Sov leads us underground.
The city above still breathes smoke and fear, but beneath—beneath, it *stirs.*
We pass through corridors carved before memory. Brickwork bends. Air grows colder. The closer we get to the rival's escape point, the more the walls change.
Thread markings.
Not written. *Woven.*
"They weren't just hiding here," Sov says. "They were *building*."
Lira brushes her hand over one. It recoils slightly, like a living thing touched. "Not just threadless. Something deeper."
"They're laying a path," I say. "A bone path. For the rival. For what comes next."
Wren's breath catches. "He's not just trying to rewrite the city... He's trying to *replace it.*"
We stop at a broken stone archway. It hums faintly. There's no light. Only motion—shadows pulsing in patterns, like veins in a dying creature.
Jeral steps forward first. His blade taps the ground. "This is where he went?"
Sov nods. "The trail ends here."
Branvel draws a flame into his hand. The light casts shapes we wish we hadn't seen—sigils burned into bone, still warm. Faces pressed into the walls. Not dead. *Trapped.*
"He's binding people now," Kett whispers. "Not just shadows. Not just puppets."
Nera lowers her hood. Her sealed mouth begins to hum. The hum spreads. A warding call. But even she pulls back a second later.
"It listens," she signs. "And it hates the Vault."
I step into the archway. The ring on my hand burns cold.
Not with rejection. With recognition.
"He was down here long before us," I say. "He knew the Vault's roots. He knew Vellidra would resist."
"And he *wants* her resistance," Lira adds, stepping beside me. "Because he wants to crush it in front of the whole city."
"Not just crush it," I reply. "Erase it."
Sov turns to me. "What do we do?"
I stare into the bone-lit dark. The tunnel goes deeper than any of us expected. It smells like dust, death, and something waiting.
"We follow," I say. "We find where this path ends."
"And then?"
I raise the ring.
"Then we end it."