The realization hit Rhys like a physical blow. The faint signatures weren't just ambient noise; they were active intrusion. He pressed his ear against the cool metal of the bulkhead, filtering out the internal thrumming of the corridor, straining to hear. Faintly, carried through the dense material, came the unmistakable sounds: the rhythmic scrape… scrape… of heavy tools against rock or metal, the muffled clang of hammer blows, and then, confirming his fears, the high-pitched, penetrating whine of a powered rock drill starting up. It sounded close, terrifyingly close, just on the other side of the massive door.
Whoever these intruders were – Crimson Hand following a lead, rival scavengers stumbling onto a major find, or another unknown faction – they were actively breaching this sealed section of the Weaver ruin. Their own presence here, trapped between the sealed door and the potential dangers behind them (including the still-unidentified source of the rhythmic pulse), had just become infinitely more precarious. Their time was running out.
"They're right outside," Rhys whispered urgently to Boulder, eyes wide. "Trying to break through."
Panic threatened, but Rhys forced it down, channeling the fear into sharp focus. Attention snapped back to the bulkhead. Retreat wasn't an option – the path behind led towards the rhythmic pulse, an unknown quantity, and potentially back towards the area the Guardian patrolled. Going forward was the only way. They had to get this door open.
He scanned the door and its frame again, meticulously, with his Echo Sense. The datapad map showed no controls on this side, indicating it was designed to be sealed from within this section. But his heightened senses detected what the map had missed – faint, hair-thin energy conduits running from the door's locking mechanism to a small, recessed panel set low into the doorframe, mostly hidden behind a pile of hardened dust and debris.
Working quickly, they cleared the debris. Beneath lay the panel, its surface cracked, several indicator lights dark. It looked ancient, damaged, but potentially functional. Beside it, embedded in the wall, was a heavy, iron lever, thick with rust, clearly seized in place. It looked like a manual override, perhaps requiring simultaneous activation with the energy panel.
Rhys examined the panel closely, extending his Aether sense like delicate probes. He felt the complex circuitry within, the dormant energy pathways. It wasn't just a simple switch; it required a specific sequence of energy pulses, a resonant frequency – an energetic 'key' – to release the internal locking mechanisms. He tried to intuit the sequence, comparing the panel's signature to other Weaver tech he'd encountered, like the force field emitter. It felt complex, multi-layered.
Meanwhile, Boulder gripped the rusted lever, testing its resistance. He planted his feet, muscles bulging under his worn tunic as he applied steady pressure. The lever didn't budge, frozen solid by centuries of neglect and corrosion. It would require his absolute maximum strength, applied at precisely the right moment.
"Okay," Rhys breathed, formulating a plan. "I think I can feel the sequence. It needs three distinct pulses, different frequencies, timed perfectly. While I channel that into the panel, you need to hit that lever with everything you've got, exactly when I give the signal. Understand? It has to be simultaneous."
Boulder nodded grimly, setting his grip, bracing himself.
Rhys closed his eyes, gathering his Aether, which felt dangerously low after the circulation practice and the constant drain of heightened awareness. He held the shard against the panel, using its resonance to help stabilize his focus and fine-tune the energy frequencies. He visualized the three pulses, practiced the sequence mentally. This had to work on the first try; he didn't have the Aether for repeated attempts, and the drilling outside sounded louder now.
"Ready?" Rhys asked. Boulder grunted affirmatively. "Now!"
Rhys channeled the first pulse, a sharp, high-frequency burst, into the panel. Lights flickered. The second pulse, lower, resonating, followed immediately. More lights flickered, and a faint hum came from within the bulkhead. As he sent the third, complex, modulated pulse, he shouted, "Boulder!"
With a guttural roar, Boulder threw his entire weight, every ounce of his formidable strength, into the frozen lever. Metal shrieked in protest. Rust flaked away. For a heart-stopping second, nothing happened. Then, with a deafening crack that echoed down the corridor, the lever moved, grinding downwards through its arc.
Simultaneously, the panel beside it flashed green, and deep within the bulkhead, heavy locking mechanisms groaned and retracted with the sound of tortured metal. The massive door, no longer sealed, shuddered and began to grind open, moving inwards just a few feet, revealing the space beyond.
The contrast was immediate and stark. Gone was the smooth, sterile Weaver construction. Before them lay a tunnel of rough-hewn rock and ancient, crumbling brickwork mortared together centuries, perhaps millennia, ago. The air smelled thick, stagnant, heavy with the odor of fungal blooms and standing water. This wasn't part of the Weaver complex; it was Meridian's older, deeper bones. An escape route, leading away from the immediate threat of the intruders, but into another layer of the city's dangerous, unknown past.
Behind them, the drilling sound abruptly stopped, replaced by excited shouts filtering through the opening door. They had been heard.
"Go! Go now!" Rhys urged, shoving Boulder towards the opening.
They scrambled through the gap into the older tunnel. As they cleared the doorway, the Weaver datapad in Rhys's satchel suddenly pulsed, projecting a fleeting, ominous red glyph onto the tunnel wall ahead – a symbol he hadn't seen before but instinctively recognized as a danger warning specific to this new path. Just as that warning registered, the ground beneath their feet trembled violently. A deep groan resonated from the Weaver ruin behind them – the structure reacting to the breach, or a sign of imminent collapse?
With a final, ear-splitting screech, the massive bulkhead door began to grind shut again, perhaps on an automated timer, perhaps triggered by the intruders reaching the other side. They were through, sealed off from the Weaver section for now, but plunged into a new, ancient darkness, with danger potentially behind and ahead. The escape was far from over.