The groan of the rift was a living thing, a hungry beast devouring the light. Korinthal shoved a flailing marrow-hound back with the butt of his harpoon, its skeletal form glowing with sickly viridian motes that stained the crushing darkness. Below, the Abyssal Rift buckled, sending down a rain of glittering, phosphorescent silt that coated his breathing-mask. The pressure was a vise, squeezing the air from his lungs, but his gaze remained fixed on the pulsing, obsidian node embedded deep within the collapsing rock face. “Almost clear, Voss!” Savia’s voice, filtered through her own mask, was sharp, unyielding, yet her movements were precise, her grapple-lines biting into the obsidian and hauling the heavy mass of deep-glass. She was a whirl of motion beside him, her scarlet-trimmed dive harness a stark splash of color against the gloom, the light from her wrist-lantern cutting through the murky water. He grunted, planting his boots against the slick, shifting floor. “Push it! This vein won’t hold much longer.” The deep-glass node shimmered, pulsing with a captured, ancient magic, the very reason they braved these maddening depths. This one, a relic of a forgotten leviathan, was a prize. Enough to make the Rask family—and by extension, Korinthal’s own carefully reconstructed venture—a small fortune. Another scavenger beast, larger than the rest, detached itself from the encroaching shadows, its jaw unhinging to reveal rows of needle-like teeth. Its bioluminescent eyes, like burning embers, locked onto Korinthal. He raised his harpoon, the tip thrumming with a focused kinetic charge, ready to unleash a burst that would shatter its brittle bones. Too slow. The creature launched itself, a blur of skeletal menace, directly at his chest, aiming for the vulnerable intake valve of his mask. A crimson streak flashed across his vision. Savia, her own extraction pick still clutched in her hand, threw herself in front of him. The beast's lunge, meant for his mask, found purchase in her shoulder instead. A sickening crunch vibrated through the water, and she gasped, a raw, muffled sound that cut through the roar of the collapsing rift. The beast shrieked, its teeth embedded deep, before the kinetic pulse from Korinthal’s delayed harpoon shot finally vaporized its head, leaving only a cloud of phosphorescent dust. “Savia!” The name ripped from him, an involuntary sound of genuine alarm. She sagged against the rock, one hand pressing to her shoulder where dark ichor bloomed against the scarlet of her gear, mixing with the glowing silt. Her breathing was ragged. “Damn it, Voss,” she choked, forcing a weak, defiant laugh. “Couldn’t let you botch the extraction with a ruptured mask, could I? This node’s too valuable.” Her eyes, even through the distorting glass of her mask, held a fierce, unwavering loyalty that twisted something cold and hard in Korinthal’s chest. The guilt, sharp and unexpected, felt like a spike of deep-glass driven into his own ribs. His molars ground together, the carefully constructed facade cracking for a split second before slamming shut. “Foolish.” He reached for her, not for comfort, but to steady her, to ensure she didn’t compromise the node. “Hold on. We’re out of here.” They made it back to the Sunken Exchange, the massive, cavernous guildhall teeming with the reek of brine and ambition. Deep-dives were being sanctioned, deals brokered, and the constant hum of the deep-glass energy thrummed beneath the polished basalt floor. Korinthal watched Savia from a distance as she handed over the colossal deep-glass node to a delighted House Rask clerk, her shoulder bandaged, her usual sharp swagger dimmed by pain. He saw Prefect Othelius Croy, his silver-braided hair a beacon of authority, nod approvingly from his perch on the magistrate's dais. Everything was proceeding. The trap was set. Later, in the private receiving chambers, the guards moved with chilling efficiency. Two hulking figures in their signature cerulean armor blocked the exit, their faces impassive. Savia, still pale, had just finished logging her haul when their commander, a grim-faced woman with frost-pale irises, stepped forward. “Savia Rask,” Commander Vexal’s voice cut through the air, devoid of inflection. “Your personal cargo manifest requires a re-screening. A routine inspection.” Savia frowned, her gaze flicking to Korinthal, who stood a calculated distance away. “A re-screening? My manifest was cleared two cycles ago. We just returned from the Maw. Is there an issue, Commander?” Vexal didn’t answer. She simply gestured to a pair of bailiffs, who wordlessly began to pry open Savia’s personal dive trunk. The clatter of the latches echoed in the sudden, tense silence. Korinthal’s stomach tightened, not from fear, but from the grim anticipation of his victory. He had personally placed the small, inconspicuous packet beneath her spare rations, knowing the Wardens’ scanning filters would never detect the Void-laced deep-glass until it was physically uncovered. The bailiff hissed in air. “Commander! Look at this.” He held up a fist-sized lump of deep-glass, not the clean, obsidian-like fossil from the rifts, but a corrupted, shimmering shard, crackling with erratic, malevolent energy. Void-laced. Contraband of the highest order, its very presence a death sentence. Savia recoiled, disbelief warring with a dawning horror. “What… what is that? That’s not mine! I’ve never seen it before!” She stammered, her gaze darting to Korinthal, seeking an explanation, a defense. Her eyes, filled with a blind, desperate trust, pleaded with him. Korinthal felt her fixed gaze, the desperate hope in it. He turned his back, slowly, deliberately. He focused on a tarnished copper vent in the wall, on the mundane detail of its corrosion. He had seen that trust in her eyes moments ago in the rift, and he had felt the spike of guilt. But this was the culmination of everything. The Rask name, the family that had ruined his own, was now within his grasp. He could not falter. “Korinthal?” Her voice was barely a whisper, a broken plea. “Tell them. Tell them I wouldn’t…” He said nothing. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. His betrayal was a physical barrier, more solid than any wall. Commander Vexal’s face hardened. “Savia Rask. You are charged with the illicit possession of Void-laced deep-glass. This offense carries the penalty of life-imprisonment in the Glimmer-Cells, or summary execution in the Sunken Arena. You have no right to appeal.” They moved swiftly, brutally. Her arms were seized, cold iron manacles clamped around her wrists. Savia struggled, a raw, furious cry tearing from her throat, but it was futile against the Wardens’ strength. She was dragged backwards, her expedition boots scraping against the basalt. Her eyes, still fixed on Korinthal’s unyielding back, burned with a pain that was sharper than any predator's bite. As they hauled her past him, her voice, raspy and choked with rising despair, cut through the clamor of the Sunken Exchange, piercing the cold resolve he had so carefully cultivated. “You… you cold-blooded worm,” she spat, the words barely audible. “I signed the papers last week. The entire Rask estate… it was going to be my wedding gift to you.”

The Trap Springs