Thirstfall - Memory of a Returnee-Chapter 49: The Ten-Beep Granade

I know the layout of the elite dorms. It’s pretty simple without even studying the place.

The rear exits are sealed with biometric locks, restricted strictly to faculty and maintenance staff. Forcing them open would trigger a ward, and I don’t need heavily armed instructors swarming us before we even leave the building.

The only way out is the main gate. The exact gate Freya’s hounds are currently watching.

I lean against the wall, staring at the Lunaria fruit and the sweet bread I just bought. My mind cycles through tactical options.

We need a distraction. Something non-lethal but highly disruptive, so we don’t draw an immediate kill order from the administration.

I turn to the small girl humming to herself on the armchair.

"Lola," I ask, keeping my voice low. "Your ability to make things go pop... does it work on living tissue? Can you blow up a person directly?"

She stops humming and shakes her head firmly, the bear ears on her hood flopping side to side.

"No. Flesh is mushy. I only make the loud things pop when I touch their toys. Metal, glass, hard stuff."

Perfect.

Organic matter won’t work. The fruit alone is useless without a reactive housing.

I need to improvise.

I tear the heavy aluminum foil wrapper off my sweet bread and flatten it against my knee. Then, I take the bright, citric Lunaria fruit and carefully core a small hole into its center with the tip of a feather quill pen that was on the table.

"What are you doing?" Lola asks, leaning over the armrest, her large blue eyes watching my hands with intense curiosity. Rhayne stands quietly by the door, observing the makeshift crafting station.

"Chemistry," I mutter.

I pull five glowing blue Scales from my inventory.

[Scales: 420 -> 415]

I crush them in my palm until they turn into fine, highly volatile OXI powder, and stuff the glowing dust deep into the core of the citrus fruit. Finally, I wrap the entire thing tightly in the aluminum foil, twisting the top so it looks like a crude, shiny metallic ball.

"A gift for our friends outside," I say, tossing the foil ball lightly into the air and catching it. "They must be hungry."

Rhayne offers a faint, knowing smile. She’s already learning to translate my sarcasm. "A very thoughtful gift."

"Alright, gear up," I order, slipping the foil ball into my pocket. "We move quiet. Follow my lead, and whatever you do, do not breathe when we hit the courtyard."

We slip out of the suite, navigating the plush corridors. I check every corner, slicing the pie with practiced veteran paranoia, claiming territory inch by inch until we reach the final marble pillar just before the main exit.

Through the grand glass doors, I can see the two senior cadets leaning against the outer statues, perfectly positioned to intercept us.

I crouch behind the pillar and gesture for Lola to come closer.

"I need to borrow ten beeps, Little Bear," I whisper, holding out the foil-wrapped fruit. "Can you lend them to me? Ten seconds is all I need. And I want a very small pop. No fireworks, just a spark to heat the metal. Think you can do that?"

Lola’s eyes light up with euphoric excitement. She nods enthusiastically, vibrating on her combat boots. "Ten beeps. Just a tiny spark."

She presses her small finger against the aluminum foil.

The metal immediately grows warm against my palm. I can feel the kinetic energy transferring, acting as a thermal primer. But for a split millisecond, something strange happens.

The surface of the aluminum foil flickers. The colors invert violently—a flash of neon magenta and sickly green—like a tearing glitch on a broken holovid monitor.

I blink, and the foil is back to normal.

Weird...

I think, shaking my head.

Probably just her volatile magic reacting with the raw OXI dust.

I don’t have time to overanalyze visual artifacts. The timer is running.

"Ten seconds," I whisper, looking back at the girls. "Stay right behind me. When I say run, cover your noses and sprint."

I step out from behind the pillar, slipping my hands into my pockets, and walk through the glass doors with the casual, bored posture of a cadet going out for a morning stroll.

Rhayne and Lola trail closely behind.

The two hounds spot me instantly. They push off the statues, their hands drifting toward their weapons, stepping into my path to block the courtyard exit.

"Where do you think you’re going, Sands?" the larger one sneers.

"Breakfast," I say smoothly, pulling my hand out of my pocket. "Speaking of which, catch."

I toss the foil-wrapped ball underhand.

Startled by the sudden projectile, the senior cadet’s reflexes kick in. He catches it perfectly in both hands.

"It’s fresh Lunaria," I say, offering a polite, deadpan smile. "Go ahead and eat it. It’s still warm."

