his heavy leather pack, feeling the familiar, dull ache in his left shoulder. He stood on the edge of the Lower Ring's outer rim, looking down into the Chasm—a jagged tear in the earth that swallowed half the lower slums forty years ago. Blue-gray mist rolled up from its depths, carrying the faint, metallic scent of unrefined Mana.
"You're late, Kael," a voice called out from behind a pile of rusted iron beams.
Tobin stepped into view, wiping grease off his thick forearms with an equally greasy rag. He was built like a siege tower, all broad shoulders and short legs, wearing a reinforced leather vest that looked three sizes too small.
"The guards at the Mid-Ring checkpoint were turning back anyone without a Guild pass," Kaelen said, his voice flat. He reached into his pocket and pulled out two copper tokens, tossing one to Tobin. "Had to bribe a runner to use the drainage pipe."
