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> "The deeper you dig, the darker the earth becomes. Some things are buried for a reason, not to be found."
> — Old Mountain Proverb
>
Master Elara led them through a maze of dimly lit passages, each turn taking them deeper into the mountain's embrace. The air grew colder, heavy with the scent of damp stone and a faint, sweet smell Ash couldn't quite place. His boots scuffed softly on the uneven floor, a mix of smooth, worn rock and scattered debris. The only sounds were their breathing, Kael's armor clinking softly, and the rhythmic tap-tap of Elara's wooden staff.
The walls were no longer raw, natural rock. They became carved and shaped, showing that this was truly part of Veilstone Keep's forgotten levels. Huge, faded tapestries hung in places, tattered and covered in dust, depicting scenes of ancient battles or robed figures performing strange rituals. Statues of stern, unknown kings and queens, their faces eroded by time, watched them from dark alcoves. Ash felt a chill as they passed, as if the very stones held memories, silently judging them.
"This is the Silent Descent," Elara whispered, his voice raspy but clear in the quiet. "A path rarely used, even in the Keep's glory days. It leads to the Under-Archives, where the most dangerous and protected knowledge was kept."
"Dangerous how?" Kael asked, his hand still on his sword. He didn't like these quiet, unseen dangers. Give him a clear enemy, and he was fine. This echoing silence, this waiting darkness, made him uneasy.
"Dangerous in its truth, Knight," Elara replied, glancing back. "The King's scholars burn what they fear. The Black Quill chose to hide it. Some truths, when known, can shatter empires. Or reshape them." He looked at Ash, a deep, knowing gaze. "Like the truth of the Crown."
The shard in Ash's chest buzzed, a low thrum that matched his own rising tension. The visions from it became more frequent, more intense. He saw flashes of light, blinding and powerful, followed by images of immense destruction. He saw faces contorted in agony, then transformed by dark, glowing power. Was this what the Crown wanted to show him? Its terrible beauty, its devastating might? He felt a strange pull from the passages ahead, a magnetic force drawing him deeper.
Suddenly, Lyra stopped. Her head tilted, listening. Her eyes, usually so sharp, seemed distant. "I hear something," she whispered. "A hum. Like a thousand bees, but... deeper."
Elara nodded, his ancient face grim. "Ah. The Weavers of the Veins. We draw close to their domain. They are not friendly to outsiders."
Before anyone could ask what "Weavers of the Veins" were, the low hum grew louder, a vibrating presence that seemed to come from the very stone around them. Then, faint lights began to appear in the distance, not steady flames like torches, but shimmering, unnatural glows that pulsed with the hum. They were arranged in strange patterns, forming glowing lines that ran along the walls and ceiling of the tunnel, like an unseen web.
"Stay close," Selene commanded, her voice firm. Her hand went to Ash's shoulder, a grounding presence that helped him fight the overwhelming pull of the shard's visions. "These are not just lights. They are traps. Or warnings."
As they moved closer, the lights grew brighter, and the hum became a vibrating thrum that seemed to sink into Ash's bones. The air grew strangely warm, almost hot. Then, something moved in the glow. Not a creature of flesh and bone, but something woven from pure energy, shimmering and indistinct. It looked like a giant spider, its many legs clicking silently on the stone, its body made of pure, pulsing light. Other, smaller glowing shapes moved around it, like its children.
"Spirits of the Ley Lines," Elara muttered, his voice barely heard over the hum. "Ancient guardians, woven from the magic that flows through this mountain. They see the glow from your chest, boy. You are an intrusion in their silent realm."
The lead 'spider' spirit, larger than the others, turned its glowing 'head' towards them. It had no eyes, but Ash felt an immense, silent scrutiny. A high-pitched whine filled the air, a sound of warning, of ancient rage. The glowing lines on the walls around them flared, growing brighter, trapping them in a net of shimmering energy.
Ash felt his shard flare in response, a painful, eager throb that threatened to overwhelm him. The whispers became a chorus of voices, ancient and demanding, urging him to take the power, to dominate these spirits, to make them bow to his will. The air shimmered, the energy of the spirits pressing in on him, a silent, powerful struggle for control.
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