The path Vextor carved led them downward, into the deep, cold heart of the Wastes where the sun was a forgotten memory and the air grew still and heavy. The constant, abrasive wind faded, replaced by a profound silence that felt older than the canyon walls. The signal was no longer a faint harmonic; it was a deep, resonant thrum that vibrated in Roewi’s teeth and bones, a physical pull that needed no digital map to follow.
They entered a vast, subterranean cavern, so immense its ceiling was lost in darkness. And in the center, hovering serenely above a pedestal of naturally formed crystal, was the Orb.
It was not what Roewi had expected from the Chancellor’s sanitized hologram. It was smaller, no larger than his fist, but its presence filled the cavern. It wasn't merely glowing; it pulse
