The resonant hum of the Aether junction seemed to dim under the oppressive weight of the approaching threat. Rhys flattened himself against the cold stone of the alcove wall, peering through a crack into the main tunnel below. His Echo Sense painted a clearer picture than his eyes could in the gloom: five figures, moving with a swagger that barely concealed their nervousness, fanning out slightly as they neared the open space of the junction. Their Aether signatures were muddy, spiked with aggression and greed – the unmistakable mark of Corbin's tunnel rats.
Boulder was a silent statue beside him, his breathing slow and controlled, his knuckles white on the haft of his pry bar. Their eyes met briefly, a shared understanding passing between them. Confrontation was suicide. Five against two, especially when Rhys's offensive capabilities were virtually non-existent, was unwinnable odds. Evasion was the only option.
"Side tunnel," Rhys whispered, barely moving his lips. "The narrow one, third branch past the main inflow." It was a route they'd scouted, choked with debris but passable, leading deeper into a less stable section of the underworks. Risky, but better than being cornered here.
He focused his Echo Sense, tracking the gang members' movements. Corbin wasn't with them, just his usual pack of thugs, led by the burly one Rhys vaguely remembered from previous turf skirmishes – Grok, they called him. Grok paused at the edge of the junction, sniffing the air like a hound.
"Smell that?" Grok's voice rasped, echoing slightly. "Clean air. Good spot. Corbin was right."
Another thug, jumpy and thin, peered into the shadows. "Yeah, but… feels weird. Like watchin'."
"Shut it, Weasel," Grok snapped. "Nothin' down here but rats and slime. Let's check it out. Corbin wants this spot secured."
They began to move into the junction proper, their flashlights cutting jerky beams through the darkness, glinting off the wet walls and the faintly glowing algae. Their attention was focused downwards, towards the Aether source. This was their chance.
Rhys gave Boulder a nod. Moving with excruciating slowness, they eased back from the alcove's edge, melting into the deeper shadows at the rear. Every tiny scrape of boot on stone sounded like a thunderclap to Rhys's hypersensitive ears. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the slow, steady thrum of the junction's Aether.
He kept his Echo Sense tightly focused, monitoring the thugs below. They were spreading out, examining the glowing stones, oblivious to the two figures slipping away just meters above them. One thug kicked at the algae, muttering. Another shone his light directly towards their alcove. Rhys froze, holding his breath, convinced they were spotted. But the beam swept past, the thug apparently satisfied it was just another empty recess in the tunnel wall.
They reached the back of the alcove and the entrance to the narrow side tunnel. It was partially blocked by fallen masonry and rusted pipes. Boulder, with his quiet strength, began easing aside the largest pieces of debris, careful not to make any sudden noises. Rhys watched the junction, his Echo Sense a lifeline, ready to signal Boulder if any of the thugs looked up or headed towards their position.
One of the thugs, the one called Weasel, seemed particularly uneasy. He kept glancing around, his flashlight beam darting erratically. "Grok, I swear… I heard somethin'. Up there." He gestured vaguely towards the alcoves lining the upper walls.
Grok spat on the ground. "Yer hearing things, Weasel. Nerves. Now quit jumpin' at shadows and check that far passage."
Weasel hesitated, then reluctantly obeyed, moving away from their position. Boulder had cleared enough space. He slipped into the narrow opening, disappearing into the pitch blackness beyond. Rhys took one last scan with his Echo Sense – the thugs were still preoccupied with the main junction floor – and then followed Boulder, pulling a section of loose debris partially back into place behind him.
The side tunnel was even damper and fouler-smelling than the main sewer. The air was thick with the stench of stagnant water and decay. It was tight quarters, forcing them to move single file, often stooping low to avoid dangling pipes or collapsed sections of ceiling. Rhys kept his Echo Sense active, but the dense debris and twisted metal interfered, making it harder to get a clear reading of what was behind them.
They moved as quickly as safety allowed, deeper into the labyrinthine depths. The sounds of Corbin's crew faded behind them, replaced by the scuttling of unseen things and the groaning of stressed infrastructure.
After what felt like an eternity, Boulder stopped, holding up a hand. Rhys listened intently, straining his senses. Faintly, from the direction they had come, he heard muffled shouting, the clang of metal on stone. Had the gang found their abandoned alcove? Discovered signs of their recent occupancy?
"They know," Boulder stated flatly, his voice low.
Rhys nodded grimly. Their sanctuary, their practice spot, was compromised. They hadn't been caught, but their presence was revealed. Corbin's gang would be watching the junction now, perhaps leaving guards. Returning there, especially to the vital Aether source, would be far more dangerous.
They pressed on, moving away from the junction, deeper into the unknown. The near-miss encounter left Rhys feeling exposed and vulnerable. His internal progress felt suddenly fragile, easily shattered by the harsh realities of Meridian's underbelly. Laying low was no longer enough. They needed more than just refined Aether; they needed the means to protect themselves, the strength to hold their ground, or the resources to find a safer place altogether. And that meant facing the world outside their self-imposed isolation. It meant seeking out Kaelen again.