The groaning of ten thousand trapped souls vibrated through the bronze floor beneath Kaelen’s slippers.
A heavy, suffocating stench hung in the stagnant air.
It was the smell of ancient human marrow slowly roasting over centuries, mixed with bitter sulfur, stale incense, and scorched hair.
The Outer Ash Ring stretched forward into the gloom, a five-mile passage hollowed from massive astral bronze blocks.
Colossal steam conduits, rusted and dripping with orange condensation, ran along the ceiling like the ribcage of an iron leviathan.
Claire Vance moved her Spirit Scholar lantern down the left wall, her knuckles white around the brass handle.
“Look here,” Claire whispered, her voice trembling with scholastic horror. “The third figure past the archway. The silver cloud embroidered on his collar belongs to Grand Elder Han of the Nine-Cloud Academy. He vanished from Stage 5 four hundred years ago.”
Barnaby Holt walked over, leaning close to examine the petrified face.
