The Forbidden Tunnels swallowed the trio like a great, stone throat. These were the "Old Veins," passages carved by the very glaciers Clevatess had once commanded, now long forgotten by the modern world. Alicia dragged the King deeper into the shadows, her blue aura the only thing fighting back the oppressive, damp dark of the deep earth.
Every few steps, Clevatess's body would spasm, his skin flaring with a violent, solar radiance that turned the surrounding stone into glass. The golden embroidery on his sleeves had begun to unravel, the threads glowing like white-hot wire as the trapped core fought to escape its host. The King was no longer a tailor; he was the fabric being torn apart.
We have to stop the bleed, Nelluru whispered, her lime-green aura pulsing with fear as she watched the steam rise from Clevatess's chest. If that heat reaches the center of his heart, there won't be a King left to save. There will only be an explosion that brings this entire mountain range down on top of us.
Alicia laid him on a flat slab of granite, her hands trembling. She looked at his midnight-black tunic, now a ruin of scorched silk and broken quills. She remembered how he used to obsess over the professional format of his work, ensuring every seam and every line was perfect for the world to see. Now, he was the one who needed a master's touch.
I'm not a designer, Alicia said, her voice cracking as she drew her blade. But I can cut.
She began to carefully slice away the sections of the tunic where the gold thread had turned into molten slag. As the fabric fell away, it revealed a glowing web of scars spreading across the King's torso—a map of the sun's fury. To save him, they would have to find a way to "re-thread" his spirit before the dawn reached the surface above.
The price of their escape was silence. No magic, no light, and no hope of rescue. They were alone in the gut of the world, with a dying King who carried the weight of a star in his soul.
Above them, the rhythmic thrum of the Queen's search-fleets vibrated through the rock. The hunt was no longer in the sky; it was a race against the light.