The shaft did not welcome her.
Rhaen stepped onto the first narrow stair and felt at once how little the stone cared if she lived.
The steps spiralled down around the open throat of the shaft, hugging the wall. Some were whole. Some were cracked. Some were half-eaten by clear mineral, turned slick with crystal that caught the faint light from above.
Her ribs complained at the first careful descent.
"Too late," she muttered to them. "You should have spoken up before the boss fight."
Her voice fell away quickly, swallowed by the dark below. The air smelled of old dust and cold stone, with a faint metallic taste of mana still settling after the Warden's death.
She set one hand against the wall and forced her legs to move.
Down.
