⛏️ Chapter Twelve: The Descent into the Silver Veins
The air in the disused mine shaft hit us like a physical weight—damp, metallic, and cold. The familiar scent of earth and granite was overlaid with a strange, subtle hum that made the hairs on my arms rise. This was the source of the Silver Wolf Pack's ancient magic—the ground itself was rich in trace lunar metal, a faint echo of the Shard's power. It was protection, but it was also a homing beacon.
Roric moved with the practiced, heavy-footed silence of a lifelong warrior, Kael's enormous body a dark silhouette balanced easily on his powerful shoulders. Elias, clutching my hand, stumbled occasionally on the uneven track, his small frame trembling, but he held his silence, absorbing the raw fear and determination radiating from Roric and me.
"How far to the exit, Ember?" Roric whispered, his breath clouding in the gloom. The tunnel twisted ahead, a narrow, timber-shored coffin of rock.
