The air in the Unwritten Tunnels didn't just feel heavy; it felt wrong. It was a thick, cloying atmosphere that tasted like burnt copper and ancient dust. As Lucian followed Alexander Hale deeper into the labyrinth, the neon-lit world above felt like a fading dream or a beautiful lie.
Lucian's arms were beginning to tremble. He had been carrying Lyra for miles, his muscles screaming under the weight of her unconscious form. But it wasn't her physical weight that was the problem; it was the energy she was leaking. Every few minutes, a pulse of white light would ripple through her skin, sending a jolt of static through Lucian's chest that threatened to restart his "Mortal Reset" sequence.
"How much further?" Lucian rasped, his voice sounding like two stones grinding together.
