"Steady," he said—soft, commanding. He might as well have issued the word to the air itself. Gravity buckled again, then settled enough for breath.
Sylvanna's knees threatened mutiny. A bead of sweat slid from her temple, chilled by weightless air halfway down. Draven caught her wrist. His pulse was a metronome—slow, exact. A whisper of mana rode that beat, threading into her veins. Breath found its cadence, heart fell in step. The world tilted upright.
She blinked at him, still gripping his sleeve. He withdrew in the next breath, expression unreadable. No thanks were offered, none requested.
They descended the final ramp. With every yard the cavern's hush deepened, until even the scrape of a pebble seemed intrusive. The crystal veins inside the Heart Tree brightened, reacting to their proximity, as if curious which intruders dared cross its suffering.
