Chapter 19: The Blood's Whisper
July 11–12, 2147, En Route to Göbekli Tepe
Selika's POV
The smuggler's skiff rattled through Anatolia's ash-choked skies, its neural dampers emitting a stuttering hum that struggled to drown out the distant snarl of Silas Daem's drones. Selika Maris Delgado braced herself against a dented bulkhead, monsoon grit coating her bronze skin, her neck glyphs pulsing faintly beneath the holo-lens strapped over her left eye. Inanna's voice coiled through her thoughts, a ceaseless hiss since Phnom Penh's shard—a fractured relic promising to unravel the Veil, the neural web binding humanity's minds. Blood trickled from her nose, staining the rig's cracked display. She smeared it away with a shaky hand, the hum a fragile anchor, reminiscent of Phnom Penh's hidden den. Reyan slouched across from her, his war-scarred face half-obscured by a flickering holo-feed, pulse-knife balanced on his thigh, its blade glinting dully. His distrust, born from Peru's vision of her whispering to Enlil, cut deeper than Inanna's spectral talons. She longed for his trust, the memory of his touch from nights before Peru warming her briefly, but the rift between them gaped cold and unbridgeable. The hum slowed her racing heart, a fleeting pause in 2147's relentless storm, the salty bite of scavenged flatbread lingering from their last meal.A vision struck like a hammer blow: Inanna's starfire claws slashed through a blackened void, Enlil's colossus looming like a thunderhead, his voice booming, "Your blood fuels my dominion, child of the flame." The Veil's web thrummed, a web of tortured minds, her own voice drowned in their wails. Shadows parted, revealing a vault beneath Göbekli Tepe, its T-pillars seeping a viscous dark energy, a pulse of ancient malice. Her glyphs flared violently, blood streaming from her nose, rig sparking with a harsh crackle. Reyan's eyes locked on her—sharp, then wavering. "You're losing it again," he growled, his voice low, laced with a fear he couldn't suppress."I'm fighting her," Selika croaked, her throat raw and tight. "She craves our blood, Reyan. The shard's stirring her awake." Her hands quivered, Inanna's hiss retreating like a fading echo, but the vault's image seared into her mind—a beacon of dread and power. She leaned toward him, eyes blazing with resolve. "I'm still me. Trust me." His gaze softened, a flicker of the man who'd sheltered her under Peru's stars, but doubt held him firm, a barrier she couldn't yet breach.Mara's holo ignited, her shaved head a stark glow in the dimness. "Göbekli Tepe's vault holds the Veil's core. Your blood is the key. Silas's Cult is on your tail—Kael's drones are stalling them." Selika nodded, but Inanna's voice lashed back: Yield the shard, my bloodkin. Blood dripped to her chin, her rig shuddering as another vision hit—Enlil's gaze piercing her soul, a frigid order to submit, the vault's pillars thrumming with his intent. She bit back a scream, clutching the bulkhead until her nails dug into the metal.
Reyan's POV
Reyan Al-Mehdi tightened his grip on his pulse-knife, the skiff's hum a thin veil over Mosul's haunting echoes—drone strikes obliterating his squad, their screams etched into the scars beneath his frayed jacket. Selika's nosebleed, her glyphs' erratic dance, twisted a knot in his stomach. Inanna was tearing her apart, and Peru's vision—her voice tangled with Enlil's—eroded his faith. Could she still be his ally, or was she succumbing to the Veil's pull? The mind-web, once a skeptic's tale, now loomed as a threat, their blood its only unlock. He bit into flatbread, its salt a harsh contrast to the ash-laden air, a brief respite from their flight from Phnom Penh's Cult. Selika's eyes, clouded by Inanna, met his, her struggle a spark he'd once adored before their rift. He yearned to mend it, but Mosul's ghosts anchored him in guilt.Her sudden gasp yanked him back. "You're losing it again," he said, his voice rough with concealed panic. Her hoarse reply—"I'm fighting her"—struck him like a physical blow, her defiance mirroring his stand against Mosul's ashes. "I'm still me," she insisted, fierce, and his chest clenched, glimpsing her strength through Inanna's haze. He wanted to believe, to reach out, but the past held him back.Mara's holo pulsed, her voice cutting: "Göbekli Tepe. Your blood opens it. Silas is closing in—Kael's drones are your cover." Reyan nodded, but Selika's flinch, blood streaking her face, froze him. He edged closer, their knees brushing, a surge of warmth piercing his doubt. "Stay with me," he whispered, a promise born of instinct. Her fingers brushed his, glyphs flaring steady—a tentative bond, not yet love.A drone's shriek split the hum, Silas's sigils flaring through the hull. Reyan sprang, knife slicing wires, sparks flying as the drone smashed into the skiff's side. Selika's holo-lens blazed, frying another, but Inanna's hold dragged her down, blood flowing freely. "Run!" Mara's holo shouted. The skiff lurched, engines roaring, and crashed into Göbekli Tepe's ruins, T-pillars jutting like ancient teeth under ash-laden clouds. They stumbled out, boots grinding stone, as Cult agents swarmed—robed figures wielding pulse-blades. A blade scored Reyan's arm, neural agony flaring in his glyphs. Selika's knife arced, felling an agent, blood misting the air, her eyes burning through Inanna's influence. Kael's drones dived, sparking chaos, forcing the Cult back as they staggered toward the vault's shadowed entrance.They sprawled in a ritual circle, rigs smoking, the skiff's hum silenced by ash-choked wails. Reyan's arm pulsed with pain, blood soaking his sleeve, but Selika's unwavering gaze steadied him. They shared flatbread, fingers grazing, a fragile pause beneath the T-pillars' ominous weight. He traced the ragged scar on his wrist, Mosul's fall replaying—his squad's cries, his futile stand—then her presence softened the ache. She slumped nearby, nosebleed clotted, the rift between them easing like weathered steel. Silas's drones buzzed closer, a hunter's growl, but their blood thrummed with the vault's dark promise.