Here is the revised version of Chapter 5, with all em dashes removed and replaced with commas or periods for a smoother flow.

Chapter 5: The Throat of the World

Time: 01 // 05 Flare Location: The Sonic Rails / The Sub-Crust of Rahmori

Speed usually felt like something like wind, vibration, or noise. But this speed was absolute. It felt like nothing at all.

The maintenance pod was little more than a rusted copper bubble with a glass front, suspended in a tube of total darkness. There were no lights, no engines, and no controls. There was only Saje.

He sat cross-legged on the floor of the pod, his hands pressed against the copper hull. His eyes were closed, sweat beading on his forehead. A low, continuous hum vibrated from his throat, a pitch so deep Val felt it in their bone marrow rather than their ears.

Hmmmmmmmmmm.

The pod didn't move through the air; it rode the frequency of the earth. They were travelling at the speed of sound, hurtling through the ancient Noʃun (Sonic Rails) that crisscrossed the planet's crust like a nervous system.

"You're doing great," Val whispered, gripping the safety rail until their knuckles turned white.

Saje didn't answer. He couldn't. If he stopped humming for even an Echo, the sonic levitation would fail, and they would be smeared against the tunnel walls at Mach 1.

Val looked out the glass. Every few seconds, a blur of bioluminescent lichen flashed by green, blue, and violet, marking the depth. They were miles beneath the surface. Beneath the Council's sensors. Beneath the war.

Or so they thought.

Suddenly, Saje gasped. The hum faltered for a micro-echo. The pod dropped a foot, slamming Val’s stomach into their throat, before Saje caught the rhythm again.

"Saje?" Val asked, alarm spiking.

"Something else is in the tune," Saje gritted out, his voice strained. "A discord. Someone... someone is harmonizing with us."

Val looked back into the darkness of the tunnel behind them. "The Council?"

"Not them," Saje whispered. "Something louder."

A screech tore through the pod, a high-pitched mechanical shriek that shattered the silence. Val covered their ears, screaming as the sound pierced their skull.

Behind them, in the pitch black of the tunnel, two red lights ignited. They weren't eyes; they were sensors. A sleek, black drone shaped like a dart and humming with a violent, jagged frequency was gaining on them.

"Hunter-Seeker!" Saje yelled, his calm demeanor shattering. "Hold on!"

Saje changed his tune. He pitched his voice up, turning the low hum into a frantic, staccato chant. The pod responded instantly, surging forward with a burst of acceleration that pinned Val to the floor.

The Hunter-Seeker matched their speed. It opened its mouth, a speaker dish glowing with red energy, and fired a pulse of Condensed Sound.

BOOM.

The shockwave hit the pod. The copper hull groaned. Val was thrown against the wall, tasting blood.

"It’s locking onto my frequency!" Saje shouted. "I can't hide us and fly at the same time!"

"Then stop flying!" Val yelled, crawling back to the window. "Drop us!"

"We're doing six hundred ili!" Saje argued. "If I drop us, we disintegrate!"

"Not if we exit!" Val pointed ahead. A faint, jagged crack of light appeared in the tunnel wall, a breach in the ancient tube. "There! A fracture!"

Saje looked at the crack. It was a suicide run. To hit that exit, he would have to detach from the main rail and drift-crash into the breach.

"Do it, Saje!" Val commanded. "Trust the roots!"

Saje closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. And he stopped humming the flight song.

Instead, he screamed.

It was a single, discordant note of pure force.

The pod detached from the magnetic flow. Gravity took over. They slammed into the side of the tunnel, sparks flying as copper met stone. The Hunter-Seeker shot past them, unable to break its momentum, and vanished into the dark.

The pod tumbled, spinning out of control toward the fracture.

Light blinded them. Heat slammed into them. The pod smashed through the rock, bounced once, twice, and then disintegrated as it hit a landscape of razor-sharp glass.

Val was thrown clear, landing hard on a dune of crystal sand. They rolled, their ceremonial robes tearing, until they came to a stop at the base of a jagged obsidian spire.

Silence.

Val lay there for a moment, gasping for air. Their ears were ringing. Their shoulder throbbed.

"Saje?" Val croaked, pushing themself up.

A pile of debris shifted nearby. Saje emerged, coughing up dust, his groundskeeper tunic shredded. He looked pale, drained of all energy.

"I hate..." Saje wheezed, spitting out pink sand. "...flying."

Val stumbled over to him, checking him for broken bones. "We're alive. We made it."

They looked around. And the hope died in Val’s throat.

They hadn't landed in Khijan.

They had landed in the Jeɾij Ujal, the Desert of Glass.

It was a nightmare landscape. For miles in every direction, the ground was covered in broken shards of memory crystals, the discarded history of Khijan. Millions of jagged, translucent knives stuck out of the ground, reflecting the Tama sun that was just beginning to breach the horizon.

It was blindingly bright and dangerously hot.

And on the horizon, shimmering behind waves of heat distortion, stood the city of Khijan. It looked close, but in this terrain, it might as well have been on the moon.

Saje stood up, shielding his eyes. He checked the sky.

