Kaelen stepped out onto the fallen meteor-iron door, his cloth slippers making soft, scuffing sounds against the shattered bronze plating.
Behind him, the vanguard followed in tight, disciplined formation.
Sera Thorne walked at his left shoulder, Storm-Pike held low and ready. Her dark eyes swept the perimeter, tracking every flicker of light in the sulfurous gloom. Mina Vance moved on his right, silver frost-mist coiling around her palms while Linnea’s twin jade daggers gleamed at her flank.
Claire Vance walked directly behind them, her formation flags hovering in a protective circle around Linnea, Deacon Vane, and Elder Sterling.
At the rear of the group, Barnaby Holt carried the portable charcoal brazier and tea tray hooked over his forearm. The old alchemist walked with steady, unhurried steps, whistling a light country tune under his breath.
The heat inside the Inner Core Sanctum was immense.
It was not the simple thermal heat of an ordinary campfire. It was the crushing spiritual pressure of an artificial star trapped within the belly of a hollow mountain.
The chamber stretched nearly ten miles in every direction. Nine immense pillars of black basalt held up the cavernous roof, each one inscribed with the lost histories of dynasties erased before the First Age. Shimmering void barriers flickered along the perimeter walls, sealing the space against all external escape.
