The road south of Emberlight was a scar.
Wagons came this way once, long ago, but now only wind and scavengers
traveled it. The earth was burned in places, cracked open by old experiments.
Strange crystals jutted from the soil like bones. The air smelled faintly of
ozone — the residue of Shaper magic that refused to die.
Kaelira led the way, silent as a prayer. Tibbin walked beside Gizmo, spinning
his crossbow between his fingers.
"You ever get the feeling we're walking into a story someone else already
wrote?" Tibbin asked.
Gizmo puffed his pipe. "If we are, I intend to rewrite the ending."
By dusk, they reached a ridge overlooking the Myrren plains. In the distance,
faint lights pulsed under the earth — ancient forges still breathing. Gizmo
knelt, brushing his hand across the dirt. The ground vibrated faintly. The Orb's
glow deepened.
"There's something alive down there," he murmured.
Kaelira nodded. "The Shapers built deep. Their forges were meant to outlast
time."
Tibbin frowned. "And yet here we are, standing above their graves."
"Graves don't hum," Gizmo said.
They made camp under an outcropping of rock. The night air was cold, sharp,
filled with the smell of rain. Kaelira sat apart, polishing her sword. Tibbin
brewed something that might have been soup. Gizmo lay on his back,
watching the stars.
The Orb hovered above him, glowing faintly in rhythm with his breath.
"You think we're mad?" he asked.
Tibbin stirred the pot. "Absolutely."
Kaelira didn't look up. "The question is whether we're right."
When dawn came, so did the ruins.
The Myrren tunnels yawned open at the base of a collapsed bridge, their
entrance framed by rusted metal and runes that still shimmered faintly in the
dark. Gizmo lit his lamp; the Orb brightened, illuminating spirals carved into
the walls.
They descended.
The tunnels stretched for miles — half mine, half cathedral. Stalactites hung
like frozen screams. Machinery older than nations slumbered beneath their
feet, humming faintly in its dreams. Kaelira moved ahead, her blade glowing
softly. Tibbin covered their rear.
At last, they reached a chamber vast enough to swallow Emberlight's towers
whole.
In its center stood a massive mechanism — a sphere of gears and crystal veins
pulsing with pale light.
The Orb at Gizmo's wrist began to hum in resonance.
"Thalos built this," Kaelira whispered. "Or someone who learned from him."
Gizmo stepped forward, heart hammering. "No," he said softly. "This built
him."
(End of Chapter Seven)