01 // 30 Flare. Right on time for Kira's ascendance.

"We have twenty-one Arks until the Low Eleven," Saje said, his voice grim. "And we have to walk across that."

Val looked at the field of glass. They looked down at their soft, palace-issue boots. Then they reached into their pocket. The Harmonic Key was still there, cool and safe.

"Then we better start walking," Val said, tearing a strip of cloth from their robe to wrap around their hands. "Watch your step, Advisor. History cuts deep, it appears."

They had been walking for less than an Ark, and Val’s boots were already ruined.

The "sand" of the Jeɾij Ujal wasn't sand at all. It was millions of tons of crushed memory-crystals, ground down by centuries of wind into a fine, glittering powder that acted like diamond dust. It didn't just cushion their steps; it gnawed at them.

Val hissed as a sharp edge sliced through the soft leather of their sole, biting into the heel. They didn't stop. They couldn't.

Above them, Kira was no longer a gentle morning sunrise. The First Sun had detached itself from the horizon and was climbing the Ascendant arc with terrifying speed. The air was beginning to shimmer. The temperature was climbing past 100 degrees.

"Drink," Val said, unhooking the small ceremonial flask from their belt, the only water they had. They passed it to Saje.

Saje shook his head, pushing the flask back. He was stumbling, his feet dragging through the glass drifts. The sonic scream he had unleashed in the tunnel had done more than break the pod; it had cracked something inside him. His skin was gray, and his hum, usually a constant, subconscious presence, was dead silent.

"I’m fine," Saje rasped. His lips were cracked. "Save it for the high heat."

"If you pass out, I can't carry you," Val said, forcing the flask into his hands. "Drink. That’s a royal order."

Saje managed a weak, dry chuckle. "Abusing your power already, Vajava?" But he took a sip. Just a sip.

They crested a dune of razor-sharp obsidian. Val squinted against the glare. The city of Khijan was visible in the distance, a fortress of prismatic spires rising from the glass sea. It was beautiful. And it was miles away.

"We’re not going to make it," Val whispered, the realization hitting them like a physical blow.

They checked the sky. 02 // 40 Flare.

The suns were moving too fast. Or they were moving too slowly. By the time they reached the city gates, it would be the High Eleven. The Convergence. The heat would be lethal, hot enough to melt the very glass they were walking on.

"We need shelter," Saje said, swaying. He pointed to a cluster of jagged rocks about a mile to the east. "Shadow. We have to hide until the Fade."

"If we stop, we miss the deadline," Val argued, though their own legs were trembling. "The library burns at the Low Eleven tonight. If we hide all day..."

"If we die of heatstroke, the library burns anyway," Saje countered softly.

He took a step toward the rocks and fell.

"Saje!" Val lunged, catching him before his face hit the glass.

Saje was dead weight. His breathing was shallow. "The echo..." he murmured, his eyes rolling back. "It took too much."

Val lowered him to the ground, panic rising in their chest. They were alone. Exposed. The sun beat down on Val’s neck like a hammer.

Val looked around desperately. Just endless, blinding glass.

Flash.

Something moved in the distance.

It wasn't a heat mirage. It was a rhythmic flash of light, sunlight reflecting off something metal. Something moving fast across the dunes.

A vehicle? A drone?

Val stood up, waving their arms. "Hey! Over here!"

"Get down," Saje groaned from the ground, trying to grab Val’s ankle. "Val... hide."

But Val didn't hide. If it was the Council, they were caught. If it was anyone else, they were saved. They had no other play.

The vehicle crested the dune. It wasn't a sleek Council transport or a magnetic-drive car. It was a beast.

It was a Land-Skiff, a ragged, rusted hull mounted on six oversized, treaded wheels designed to crush glass. It looked like it had been built from scrap metal and spite. The engine roared, spitting black smoke that smelled of burning oil, a smell that didn't exist in the clean, solar-powered capital.

The skiff slewed to a halt twenty yards away, spraying a wave of glass dust into the air.

A hatch on the top popped open. A figure emerged.

They were covered head-to-toe in wrapped desert linens, dyed the color of the glass to blend in. They wore heavy, tinted goggles and a breathing mask made from an old skull.

The figure leveled a long, kinetic rifle at Val’s chest.

"You're far from the pavement, Golden One," a voice crackled through the mask. It was distorted, harsh. "Did you get lost on the way to the tea party?"

Val raised their hands, standing over Saje’s unconscious body. "We need help. My friend is hurt."

The figure didn't lower the rifle. They tilted their head, looking at Val’s torn ceremonial robes, the gold embroidery glinting in the sun.

"You're Council," the stranger spat. "We don't help Council. We bury them."

The stranger racked the bolt of the rifle.

Val didn't flinch. They stepped forward, placing themself directly between the gun and Saje.

"I am not Council," Val said, their voice steady, channeling every ounce of authority they had left. "I am Valode... Liorovaj. And if you want to see tomorrow, you will lower that weapon and get us water."

The stranger paused. The name hung in the hot, dry air.

Slowly, the stranger lowered the rifle. They reached up and pulled down the goggles, revealing eyes that were startlingly violet, the mark of the Thame, the Deep Desert Tribes.

