The stairs spiraled down into the earth, carved from a single vein of pale stone that glowed faintly in the dark.
Caleb carried me without stumbling, though the weight of my body must have felt like lead against his chest. The air grew colder with every step, dry and sterile, smelling of ozone and ancient dust. Kira followed behind us, her boots silent on the stone, Chelsea trailing in her shadow with her head bowed.
We reached the bottom after what felt like hours.
The Silver Chamber was circular, domed, and lined with panels of moonstone that reflected the light of my dying crescent mark. In the center stood a dais of polished obsidian, etched with runes that matched the script on the processional road in the Deadlands. It was not a tomb. It was a forge.
Caleb lowered me onto the sto
