Silence gripped the blind passage. Only three sounds penetrated the stillness: labored breaths from the wounded woman collapsed at my side, water trickling somewhere in the distance, and my pulse hammering against my ribcage. The underground chill permeated my clothing, crawling across my skin beneath the fabric. Both Rhys and I stared intently at the worn leather pouch clasped between his fingers. Its frayed drawstring hung loose. Each second stretched endlessly, like time itself had become viscous.
With remarkable composure considering our dire circumstances, Rhys widened the pouch's mouth. Rather than emptying it immediately, he first examined its contents. A peculiar luminescence bathed his features—not the sterile glare of electric lighting nor the sickly emergency beacons' verdant tint. This radiance pulsed deep crimson, reminiscent of freshly oxygenated blood yet possessing an uncanny vitality. The glow transformed the moisture-beaded tunnel walls into something primal and womblike, washing everything in undulating scarlet.
The illumination accentuated Rhys's angular face, hollowing his cheekbones and igniting a gleam in his eyes that betrayed equal measures of wonderment and unabashed greed. His pupils expanded in the unusual light. He exhaled a soft whistle that cut through the heavy quiet.
"By all that's sacred," he whispered, his tone wavering between reverence and naked desire as condensation briefly clouded before him. "It exists. She truly recovered it." His grip tightened visibly around the pouch.
Though internally screaming questions, I maintained vigilant silence, muscles tensed while observing his every subtle movement and expression change. The injured woman stirred with a faint whimper from parched lips, yet neither Rhys nor I diverted our attention.
Moving with deliberate precision, as if handling either fragile crystal or unstable munitions, he carefully inverted the pouch. An object slid into his waiting gloved palm, and the ambient temperature immediately spiked noticeably.
The item defied easy categorization—neither gemstone, weapon, nor document. Something almost... biological? Approximately the dimensions of a cardiac organ, it appeared crafted from volcanic glass—obsidian—impossibly smooth yet paradoxically absorbing rather than reflecting the sparse illumination, creating a visual vacuum. Vibrant scarlet energy coursed through vein-like channels across its surface, converging at the center where the brilliance concentrated most intensely. It pulsated with measured, regular beats that eerily echoed the mechanical rhythm we'd escaped earlier, though infinitely more ancient and sentient. Warmth radiated outward, dispelling the passage's dank cold and carrying subtle metallic aromatics reminiscent of blood but somehow purer, accompanied by traces of electrical discharge and something fundamentally primeval.
A heart fashioned from obsidian, surging with captured essence and mystical force.
Upon its complete exposure, something within me responded. A distinctive tugging sensation originated from my core where Eleanor's unpredictable energy resided. Unlike previous painful backlashes, this manifested as vibrating resonance that made my dentition ache and raised follicular responses across my limbs. The power stirred inside me, not aggressively but with apparent recognition, like partial awakening, yearning toward Rhys's held artifact. My perception momentarily clouded, peripheral vision darkening while beneath my sternum grew warmth synchronizing with the obsidian heart's cadence.
Resonance. The phenomenon Eleanor's journals had theorized extensively. Respiration caught in my throat until consciously resumed.
Rhys evidently experienced something similar. He inhaled sharply as the crimson illumination intensified, synchronizing perfectly with what now felt like my internal rhythm. Despite the tunnel's frigidity, perspiration formed across his brow. He cradled the obsidian creation tenderly, knuckles whitening against its ebon surface.
"What precisely is it?" I finally questioned, my voice emerging raspier than intended.
His attention remained initially fixed upon the object, twin crimson points reflected in his irises. "It bears many designations," he murmured dreamily, his pronunciation shifting with emotional intensity. "City's Heart, Anima Sanguinis, Primordial Sacrifice... largely folkloric. Previously dismissed as fictional—cautionary tales circulated among established lineages to intimidate competitors." His thumb absently traced one luminous vein before reluctantly redirecting his gaze toward me, revealing chilling, unmasked covetousness. "Yet Eleanor Vance, that imprudent fool, authenticated its existence. Extracted it directly beneath Marcus Blackwood's surveillance." A partial smile curved his mouth without reaching his eyes. "Small wonder the Tear pursues her relentlessly. Little surprise Blackwood might..." His glance shifted momentarily toward our exit point as comprehension darkened his expression.
"What capabilities does it possess?" I insisted, disregarding intimations of peril and confirmation regarding Marcus's likely entrapment. Information remained paramount despite my fingers involuntarily twitching with impulses to contact the heart, while caution maintained their position.