He looks down at the shiny package, thoroughly confused.

BEEP.

The final invisible second ticks down.

There is no massive explosion. No concussive shockwave. Just a sharp, pressurized CRACK, followed immediately by the sound of violent, boiling chemistry.

The OXI dust ignites. The Lunaria juice boils on contact. The aluminum foil can’t contain either.

A geyser of dense, glowing, caustic blue smoke erupts from the foil package directly into the cadet’s face. It smells like rotting citrus, burning metal, and pure ozone.

"GAAH! What the f—"

The cadet drops the smoking ruin, clutching his eyes and hacking violently as the noxious cloud expands with terrifying speed, instantly engulfing both of Freya’s spies in a blinding, choking fog.

"NOW!" I roar.

I grab Rhayne’s sleeve and sprint. We tear past the blinded hounds, leaving them coughing up their lungs in the courtyard, and hit the streets of the elite sector at a dead run.

We don’t stop until my lungs are burning and the grand, vaulted arches of our target loom ahead of us.

The Procedural Train Station.

It looks like a gothic cathedral fused with an industrial rail yard. Massive iron tracks disappear into glowing, magical tunnels, and the air is thick with the smell of grease and charged OXI.

We stumble through the grand entrance, completely exhausted.

Some people are waiting for the train.

"What... what is this place?" Rhayne pants, leaning against a brass ticketing pillar, trying to catch her breath. Lola looks around, completely unfazed by the run, her eyes wide with wonder at the massive steam-engines.

"The Procedural Train Station," I explain between heavy breaths. "A dungeon disguised as transit. The train drops you at a random biome, and the layout shifts every time the doors open. Nothing is fixed. Nothing is safe."

Lola bounces on her heels. "It’s a mystery ride!"

"A mystery ride that tries to kill you," I correct, checking the massive analog-digital hybrid clock suspended from the ceiling.

The express clock reads thirty seconds to departure.

"Move. Freya’s hounds will sound the alarm the second they can breathe again."

I glance up at the massive mechanical departure board hanging over Platform 3. The destination displays are spinning rapidly, clacking like a giant slot machine determining our fate.

Clack-clack-clack-clack...

It violently halts on a single line of glowing blue text: LUNAR SNOW STATION.

A fierce, triumphant grin splits my face.

Perfect.

Lunar Snow is an alpine surface track. The biome is freezing, but the layout is a straight, linear shot directly to the central engine room access. It’s the absolute best-case scenario for this heist.

But as I stare at the board, the glowing blue letters violently flicker.

The same sickly magenta and green static that I saw on the aluminum foil tears across the digital display for a microsecond.

A cold shiver runs down my spine. I don’t like that. But the harsh blast of the train’s departure horn interrupts my thoughts.

"No time! Get in!" I shout.

We sprint across the platform and dive through the heavy iron doors of the rearguard passenger car.

Five seconds later, the hydraulic doors hiss shut, locking with a heavy, final thud.

Lola immediately claims a plush velvet window seat. She unclips Lullaby’s massive black case, resting it carefully beside her boots, completely amused by the entire situation.

Rhayne slumps into the seat across from her, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead.

"So," Rhayne exhales, looking up at me as the train lurches forward. "We made it. What now?"

Before the words fully leave her mouth, the train accelerates and plunges headfirst into the transit tunnel.

But something is horribly wrong.

The ambient light from the station vanishes, replaced by the sickly yellow emergency bulbs flickering inside the carriage.

The sound of the tracks changes. It isn’t the rhythmic clatter of steel on stone. It’s a deep, groaning, oppressive creak pressing against the reinforced hull of the train. The sound of millions of gallons of water trying to crush us from the outside.

It sounds exactly like the inside of a sinking submarine.

My veteran memory screams in protest.

No. This isn’t right. Lunar Snow is a surface track through the mountains. There are no abyssal tunnels on this route. Where the hell is it taking us?

A loud, electrical SNAP echoes through the carriage.

The sickly yellow bulbs explode in a shower of sparks. The engine hum dies entirely.

The train loses all power, plunging us into absolute, suffocating darkness.

I stand frozen in the pitch black, the oppressive sound of the deep ocean crushing against the glass just inches away.

I close my eyes, and a bitter, cynical thought weighs heavily on my gut.

Fucking Chaos Theory...