Kaelith
Tonight, the sky hung heavy above Thirandel—ancient mountains jutting out like the spine of a dead dragon, long since stripped of its sheen.
The stones here felt colder, sharper. Even the wind seemed hesitant to linger, afraid it might awaken something buried deep within.
We stood before the mouth of the Iron Vein, an old diamond mine now resembling the jaws of some primeval beast. Black, gaping, and swallowing the night whole.
Sylas narrowed his eyes, dipping his head slightly as he peered into the darkness. I stood beside him, hands already clenched tight around the sheathes of his daggers.
"A beautiful place to die," he murmured, tone light—as if we were about to walk into a party, not an ambush.
I didn't answer. The map in my hand was clear—the X marked this place. No doubt. No turning back.
"I can smell the traps from here," he added with a grin, though his eyes remained sharp. "But of course, we agreed—we like games."
