The others follow, footsteps muffled against the damp earth as the tunnel swallows us whole. As the last of us steps inside, Calryx roars above—furious, unwilling. The sound shakes the stone, echoing down the passage like a warning. But it’s too late to turn back because the bond is pulling us forward.
Thane moves first, leading us into the passage, his hand still wrapped around mine. As we cross the threshold into the darkness, he gives my fingers a slight squeeze—just once, firm and steady. The bond between us is no longer just a presence buta pull, deep and insistent, guiding us forward.
Once we cross the threshold, the air shifts—cool, thick, untouched by time. The scent of damp earth fills my lungs, rich and ancient, as if we are breathing in something that hasn’t been disturbed for centuries.
The passage is wide, much larger than I expected. The walls and ceiling are packed earth, but they feel firm, solid, like something deliberately carved rather than naturally formed. Thick roots coil along the walls, some reaching down from the ceiling, their dark tendrils twisting like veins through the soil.
Even our footsteps sound off—too soft, too swallowed.
Thane lifts his free hand, summoning a sphere of flickering firelight. The golden glow pushes back the shadows, illuminating the path ahead. Garrick and Jarek follow, their flames flaring to life. Five spheres in total.
Two of the orbs drift forward, floating ahead of us, casting flickering golden light against the earthen walls. The remaining three hover close, illuminating our group in a warm glow. Shadows stretch and shift with our movements, the passage ahead still disappears into darkness.
After lighting the way, Thane unsheathes his sword with a quiet rasp of steel, the blade catching the firelight. His other hand remains locked around mine, firm and steady, keeping me close.
Garrick and Rian move in sync, swords already drawn. Jarek keeps one hand free for his fire magics, his dagger resting at his hip, ready to be drawn in an instant.
Lyra’s grip is light but sure, fingers curled around the hilts of her daggers, her stance poised and deadly. Valen holds his staff with practiced ease, shoulders loose, but I know better than to mistake that for a lack of readiness.
I keep my sword in one hand, my magics thrumming beneath my skin, ready to rise at a moment’s notice.
The earth beneath our feet is firm, and the silence around us is absolute—no wind, no distant echoes. Just the soft fall of boots against the packed ground and the steady pulse of the bond, pulling me forward.
The deeper we go, the heavier the air becomes. Not from lack of oxygen, but from something else. Pressure. Like unseen tendrils wrapping around my ribs.
The passage is wide, the walls and ceiling solid earth, packed firm, untouched by time or decay. But as we go deeper, the firelight reveals something else—markings.
At first, they are faint, barely more than scratches. But as we move forward, they grow clearer, more defined—deliberate carvings etched into the walls.
Valen slows beside me, his gaze sharp, tracking the symbols as they flicker under the glow of our firelight. “These are Shadow Clan markings.” His voice is quiet but certain.
Something squeezes in my chest—sharp. Tight. The bond. Thane.
I glance up. His face is still—purposefully blank. But a bead of sweat glints at his temple—the only outward sign he’s worried. The Shadow Clan was here. And we don’t yet know what that means—especially for him.
I place my free hand on his forearm, trying to tell him—without words—that he’s okay. Not as the Spiritborn. Just as me.
He glances at me, his expression softening. He gives a tight nod.
I turn back to the markings and step closer. Reach out. My fingers graze the grooves—and I understand them. The shapes shouldn’t mean anything. But they do. This is the second time. The first was the sigil.
How many more times will I understand things I’ve never learned?
The realization makes my breath catch. I trace the firstline, murmuring the words as they form in my mind. “A path forgotten . . . A past buried . . . A return inevitable.”
Silence stretches. I feel the weight of their stares—until Lyra breaks it.
“How the hell can you read that?”
I glance back, my heart still thudding. I don’t have an answer, not one that makes sense.
Before I can speak, Garrick exhales, rolling his shoulders. “Because she’s the Spiritborn. Of course.”
Jarek huffs a quiet laugh, but no one disagrees.
I shake my head, trying to make sense of it.
But why now? Why couldn’t I understand runes before?
