The path wound between walls of stone veined with luminescent streaks, as if the rock itself bled with an ancient glow. The soldiers moved in single file, their steps muffled by the thick moss carpeting the ground. The air was saturated with a metallic scent, mingled with crushed roots—acrid, damp, almost alive.
Cliff led the way, his fingers occasionally brushing the stone wall. At his touch, the runes carved into the rock flickered to life, pulsing faintly before fading out. As if they recognized in him some ancient fragment, a forgotten legacy.
"Hard to believe we're walking here again," murmured Siliva behind him. "It hasn't even been that long… but I still hoped something might've changed."
She spoke softly, but her words echoed. Siliva wasn't just anyone—leader of the revolution, she had once led their flight through this very tunnel to escape their former masters. Coming back, even years later, couldn't be easy.
