The vast shaft yawned below them like the throat of some mechanical leviathan, swallowing light and reason in equal measure. Catwalks—ancient metal bridges—crisscrossed the abyss in a pattern that suggested purpose and madness. Cyrus peered over the edge, feeling vertigo not from the height but from the strange familiarity that prickled at the edges of his consciousness. Something down there called to him with the silent persistence of a forgotten dream.

  “We need to descend at least five more levels,” Maija said. Her platinum hair caught what little light filtered down from above while her sharp eyes assessed the gap between their current position and the next catwalk down—a good thirty feet across and twenty feet down. “There’s no connecting passage here.”

  Cyrus leaned farther out, his gaze tracing the architectural riddles of the shaft. “How far down do you think this goes?”

  “Further than any sane person should want to find out,” Maija retorted. Her hands went to one of the pouches at her belt, and she extracted what appeared to be a handful of metallic sand. “Stand back.”

  The others obliged, giving her more space on the narrow catwalk. Maija closed her eyes, her face shifting into an expression of forced concentration. She hummed, not a melody, but a sequence of tones that seemed to have some universal meaning that utterly eluded Cyrus, but to which the other group members all nodded. The particles stirred and rose into the air as if caught by invisible currents.

  “Is she always this dramatic?” Cyrus whispered to the darkness and no one in particular.

  The floating metal coalesced, stretched, and multiplied beyond the original quantity, defying several laws of conservation that Cyrus somehow knew should apply. Maija’s fingers danced through the suspended particles, weaving patterns that left trails of soft light. The metal responded, elongating into filaments that braided themselves like living things seeking form.

  “Transmutation at scale requires… precision,” Maija said through gritted teeth, her eyes never still closed.

  The metal strands grew until they anchored themselves to the edge of the catwalk and stretched out into the void. They thickened, flattened, and solidified into a gleaming bridge that arced gracefully down to connect with the next platform.

  “There, not my most elegant work, but it’ll hold.” Maija’s eyes opened, and Cyrus looked away.

  He couldn’t imagine the control it would take to shape particles the way the severe woman had, let alone create a beautiful gleaming construct rather than a simple crude walkway. Worse, it felt as solid as bedrock when he placed a tentative foot on it.

  “More than long enough for us to cross and find another way back,” Maija answered. “Though if you’d prefer to wait here while we search for Lyessa…”

  Cyrus stepped fully onto the bridge, still amazed at its sturdiness.

  “After you, Alor,” Cyrus mumbled when the dwarf elbowed past him to take the lead.

  Maija stepped ahead of him, a small, proud smirk on her lips and a challenge in her eyes. Cyrus nodded to her, indicating she’d won this time. He stepped back for Matti to go, and then Cassandra waved him forward.

  “I will bring up the rear,” she said.

  So, he crossed the narrow platform, trying not to think about the darkness below them, which seemed to be waiting and whispering with the voices of the dead and the forgotten.

  “The scale of this place,” Cyrus murmured. It was truly awe-inspiring how vast the shaft was, especially with its seemingly infinite depth. “What civilization built something this incredible?”

  “Pre-System,” Maija answered without looking backward. “Before the current galactic order, maybe even before the Arbiter, who knows? There aren’t many records from that era.”

  “Yet you Wayfinders keep finding these places?” Cyrus asked suspiciously.

  “They pop up, we find them. Why they keep appearing on Yaerellis is the real question. They’re quite rare outside of anomalous plants like ours.” Maija’s rapid, matter-of-fact answer led Cyrus’s gaze back down to the whispering darkness. Was Yaerellis part of his past?

  Maija repeated her feat over a much greater distance. When Cyrus looked up towards where they had started their descent from the third catwalk, the cave-in he had caused was just a smear of mixed colors far above them. When his gaze swiveled down, the darkness continued unabated, punctuated by the occasional gleam of metal or flicker of some ancient system still clinging to functionality.

  Cyrus noticed markings etched into the walls on their current level—symbols that crawled across metal like frozen lightning. At first, he thought they were maybe decorative patterns or remnants of some accident. The more he stared at them, the more something shifted in his perception of them.

  The symbols pulsed with a complicated meaning that lay just beyond his grap. His steps slowed, then halted altogether as one particular sequence caught his attention. It wasn’t any language he knew, or understood, but somehow, meaning blossomed in his mind, like a flower turning to absorb the sun.

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  Navigation protocols active. Pilot synchronization required.

  The words hadn’t been spoken in his mind, nor had he read them; they simply appeared in his mind—but he couldn’t tell if they had been projected into his mind or had always been there. The world around him receded into darkness, replaced by a flood of images.

  A vast chamber, filled with suspended pods. Inside each pod, a human figure connected to a web of delicate filaments pulsed with light. Their eyes moved rapidly beneath closed lids, dreaming paths between stars.

  A wall of instruments and displays covered in readings in the same script filled the walls around him. His hands—were they his hands?—moved across the controls with the intimate familiarity of a lover’s touch.

  A sensation of movement not through space, but through something else—a medium that existed between the known dimensions, a place where distance was a matter of intention rather than measurement.

  “Cyrus?”

  Reality flowed around him with jarring suddenness. Cassandra stood behind him, her hand on his shoulder, squeezing with almost gentle pressure, her green eyes a mix of wariness and concern.

