Before descending into the depths of Moon Six, Claire Vance stopped at the threshold of the subterranean tunnel.
Elder Sterling stood beside the iron hatch, his hands tucked inside his long gray sleeves. The old elder held an ancient jade compass, its spirit needle spinning slowly in the heavy air.
“The bedrock below is ancient,” Sterling warned softly. “The formations down there predate the Dual Sovereigns by thousands of years. Keep your divine sense close to your skin, young mistress.”
Old Barnaby Holt hurried over from the kitchen corridor, wiping his hands on his stained canvas apron.
“Take this candied ginger, girl,” Barnaby said, thrusting a small paper packet into Claire’s palm. “The air three miles down is damper than an unwashed herb sack. Chewing ginger keeps the throat clear of mineral vapor.”
“Thank you, Barnaby,” Claire said, tucking the ginger into her sash. “I won’t be long.”
She lifted Inquisitor Thorne-Crow’s homeworld soul-lantern before her chest.
Its pale emerald flame flickered behind crystal glass, casting cool shadows against the dark stone archway.