"Liorovaj?" the stranger laughed, a dry, rasping sound. "Well, shit. The prophecies didn't say you'd be this dirty."

Dava didn't offer a hand. They simply gestured to the open hatch with the barrel of the rifle.

"Load the baggage," Dava ordered, their voice distorted by the skull-mask. "If he bleeds on my upholstery, you're walking."

Val dragged Saje toward the skiff. It was a struggle, Saje was dead weight, and the glass sand slipped under Val’s boots, but Dava just watched, leaning against the rusted hull, testing Val.

Val finally heaved Saje into the dark, cramped cabin and climbed in after him. The interior smelled of old sweat, ozone, and unrefined oil. It was sweltering.

"Hold on," Dava yelled from the cockpit.

The engine roared, a dirty, combustion sound that felt illegal. The skiff lurched forward, treads grinding the glass dunes into powder as it accelerated toward the prismatic city.

Val wedged themself between a crate of supplies and Saje, holding the Advisor upright. Saje groaned, his eyes fluttering open.

"Loud..." Saje murmured, wincing at the engine noise.

"Drink," Val ordered, pressing the flask to his lips again. This time, Saje drank.

The ride was violent. Every bump sent a shockwave through the cabin. Val looked out the dirty porthole. The desert of glass blurred by, a sea of broken knives reflecting the rising sun.

"You staring at the view?" Dava’s voice crackled over a comms speaker in the back. "Pretty, isn't it?"

"It's terrifying," Val replied, their voice barely audible over the engine.

"It's history," Dava corrected sharply. "Do you know what you're driving over, Liorovaj?"

Val looked at the shards. "Discarded memory crystals. From the Ancient Archives. Before the First Era of Light."

Dava laughed, a harsh, barking sound that had no humor in it. "Ancient? Is that what they teach you in the white tower?"

The skiff took a hard turn, throwing Val against the wall.

"Kid," Dava sneered. "These aren't ancient. I knew the woman who carved that blue shard you're sitting on. She was my baker."

Val froze. "What? But... the history books say the Council brought the Solar Grid two centuries ago. They say the Tribes vanished in the Dark Age."

"There was no Dark Age," Dava spat. "There was just a Tuesday. Twenty-two years ago. That’s when your Council decided that 'efficiency' was more important than 'memory.' They didn't pave the world two hundred years ago, Valode. They did it while you were in the womb."

Val looked back out the window. The endless miles of sparkling dust... it wasn't ancient history. It was a crime scene. A fresh one at that.

"They rewrote the calendar," Saje whispered from the floor, his eyes open, staring at the ceiling. "They added zeros to the dates. Made the peace feel eternal so no one would fight for the war they just lost."

"Exactly," Dava said. "They made us ghosts before we were even dead."

The skiff slowed. The engine dropped to a low, grumbling idle.

"End of the line," Dava announced. "I don't get closer than the perimeter. The automated turrets have a nasty habit of aiming for my fuel tank."

The hatch popped open. Blinding light and searing heat flooded the cabin.

Val helped Saje stumble out. They were standing in the shadow of a massive, rusted ventilation pipe that protruded from the ground, likely an intake for the city's cooling system. Khijan loomed above them, a fortress of diamond and light.

Dava stood on the hull of the skiff, looking down at them. The violet eyes behind the goggles narrowed, studying Val.

"You saved the boy," Dava said, nodding at Saje. "You stood in front of a gun for a servant. Why?"

"He's not a servant," Val said, wiping glass dust from their face. "He's my Yi (Kin)."

Dava paused. They shifted their weight, the cynicism slipping for just a second.

"You're a strange one, Harmonic," Dava muttered. "You buzz differently than the others. You don't hum like a Council drone. You hum like... like you're waking up."

Dava tossed something to Val.

Val caught it. It was a small, rough-cut stone carved with a spiral symbol, the sigil of the Davaɾu (Wind).

"If you survive the city," Dava said, revving the engine. "Show that to the beggars in the Shard Slums. Tell them the Wind sent you. They won't slit your throat."

"Wait," Val stepped forward. "Will I see you again?"

Dava pulled their goggles back down. "The wind goes where it pleases. But be careful, Liorovaj. You're starting to shine. And in this desert, shiny things get shattered."

With a spray of glass, the skiff spun around and roared back toward the horizon.

Val watched Dava go until the dust cloud settled. They held the wind-stone tight in their hand. The heat of the High Eleven was approaching. The air shimmered.

"He's right, you know," Saje whispered, leaning against the ventilation pipe.

"About the history?" Val asked, feeling the weight of the lie crumbling beneath their boots. "About the twenty years?"

"About you," Saje said. "You are waking up."

Val looked up at the towering, terrifying city of Khijan. It didn't look like a glorious monument anymore. It looked like a tomb built on a lie. Everything looked like a lie. The truths Val struggled to settle in were showing their flaws.

"Then let's go break some rules," Val said.

They turned and vanished into the shadows of the ventilation shaft, leaving the sun, and the lies of the light, behind.