The Singing Canyons lived up to their name. The wind through the giant, naturally formed crystal spires created an eerie, constant harmony—a sound Malakor's machines were now amplifying and twisting into something regimented and oppressive.
The strike team infiltrated using a smuggler's route provided by the Echo-Net, hiding their small skiff in a sound-deadening cave. From a high ridge, they looked down at the site. It was a vision of sterile industry: thousands of drones and enslaved workers (of various species) building the gigantic, ring-like structure of the Chorus. At its heart, in the deepest canyon, glowed a structure of pure Black Stone and polished alloy—the Conductor's Core.
The scale was daunting.
"The shield recalibration is in two hours,"Elara whispered, monitoring the complex energy readings. "We get to that service trench there, use the cover of the worker exchange, and slip into the main conduit when the shield flickers."
The plan was a house of cards. It relied on timing, disguise (they wore stolen worker coveralls), and sheer nerve.
They moved like ghosts through the chaotic bustle. The air thrummed with the disciplined, wrong version of the canyon's song. They reached the service trench. The shield, a shimmering wall of interlocking geometric patterns, hummed before them.
The moment came. The pattern stuttered, the hum dipped in pitch.
"Now!"Lyra hissed.
They sprinted. Through the flickering shield, into a maze of steaming pipes and vibrating power conduits that led into the heart of the Core. The air inside was dead silent, the chaotic sounds of construction completely muted. The only sound was a deep, sub-audible thrum that vibrated in their teeth.
They were inside the beast.