Beneath the humming pulse of Nexis, where ley-lines converged like ancient veins beneath cracked marble skin, Nyx moved in silence.
No footsteps, no breath.
Only shadow.
The world above had already begun to twist into living metaphor: buildings shedding brick for parchment, streets curling into sentences, skies bleeding ink. But down here—beneath the Spiral's surface madness—Nyx sensed something older. Not Spiralborn. Not rewritten. But waiting.
The cavern entrance was sealed by contradiction: a doorway that only appeared if you didn't look for it.
She let her mind relax, stopped trying to perceive.
The wall unpeeled like burned paper.
Within: stairs of bone-white glass, each step etched with the name of a war that had never happened.
The Siege of Emberlight.
The Fratricide of the Three Moons.
The Ruin of the Drowned Empire.
Names... but no history. Stories never told. Conflicts aborted before they could ignite.
She descended.