"Everything... simultaneously nothing," Rhys answered cryptically, volume decreasing until I instinctively leaned closer. "Junction point. Energy repository. Access mechanism." Each concept dropped heavily between us. "It harmonizes with the metropolis's primeval energies—bloodshed upon its foundations, covenants established within its shadows. Reputedly amplifies abilities, manipulates certain... entities, unseals long-barricaded pathways." His attention momentarily drifted toward the collapsed tunnel terminus before returning to the heart, rotating it slightly to redirect its illumination patterns before examining me calculatingly. "Tradition suggests requisite specific ancestry for safe manipulation, or individuals attuned through... alternative methods." His scrutiny lingered meaningfully, eyebrow arching questioningly.
Suspicion confirmed. Inevitably, he suspected the energy within me—the connection Eleanor potentially established through ritualistic means—shared affinity with this artifact. His analytical observation suggested he perceived beyond my surface identity toward potential instrumental value for unlocking the heart's capabilities. Though internally unsettled by his evaluation, my expression remained neutral, suppressing instinctive denial.
The wounded woman beside me stirred, moaning faintly. Her eyelids fluttered, unfocused, possibly drawn by either crimson radiation or concentrated energy permeating our confined location. Dried hemoglobin darkened her oral commissure under the red glow. "The... heart..." she murmured weakly, digits twitching against stone. "Perilous... He cautioned her... extracts vitality... devours..." Her pain-glazed gaze briefly sought mine before rolling upward. Her cranium tilted sideways as consciousness abandoned her again, respiratory effort diminishing further with each shallow exhalation.
Who constituted 'He'? Julian perhaps? Someone else entirely? 'Extracts vitality... devours...' The ominous advisory contrasted sharply against the object's vibrant pulsations. Observing the progression from ashen countenance to heart, I visualized those crimson channels potentially feeding upon her diminishing existence—perhaps mine or Rhys's subsequently. Involuntary shivers unrelated to environmental temperature traversed my vertebral column.
Rhys cursed momentarily, diverted by her deteriorating condition. He assessed her pulse rapidly, features grimacing. "Her condition accelerates toward critical. Whatever emanations this generates offer no therapeutic benefit." His gaze alternated between the woman, heart, and myself, clearly calculating complex variables behind his analytical expression.
"Extraction imperative," I declared firmly, suppressing personal trepidation and the heart's unsettling attraction while prioritizing immediate crisis resolution. "Immediately. Can this," I nodded toward the heart, resisting personification impulses, "facilitate egress?"
Rhys hesitated visibly, experimental curiosity wrestling against pressing dangers. "Potentially. Contingent upon successful resonance focusing methodology... whether my efforts or yours." His implied suggestion coupled with meaningful glances between heart and myself revealed his intention—my personal risk exposure to potential backlash and life-draining effects previously warned against, becoming conduit for barely comprehended forces.
Before refusal formulation completed, the obsidian heart pulsated violently within his grasp. Crimson luminosity erupted, flooding our confined space with blood-colored brilliance that eliminated all shadows. Temperature surged toward nearly intolerable levels. The power within me responded chaotically, painful uncontrolled echoes spreading through extremities like electrical fire. Visual perception distorted, momentarily replaced by fractured memories not originating from personal experience—ceremonial platforms, ritualistic intonations, descending ceremonial blades.
Concurrently, profound reverberations reminiscent of shifting geological formations or grinding metallics emanated beyond the collapsed passage terminus. Fine particulate matter descended from overhead surfaces, capturing crimson illumination. Smaller lithic fragments cascaded down accumulated debris with skeletal percussion qualities. A fracture manifested within seemingly solid stone barriers, darkness contrasting against red, widening under our horrified observation.
The heart's influence extended beyond personal impact—actively affecting surrounding structures. Alternatively, perhaps more terrifyingly, it had potentially alerted something else to our presence—something concealed deeper within this accursed urban foundation. Something perhaps dormant until awakened by the heart's call.
Rhys resumed multilingual profanity. Instinctively sheltering the heart against his torso with protective intensity, wide-eyed alarm fixated upon the disintegrating passage end. His coveted treasure had transformed into darkness beacon, potential passage exacting far greater cost than either could have anticipated.
"Conceal it," I hissed urgently, gripping his appendage while sensing heart-generated heat through multiple fabric layers. "Immediately!"
Too late. The fissure expanded progressively, and within impenetrable darkness beyond, movement commenced.