"Are you... humans? Not the traitors?"
The question hung heavy and suffocating in the stinging air of The Core. Elias's voice was raspy, nearly drowned out by the hum of the machines sustaining the remnants of his life. Rianor stood directly in front of the gaping cockpit, staring at the withered old man pinned between a web of cables and hydraulic pipes. His skin was transparently pale, clinging to bone, and his eyes were sunken—yet within them lingered a spark of consciousness that refused to surrender to death.
"We are not traitors," Rianor replied softly but firmly. He knelt on the hot metal floor, positioning himself so his gaze met Elias's. "We come from the surface. From a newly established kingdom. We are here... to find the truth about this place."
