Dim light filtered into Akiko’s awareness, pulling her from the suffocating darkness. Her eyes fluttered open, and the sight before her made her blink in confusion.

  The first thing Akiko noticed was her hair.

  Long strands drifted in front of her eyes, weightless and wild—twisting in slow, fluid arcs that refused to obey her. They clung to her cheeks, caught between her lips, brushed past her ears like ghostly threads.

  It was like drowning in silk.

  She reached up to push it away—and that’s when the rest of it hit her.

  There was no floor beneath her. No wind. No pull. Just a cold stillness that wrapped around her like deep water.

  She was floating.

  “Wha—?”

  Her voice cracked, barely more than a breath as she flailed instinctively. Arms and legs kicked through empty air. Her tail snapped behind her, useless. Her hair billowed around her like a living veil, blinding her, tangling in her ears.

  Her stomach lurched.

  “Ugh… what kind of trap is this?”

  The question came out sharper than intended, but it grounded her. Gave her something to push back against.

  She blinked, trying to make sense of the space around her. The stone vault was gone. No relic. No golden light. No Kaede yelling at her.

  Instead—smooth metallic walls. Dim blue strips of light along the seams. Stacked containers marked with symbols she couldn’t read.

  The air smelled… sterile. Mechanical. The hum around her wasn’t mana.

  It was something else.

  “Definitely not a treasure vault,” she muttered, hair still fanning around her face. She gathered it awkwardly into one hand and twisted it into a makeshift knot behind her.

  She reached instinctively for the relic, fingers seeking that familiar shape.

  Nothing.

  Her hands were empty.

  Her heart lurched. “Where—where is it?!”

  She spun in place, twisting midair like a drifting leaf. The relic had been there. She’d held it. She could still feel its heat in her palms. Its hum under her skin.

  Gone.

  Her pulse thundered in her ears.

  This isn’t magic. It can’t be magic. I’d feel it if it was magic.

  But the hum in the walls didn’t care what she thought.

  “This doesn’t make any sense,” she hissed, ears flattening. She glared at the nearest container like it had personally offended her. “What kind of place is this?”

  Everything felt wrong. Too still. Too quiet. Too—unnatural.

  She closed her eyes. Breathed in through her nose. Out through her mouth.

  “Okay, okay,” she whispered. “Think, Akiko. You’ve been in tight spots before. First step: figure out where you are. Second step: figure out how to get back.”

  She reached for a nearby surface, hands brushing cool, unyielding metal. The texture sent a shiver up her arm.

  No stone. No enchantment. Just… steel?

  No Kaede. No Brom. No Valric.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Her throat tightened.

  She saw the flash of light again. Kaede’s voice shouting her name. Then nothing.

  Are they still in the vault? Are they okay?

  Her breath hitched.

  “No,” she told herself, sharper this time. “They’re fine. They’ll figure it out. Just like I will.”

  A flicker of light caught her attention. She turned—clumsily—and saw a blinking panel at the far end of the chamber.

  Its lights pulsed in slow, alien rhythm. Like it was… thinking.

  Akiko narrowed her eyes.

  A faint hiss echoed in the room. The hair on the back of her neck prickled.

  Cautiously, she pushed herself toward the panel, one palm bracing against a container as she launched forward. Her movements were awkward, uneven—every shift of motion sending her spinning just a little too far.

  “This better not be some kind of death trap,” she muttered, squinting at the panel.

  The lights blinked again.

  Her fingers hovered.

  She hesitated. Then reached.

  The soft blue glow of the cargo hold shifted.

  Without warning, it turned blood red—bathing the space in warning light.

  Akiko froze. Her ears perked up, swiveling as if trying to catch a sound that hadn’t yet arrived.

  Her tail bristled. Her fingers clutched the edge of the console like it might anchor her.

  “What now?” she whispered, eyes scanning the room.

  The hum in the walls deepened—no longer gentle, but resonant, vibrating through her bones.

  Then the entire chamber shuddered.

  “What in the nine he—”

  The question snapped off.

  A crushing force slammed into her from above, flattening her like a nail driven into steel.

  She collapsed, gasping, spine pressed to the floor by something massive and invisible.

  Her lungs struggled to draw breath.

  Her chest fought against her own ribs.

  “What—what kind of… death trap—”

  Each word came like lifting a boulder.

  Her tail was pinned beneath her. Her limbs trembled with effort just to move an inch.

  Then, just as suddenly, the pressure shifted.

  Akiko yelped as she was flung sideways, ripped from the floor and hurled into a stack of metal crates.

  The impact knocked the wind out of her. Her body folded around the corner of a container, rebounding in slow motion.

  Her hair snapped around her like a whip, strands tangling in her mouth and eyes.

  The world spun. Her vision swam.

  Alarms blared—shrill, mechanical pulses that drilled straight through her skull.

  She slapped her ears flat against her head.

