Keir's footsteps barely made a sound as she guided them through the inner veins of Vel'Serath.
The paths beneath their feet shimmered with veins of soft light, pulsing in time with a rhythm Miles couldn't place. As they passed beneath archways grown of twisted crystal and spines of ancient bone, the whispering from the statues above faded into something subtler.
It was neither silence nor sound. It was something deeper.
"This part of the city's called the Artisan's Ring." Keir said, motioning to the buildings around them. "Everything made or mended passes through here. Art, weapon, or story, doesn't matter. Creation is contribution."
Sarissa glanced toward a glass-walled structure where a woman sculpted fire in the shape of a harp. The flames danced to the sound of her humming, solidifying as notes left her lips.
"No currency?" Miles asked.
"Not in the way you'd expect. Here, you trade memory, effort, or spirit. Something meaningful. Something true." Keir shook her head.
