A drop of glowing liquid fell from the ceiling and hit the floor with a sharp hiss.
Then another.
Then another.
Then dozens.
The droplets splattered across the stone like molten stars, pooling in shallow sparks of silver light. Each drop pulsed as if it contained a heartbeat, and every one of them made my skin crawl.
Leah’s head snapped up. “It is memory water,” she gasped. “It carries recorded magic. It is not natural. It is alive.”
“Fantastic,” I said. “The cave is crying memories.”
Another drop landed beside my boot.
The water spread so fast I had to shift my foot to avoid stepping on it. More liquid seeped out of the ceiling, rolling down the walls in thin glowing veins that collected at the base of the corridor. The streams moved like they had purpose, weaving toward each othe
