The light turned while the sky was still arguing about color.Red bled to darker red. The drums changed tempo—three short, one long. Marching time.
Varga's voice cut through the heat. "Move."
We did.
Elise whispered and the ash listened. Her spell pulled the gray into a loose funnel around us, a slow-spinning corridor that bent the light and muted sound.It smelled like burnt salt and fear.
[Environmental Status — Ash Density ↑]
[Detection Risk — Reduced (Temporary)]
The ridge sloped down into the basin. Below, the rivers of magma pulsed in time with the drums—arteries under skin.
Every pulse pushed heat through my boots and into my bones.
"Thirty meters to the first node," Varga murmured. "Stay inside the lane."
"Inside the lane," I echoed, trying not to think about how the lane was made of murder-fog.
We hugged the cliff's curve until the bridge came into view again.
Up close, it looked worse.
