“This way,” Orina said, her voice tight, echoing in the damp, close air of the under-tunnels. The tarnished brass key, still clutched in her hand, seemed to thrum faintly with a latent resonance. A rough, hand-drawn map, worn from years of folding, guided them through the subterranean maze beneath the old Watch barracks. It detailed a labyrinth of maintenance shafts and forgotten conduits, illuminated only by Orina’s focused lantern, which cast long, dancing shadows. Each step on the slick stone floor resonated with a faint, wet slap. Jaskier kept his gaze fixed on the ethereal counter in his vision. [Echoed Steps: 4,121,987] He felt the familiar surge of accumulating strength, but here, it was different. He could feel something else, too—a subtle, insistent pull, like an invisible current, drawing the ambient subterranean vapor toward him, denser and more corrupted in these depths. The air grew heavy, smelling of ozone and damp earth. Orina moved with the controlled grace of an officer, her hand resting instinctively on the hilt of her sidearm, her resonance-scanner occasionally spitting frustrated static. “They’re drawn to something down here,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “Stronger than any report.” Suddenly, a low, guttural shriek tore through the silence. From the gloom of a side passage, a pack of chittering shadow-vermin erupted. Unlike Iskra, which was still a curious, if growing, shadow at his heels, these beasts were larger, their forms less defined, rippling with raw, unstable volatile discharge. Their obsidian eyes glowed with malevolent hunger as they surged forward, their shadowy claws extended. Orina barked, “Stay behind me!” and drew her sidearm, its barrel humming with stored charge. But Jaskier didn’t move. He felt the beasts' intent like a physical blow, their ravenous hunger for the vapor radiating from him. It was a new sensation, this primal antagonism. He’d only ever used his power offensively, crushing opponents with overwhelming force. Now, faced with a swarm of creatures seeking to consume him, he felt an instinctive shift. [Echoed Steps: 4,122,012] The counter still climbed, but the sheer volume of his strides, the cumulative effect of his thousands of miles, began to manifest differently. Not just in raw speed or crushing impact, but in an almost magnetic repulsion. The air around him shimmered. The lead beasts, mere feet away, slammed into an invisible barrier, their dark outlines distorting, their guttural cries turning to high-pitched squeals of pain. Their advance faltered, their dark shapes recoiling. “What are you doing?” Orina’s voice was a blend of shock and awe. She lowered her weapon, staring blankly as the beasts thrashed against a force she couldn’t perceive. Jaskier felt a protective membrane form, a rapidly solidifying shell of pure, concentrated power. The field that pulsed around him, once a beacon, now acted as a bulwark. The creatures thrashed, unable to pierce the wall of his accrued strength, their bodies beginning to crackle and dissipate under the sheer, concentrated pressure. He pushed forward, the pack scattering across the wet flags, their aggression turning to desperate flight. He moved with purpose now, his footsteps deliberately heavy, each one contributing to the defensive aura. The path Orina’s map indicated branched off into a narrower, almost imperceptible fissure in the rock wall. The air here was drier, cleaner, and the shadows dared not approach. Orina fumbled for the brass key, inserting it into a barely visible keyhole carved into the rough stone. A soft, mechanical click snapped through the damp, and a section of the rock wall slid inward, revealing a descending, well-maintained stairway. They entered a chamber that seemed to exist outside the city’s grim reality. High ceilings, polished iron gantries, and a meticulously organized array of arcane equipment filled the space. It was a sanctuary of research, a stark contrast to the decay above. Dust motes drifted in the soft, steady glow of gas sconces, illuminating shelves packed with data crystals and intricate technical schematics. In the center, a large, circular desk held a single, open data-slate, its glass panel glowing. Orina rushed to it, her fingers flying across the interface, pulling up files. “Mentor…” she murmured, tracing the edge of the glass as she read the lines. Then her shoulders locked rigid. “Jaskier, come here.” He stepped closer, reading over her shoulder. The words on the screen were stark, urgent: *Final Log Entry, Project Chimera – Dr. K. Kowal. It’s done. The primary fuel core, it was a runaway singularity, not merely a volatile resource. My initial containment protocols failed. It was going to detonate. I had no choice. I bound it, integrated its resonance with a nascent life-force. Jaskier. It was the only way to prevent its immediate cataclysmic release. The ‘Endless March’ system… it’s not for empowerment, it’s a flawed containment protocol, a desperate gamble.*” Orina’s hands trembled, her face pale. “He… he took the world-ending detonation, and he put it inside you.” The cold fact settled into his gut. Dawid's manic warnings finally slotted into place. His family's old ally hadn't blessed him with power; he had turned him into a walking detonation. Orina scrolled down. “Wait. There’s more. A blueprint.” Her fingernail tapped the glass. It depicted a simplified human figure, overlaid with swirling blue currents radiating outwards. Below it, a chilling addendum: *The March functions by continuously drawing in and stabilizing the core’s output through constant physical exertion. If the host ever ceases active movement for an extended period, the contained volatile charge will overload the system’s capacity. It will detonate, vaporizing Brzezina and everything within a hundred-mile radius.* The blueprint pulsed with a steady red hue. Jaskier felt the strange heat humming within him, a silent, ravenous engine. He looked down at his boots, then back at the display. The counter still climbed, a relentless, silent affirmation of his precarious existence. [Echoed Steps: 4,122,105] He couldn’t stop. Not for a moment. Not even to sleep.

The Lumina Well