They met just after second bell, behind the granary tower.
Corvina said nothing at first. She simply nodded and gestured for him to follow, cloak pulled tight, boots quiet against gravel.
Lucian didn't ask where.
She led him beyond the southern fields, past the disused tannery and the broken cistern where moss grew in strips along the stones. To an arch set low into the hillside, mostly hidden beneath a collapsed fence and ivy. A stone door, sealed with wax and old runes worn almost blank.
"This used to be sacred ground," she said.
She pressed her palm to the stone. Whispered three words he didn't know.
The door groaned.
Opened inward.
The air was heavy and dry. Not musty. More like the breath of something that hadn't spoken in decades.
They descended a spiral stair—narrow, slick, lit only by the dim blue charm Corvina kept suspended between her fingertips. Lucian's own steps echoed louder than hers, but not as steady.
"What was this place?" he asked softly.
