. “I chose to fight for the Lowers.”

“Yeah,” he said, jaw tightening. “But I don’t have to like the people we’re fighting with.” His eyes cut forward, toward Braken. I followed his gaze. The rebel leaned in to murmur something to Calian, who didn’t respond at first. Then slowly nodded, expression unreadable. The hairs on my arms prickled.

“You don’t trust him,” I stated, more observation than question.

Krane’s lips thinned. “No. And neither should you.”

“You know something?” His silence stretched just long enough to make my pulse rise.

“I know enough,” he answered finally. “Enough to be careful.” There was weight behind those words—something heavy he wasn’t telling me. A truth hovering just out of reach.

I touched his hand, grounding him. “I am being careful. And I have you, don’t I?” His eyes softened at that.

“Always.” Just ahead, Braken turned slightly, calling back over his shoulder.

“You two lovebirds done whispering, or do I need to give you a moment?” Krane exhaled sharply through his nose, but said nothing. Just squared his shoulders and moved forward. The look which passed Calian’s face at the comment turned dark.

I followed—my fingers briefly grazing Krane’s before letting go.

My stomach sank as the door to the restricted sector hissed open, its metal groaning like it had held its breath too long. A wave of musty, damp air rushed out, thick with rot and something faintly metallic. My pulse stuttered. I remembered the creature—its lunge, its teeth—and a sharp chill crawled up my spine.

My eyes flicked across the entryway. Deep, ragged gouges marred the metal walls—marks that hadn’t been there the last time we’d entered.

“We need to find anything linking the Uppers to experiments on the Lowers,” Calian instructed, his voice low and tense. His eyes locked on the dark corridor ahead. “The more proof we have, the better.”

“And if those things we heard come back?” Krane’s shoulder brushed mine as he spoke. I caught the edge of his worry in the way he hovered, protective and taut like a drawn wire.

Braken’s voice cut in before Calian could answer. “Then these might be useful.”

We turned. He held out three short, sheathed knives, the hilts matte black and unadorned. Efficient, silent, and deadly, the blade no longer than the span of my hand. I hadn’t even seen him carrying them—Krane hadn’t either, by the look in his eyes.

Braken stepped partially into the doorway, keeping one shoulder against the frame, angled as if to shield us from something inside—or someone. The movement was strange. Subtle, but strange. He kept glancing down the corridor, then to something across the street, eyes twitching like he was expecting trouble. Krane saw it too, his gaze sharpening.

Calian, unbothered or unaware, accepted one of the knives with a grim nod. “Let’s hope these at least give us a fighting chance.”

“If those creatures were here when the outbreak began, they may still be infected,” Braken said. “Avoid bites. Avoid scratches. And for the love of our makers, don’t get their blood in your mouth.”

My fingers hovered before taking the offered blade. I didn’t know how to use it—but better to have it than not.

“What happens if we do?” I asked. A shadow crossed Braken’s expression.

“Then hope your friends are kind enough to end it quickly.” He stepped inside, eyes flicking again toward the buildings across the narrow street. “I can’t describe the pain. But I’ve seen what it does, and it’s worse watching someone you care about scream until their throat bleeds.”

Krane bristled. “Why do I get the feeling there’s more you’re not telling us?”

Braken’s smile was thin, humorless. “Because there is.” The air tightened like it had sucked in a breath no one could exhale. “You never reveal your hand too early in poker,” Braken quipped. “But if what we find down here confirms a few things on my end… I’ll talk.”

Suddenly, a loud hiss shrieked from the right. A pipe burst, steam gushing like a scream, wires sparking and flailing violently. I yelped, instinctively ducking, arms over my head. Calian was already in motion, stepping in front of me, shielding me with his body.

The wires sparked once more, then the emergency shut-off kicked in, silencing the chaos. I peeked up slowly, heart hammering in my chest. The place was falling apart—worse than we’d realized.

Braken looked pale. He’d flinched, his eyes darted not to the damage, but to the street outside, like he’d seen something. Or someone.

‘Was he going to run?’

Before anyone could speak, he turned on his heel and headed deeper into the corridor. Calian hesitated, then slipped his hand into mine. His touch was warm, grounding.

“Don’t be scared,” he reasurred me gently, eyes meeting mine. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.” My face flushed. My stomach turned itself inside out as he gave my hand the smallest squeeze—then let go and followed after Braken.

I watched him go, not seeing his face—but I didn’t have to. The look Krane gave him as he passed said everything. Sharp, possessive, and wounded. Guilt tightened around the flutter in my chest. I stepped forward, past the threshold of the restricted door, each footfall echoing louder than the last, with Krane right behind me.

Always right behind me.

~*~

Commander Anton stood at attention, summoned from the Laboratory just an hour prior under orders marked extreme importance. The view from the top floor of the Director’s building spread before him like a memory—grand, gleaming, unreachable. It hadn’t changed since he was a child, dreaming of power and legacy from this very height.

Before leaving, he’d checked in with his sister. One quick shake of her head told him all he needed: the blood sample still wasn’t ready. Disappointing, but unsurprising.

The office had been empty when he arrived. The tall, thin assistant who’d escorted him said nothing. Her sharp features, accentuated by the glasses sliding down her nose, didn’t soften when she gestured toward the chair in front of the ornate desk and swiftly exited. The only sound left behind was the echo of her heels across the polished floor.

‘Why now?’

After his demotion to Lower City watch, he’d sent letter after letter begging for reinstatement. None were answered. His father had been livid, his mother, worse—silent and disappointed. He was supposed to be the shining legacy of their family. But instead, he’d tarnished it all with one act of defiance: questioning his commander’s decision to banish an Upper citizen below.

