Chapter 93: Beneath the Cobblestone.
The wind that swept through the southern ridge was dry and restless, like a breath from some ancient, slumbering beast.
It carried with it the scent of cracked stone, rotting wood, and old magic—the kind that settled deep in your bones and whispered that you didn’t belong here.
Drakemire’s lower cliffside slums unfurled ahead like a corpse left to decay in the open. Sagging rooftops leaned against one another like drunkards.
The cobblestone paths were uneven, swallowed in parts by vines and ash-colored moss.
What had once been homes and workshops were now broken shells, sun-bleached and forgotten. No guards. No foot traffic. Not even beggars dared to wander this far down.
Ethan led the group in silence. His eyes moved constantly, noting every flicker of shadow and glint of mana residue.
Something about this place didn’t just feel wrong—it felt hollow, as though the city itself was holding its breath.
Liora walked beside him, gliding effortlessly over the wreckage. She was too graceful for someone so deadly.
Her crimson eyes caught every detail, every ripple of mana in the air. Her boots didn’t make a sound. Even the dust seemed to part for her.
Behind them, Daniel moved like a blade sheathed in calm—tense, focused. His hood was up, but his eyes scanned every wall, every broken window, like a hunter trailing wounded prey.
Reyna brought up the rear, cracking her neck and yawning like she’d rather be doing anything else. But her hand never left the hilt of her greatsword. Her muscles were coiled, ready.
She may have looked bored, but Ethan knew that was just the lull before the storm.