  “You stopped responding, then stopped moving. Your eyes were open, but you weren’t here.” Cassandra spoke softly, relaying what happened to him.

  “I saw… something. A memory, maybe.” Cyrus mumbled and realized he was shaking. He focused on stopping his trembling and regaining control of his body. “The markings—this place is related to Voidship navigation, somehow.”

  “You recognize them?” Maija’s voice came from in front of him. Matti and Alor were also looking at him with curiosity.

  “Not as such, but they triggered something.” Cyrus shrugged, then reached out as if he might run a finger against the far away markings on the wall. “There were people in pods connected to machines. They dreamed courses between stars.”

  “Dream navigation?” Maija repeated skeptically.

  “That’s how it felt. The navigation wasn’t math and geometry, but… experienced?” Cyrus let his hands fall back to his sides, feeling stupid.

  “We should keep moving. There are two more descents to make before we reach the level where Lyessa and Cassandra’s camp was,” Maija said. Still, she studied for a few long seconds before she spun around and continued forward.

  The current catwalk curved around the circumference of the shaft. Twice, they encountered gaps, and twice, Maija created delicate bridges that seemed too fragile to exist but held all their weight with apathy.

  Then came the descents.

  The first one passed without incident, leading to another catwalk that passed through roughly a quarter of the shaft. The markings on the walls grew more frequent, and with them, came the flashes of memory for Cyrus. Every connection hit him like a bolt of lightning—brief, intense, and with a lingering scent of ozone surrounding him.

  A feminine yet inhuman voice resonated not through the air but directly into his mind.

  “Choose me, and I will show you paths untraveled.”

  For some reason, he felt filled with wonder and acceptance.

  The world receded, to be replaced with the sensation of melting, of boundaries dissolving as his consciousness merged with something vast, ancient, and aware. Not a vessel.

  A partner.

  “Cyrus?” Cassandra whispered, and he felt a hand gently slap his cheek.

  He was sprawled on the catwalk, one arm dangling over the side into nothingness. He scrambled back from the precipice, heart hammering as he broke out in a cold sweat.

  “I need to.. sit.. for just a moment,” Cyrus gasped.

  Cassandra nodded, and waited patiently until Cyrus worked up to his feet. The two stragglers hurried to witness Maija finishing the final bridge to a catwalk on Lyessa’s level.

  “They’re not ships,” Cyrus finally spoke.

  “What?” Maija asked, her eyes flicking from her finished construct to Cyrus.

  “Voidships. They’re not ships, or maybe not just ships? They’re alive. Sentient beings that evolved to traverse the void between dimensions. They don’t have pilots—they have symbiotes, partners they choose to bond with.”

  Maija’s expression went from skepticism to whatever lay past skepticism. Cyrus had the distinct impression she thought he was mad, but he avoided reading her thoughts. He didn’t want that kind of confirmation.

  “You know this how?” Maija asked.

  “The markings—” he gestured to the walls, “are not just instructions. They’re communications. The symbology allows for consciousness-to-consciousness interface with a Voidship.”

  “If what you’re saying is true, the implications are… significant. Voidships are a mystery wrapped in an enigma, that no one has ever managed to conduct adequate studies on.”

  “It’s true. But there’s more. It is a mutual relationship. The Voidships require a partner to cross realities, but not dimensions or space?” Cyrus mumbled but then slapped himself, trying to clear his head. “It’s a lot, sorry.”

  His gaze flickered to the wall, more of the cryptic markings covered it. He didn’t touch them this time, but he could feel them there, resonating with something inside him, like tuning forks vibrating at the same frequency.

  “I think…” Cyrus hesitated, but Cassandra squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, and he continued. “I think I might have been bonded to one, before whatever happened that took my memories.”

  “That could explain why the System registers you as an anomaly,” Maija observed. “If part of your consciousness was merged with an entity that exists partially outside of normal space time…”

  She didn’t finish the thought, but Cyrus could almost hear her mentally reassessing the risk he potentially represented. He couldn’t blame her; he was reassessing himself, too.

  “Would that be reason for the Machina to hunt me? A Voidship connection?” Cyrus asked doubtfully.

  “Possibly. The Machina targets anomalies—things outside the parameters they consider acceptable. We can’t stay here. Alor has a lock on Lyessa’s signal.”

  “Right,” Cyrus said with a nod. He also understood that the conversation wasn’t over, but it would continue when they weren’t in such an exposed position in the middle of the dungeon. His eyes danced over the ancient walls, and he attempted to see them with new eyes, searching for meaning.

  Somewhere in this place, Lyessa waited, perhaps with more answers to his past or, more likely, with more questions. But one thing seemed clear: Cyrus knew too little of what he had been, and the little they had found hinted at dangers far beyond what he could have imagined. Cyrus suspected the stupid King in Alor’s favorite story never had to deal with Machina and Pre-System dungeons.

  As he stared into the whispering abyss, Cyrus wondered… if he had been bound to a Voidship, had it died on his descent into Yaerellis? Voidships only screamed when they died, he recalled. Staring down into the abyss, he wanted to whisper a prayer, parting, or… something, anything, but nothing came to him.

  “You don’t have to cry,” Cassandra told Cyrus softly.

  “Err. Yeah. I know.” Cyrus mumbled and wiped away tears he only partially understood.