The door hissed open.

A tall man entered with the unhurried ease of someone used to commanding a room. His white and gold uniform shimmered under the overhead lights, and Anton felt his brows pull in a frown—those colors were reserved for royalty. Anton straightened instinctively, he knew this man.

Director Haarken.

The last time they’d met, Anton had just become the youngest lieutenant in the city’s history, graduating at fifteen—top of his class, even surpassing his own father. That was seven years ago, and Haarken hadn’t changed. His features remained sharp and smooth, his dark blue eyes as penetrating as ever.

“Commander Anton,” Haarken welcomed, offering his hand. Anton grasped it firmly, masking his uncertainty behind a practiced neutrality.

“Director Haarken.” The Director’s faint smile was unreadable. His reputation was built on cold precision and ruthless efficiency—most infamous for his unrelenting pursuit of the truth behind the assassination of the King and Queen four years ago.

“I expected to see the youngest high-achiever in a seat of influence,” Haarken spoke smoothly, “not patrolling the gutters.”

Anton flinched despite himself. Of course, the Director knew. Everyone above knew.

“I made an error in judgment, sir,” Anton replied, dipping his head. “But I’ve worked relentlessly and tirelessly to amend my mistake. I remain loyal to the crown and ready to serve.”

“Indeed. You’ve paid your dues repeatedly.” Haarken’s gaze hardened. “But after the recent rebel attack—and your continued dedication—I’ve reinstated your position in the Upper City.”

Anton’s head jerked up, shock warred with caution. Gifts this generous always come with a price.

“Th-thank you, Director,” he replied.

Haarken waved off the gratitude, moving behind the desk with measured ease. “We need soldiers who care about the people as much as the position. In the past year, we’ve seen a spike in failed genetic births. I believe the rebels may be involved.”

Anton frowned. The genetic infants were among the Upper City’s most protected. How could the rebels affect them?

“With respect, sir,” he began, “surely I wasn’t summoned solely to be reinstated.”

The Director’s eyes glinted. “What if I said it was your courage? Your perseverance?” He tilted his head. “But flattery doesn’t work on you, does it, Commander?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Anton shook his head slowly.

“Which is why I value you even more.” Haarken’s smile sharpened. “You don’t climb by bootlicking. You climb by proving yourself worthy. Just like I did.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Haarken gestured for him to sit. “We are at war, Commander. You know that better than most. And I believe the rebels are preparing something that could destroy everything we have built—above and below.”

Anton’s spine stiffened. “Sir?”

Haarken leaned forward. “You know the history. Four years ago, the royal family was assassinated in an explosion that ruptured the wall between the Upper and Lower cities. We never discovered how the killers got so close, but we suspected they had help—from someone above.”

Anton stood halfway. “That’s—outrageous!”

Haarken held up a hand. “Calm yourself, Commander. We were correct. It was a trusted group—visionaries, some called them—meant to safeguard the city’s future, sworn soley to the King and Queen. Instead, they betrayed us. Manipulated everything. And then vanished into the Lower City before we could arrest them.”

Anton processed this slowly. He’d patrolled the Lower City for the last two years. If former Uppers were hiding there, they were doing a damn good job.

“You believe this group is behind the current unrest?”

Haarken nodded, tapping a single finger on the desk. “They’re more resourceful than we thought. Their leader is cunning—ruthless and unrelenting. He’ll stop at nothing to topple us.”

Anton’s jaw clenched. He hated the unease creeping into his chest. Something didn’t fit. Still, he listened.

“Our spies have come up empty. We’re always one step behind.” Haarken paused. “That’s where you come in.”

Anton’s pulse quickened. “What do you need, sir?”

“You know the Lower City better than any Upper Guard. I want you and one of Elite Guard to head below, find the rebel leader, find the traitors who fled, and bring them back for justice.”

Anton froze. “You’re sending me back below?” The question slipped out before he could stop it. Haarken raised a brow. Anton cleared his throat.

“Apologies, sir. It’s not fear, my genetics don’t allow for that. But the endless dark… it wears on you.”

Haarken nodded. “Modified or not, you’re still human.” His assistant re-entered the room, her heels clicking. She stood beside him, elegant and composed, a thin data screen held in her arms.

“This is not permanent,” Haarken explained. “You may return to your family at the end of each shift. And once your mission is complete, you may choose your next placement.” Anton blinked. That was far more generous than expected.

“Th—thank you again, Director—”

“But if you fail,” Haarken cut in, “you’ll return to your former station permanently.” He took the screen from his assistant and scrolled through it. “And I imagine your father would disown you. Which would, naturally, void your placement altogether.”

The room chilled.

“Do I make myself clear, Commander?” Anton’s heart thudded. There it is. The catch. He nodded tightly.

“Crystal, sir.” Without a glance, Haarken dismissed him.

Anton turned sharply and left, fists clenched to suppress the frustration boiling under his skin. Halfway down the immaculate corridor, his telecom buzzed. His sister’s face flickered to life on the screen wrapped around his wrist.

He answered immediately. “Loila?”

“You need to get here. Now,” she instructed, her voice taut.

“What’s wrong?” Anton demanded. A pause.

“It’s the blood sample you gave me.” she replied.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Loila, I don’t have time for riddles—”

“They might be listening.” Her eyes darted off-screen. “Get here. Now.” she repeated again before ending the call. Anton cursed under his breath—but now, he was fully alert. What had she found? He turned and headed straight for the lab.