The Descent
Under the cover of a gathering blizzard, Eliza and Eli hauled Cole’s unconscious, bound form into the root cellar, securing the hatch with heavy iron chains.
Dressed in heavy winter furs and carrying Dr. Thorne’s surgical kit alongside Cole’s sector keys, the two moved down the secluded gorge trail toward the back drainage tunnels of the Mercer Foundry.
The snow fell so thick it obscured the lights of the patrol towers. The industrial complex roared like an underground leviathan, plumes of sulfurous smoke belching into the winter sky.
At the sealed intake gate of Sector 4, Eli matched a heavy triangular key to the brass lock. The heavy iron door turned on oiled hinges without a sound.
Warm, metallic-scented air rushed out to meet them, carrying with it the rhythmic, hypnotic clanking of thousands of iron stampers.
Eli paused at the threshold. His hands began to tremble, his skin blanching as the familiar dread washed over him.
Eliza reached out, slipping her warm fingers into his calloused palm. She looked into his eyes with steady, unshakable conviction.
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"You led yourself out of this darkness, Eli," she whispered. "Now lead them out."
Eli took a deep, steadying breath, gripped his wrench tightly, and stepped into the belly of the beast.
