The chamber wasn't built. It was remembered.
Lysander led Luna through the cellar door beneath the greenhouse—not the usual storage space with gardening tools and spare lanterns, but a hidden stairwell that hadn't existed yesterday. Stone steps spiraled down into cool darkness, walls lined with faintly glowing glyphs that pulsed like slow heartbeats.
"You sure you're ready for this?" he asked, voice low.
Luna didn't answer right away. She touched one of the glyphs. It warmed under her fingertips, humming in a frequency she felt in her bones.
"I've been dreaming of fire," she said finally. "Cities burning, but not from bombs. From… silence. Like the world forgot how to speak."
Lysander's jaw tightened. "That's the First War. Not many remember it. Fewer survive recalling it."
"I'm not most people."
"No," he admitted. "You're the last echo of the Covenant-Bearers."
They reached the bottom.
