The tunnels seemed to stretch on forever.
Dim torchlight clung to the curving walls—faint, flickering flames that refused to die. Shennong's undying torches. The only trace of him. Dozens of them. Too many. Each one leading deeper, crisscrossing like veins in some ancient, buried beast.
Yenissa exhaled slowly, trying to still her racing heart. The air was damp, thick with the metallic scent of Iron, copper, zinc dust and something older—forgotten. Her wings twitched against the tight tunnel ceiling, cramped and useless.
"I hate this," Rilith muttered, ducking beneath a low-hanging arch of rock. "We've passed this turn before. I swear we have."
Velara, at the head of the trio to ensure Yenissa came to no harm, remained silent. Her eyes swept across the torch-lit walls, suspicion growing with every step
"This isn't going anywhere!" Yenissa muttered, glancing down.