  Okay, she thought, definitely not a dungeon. Unless Kaede dragged me into some very weird corner of the world.

  The lights kept pulsing red, casting frantic flashes across the hold.

  Her gaze darted from one wall to the next, looking for a rune, a switch, anything.

  Nothing familiar.

  Another shudder. Another shift.

  She braced herself just in time, slamming a shoulder into the container to keep from sliding.

  The air felt heavier now. Not just the gravity—something in the air.

  A charge. A vibration. Like the tension before a lightning strike.

  Her grip tightened. Her breathing shallowed.

  She could almost hear Kaede now—arms crossed, voice dry: You never learn, do you?

  Akiko gritted her teeth. “She’d love this. Probably make me write an essay on spatial dislocation theory or something.”

  Another jolt ran through the room.

  She barely managed to stay upright, pressing herself flat against the crate. Her muscles burned from the shifting weight. Her ears strained, trying to sort signal from noise.

  A new sound emerged—a distant, echoing thump-thump-thump, steady and slow, like a heartbeat drawn out of metal and gears.

  It was followed by a sharp bang, then a hiss.

  Her ears popped.

  She gasped, clutching her head as pressure in the chamber dropped like a stone.

  “What now?” she hissed.

  The nearby control panel lit up, its lights blinking faster now—frenzied. The red was near-blinding.

  The hiss built to a scream.

  Instinct screamed louder.

  She shoved herself upright, each motion a battle through syrup-thick air. Her balance wavered.

  Gravity seemed to settle for now—oppressive, but stable.

  She stumbled toward the panel, fingers brushing the glowing display. Strange symbols shifted across its surface, pulsing with unreadable intent.

  Akiko hesitated.

  Her hand hovered.

  “Okay, weird glowing thing,” she said through clenched teeth, “show me what you’ve got.”

  She reached for the controls.

  And hoped it wouldn’t bite.

  Her fingers brushed the surface of the panel.

  It lit up instantly—flashing brighter, beeping furiously. The sound was shrill and sharp enough to make her ears flatten.

  “Hey!” Akiko snapped, jerking her hand back. “I’m trying to help, you know!”

  The panel didn’t care. It beeped again, louder this time, like a scolding.

  She scowled and pressed down harder. The lights flickered faster, pulsing in dizzying patterns.

  It was like the machine was… offended.

  “I don’t know what you want!” she growled, slamming her hand against it. Her claws scratched the surface with a squeal of protest. “Work with me here!”

  A new chirp responded—higher-pitched, sarcastic. Mocking.

  Akiko’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, great. A smartass puzzle. Just what I needed.”

  Behind her, the hiss of air hadn’t stopped.

  The sound was sharper now, more urgent.

  The rhythmic vibrations through the walls were growing faster too—frantic, like a machine having a panic attack.

  Her tail lashed. She didn’t have time to argue with a machine.

  “Come on, Akiko,” she muttered, voice low. “You’re good at this. You figure stuff out. You don’t need Kaede for every little—”

  The lights blinked in chaotic pulses—red, blue, green, red, blue… over and over.

  Not random. A pattern.

  Frost crept along the walls now. Her breath fogged in the air. Each inhale scraped down her throat like broken glass.

  She leaned closer, tail flicking in sharp, anxious twitches.

  “You’re trying to tell me something,” she whispered, staring at the lights. “A sequence. You’re… prompting me?”

  That flicker of connection—of logic, of intent—was enough to steady her.

  Her fingers hovered over the panel. The colors continued their pattern.

  Red. Blue. Green.

  “Okay, okay.” Her voice shook. “Red, blue, green. Got it.”

  She pressed the first red light, wincing as the panel let out a sharp chirp.

  Her finger hesitated over the blue light, but when she pressed it, the tone shifted—softer, less angry. She glanced back at the green light, heart pounding.

  “Please work,” she breathed, pressing the final light in the sequence.

  The panel emitted a long, melodic tone, almost like a sigh of relief, and the hatch next to it hissed sharply. Akiko stumbled back as the door unlocked and swung open, revealing a dimly lit compartment beyond.

  A rush of air escaped the new chamber, pushing into the cargo hold and sending her fur ruffling in the breeze. Akiko inhaled deeply, the reprieve from the suffocating thinness of the air sending her heart racing with relief.

  The chamber beyond was dimly lit, narrow, but the difference in air pressure was immediate—thicker, easier to breathe.

  She took in a deep breath. Then another.

  Her knees nearly buckled from the relief.

  “Oh, thank the gods,” she whispered, hand pressed to her chest.

  But the hiss of escaping air hadn’t stopped.

  She turned, ears twitching.

  The original breach—the one in the cargo hold—was still venting steadily, the sound now a background scream.

  Akiko groaned, eyes narrowing toward the new opening. “This place is just full of surprises.”

  She stepped forward, cautiously.

  Not out of fear.

  But because she’d learned her lesson.

  Mostly.