**Chapter 8: The Path That Bites**
The hidden path spiraled into the mountain's heart, a gash of stone and shadow lit by the rune's green glow. Vaelreth led, his steps light, his grin a flicker in the dark. The Starvein's hum thrummed in his blood, not a song but a challenge, daring him to keep playing. Jorath followed, his silence heavy with secrets, while Kaelith's boots scraped the stone, her dagger ready for anything—or anyone. Vaelreth felt the weight of their doubts, but doubts were just another rule to break.
"Keep close," he murmured, his voice a spark. "This place doesn't like guests."
The air was thick, tasting of dust and something sharper—magic, raw and old. The rune's light pulsed ahead, carving shadows into shapes that moved when they shouldn't. Vaelreth's fingers twitched, tracing the air for wards. None yet, but the Starvein's call was louder, a whisper that knew his name. His scholar's mind stirred, recalling forbidden texts: wounds in the world, bleeding power, binding those who dared to listen.
Kaelith's voice cut through. "This is madness, Vaelreth. We're walking into a trap."
"Traps are just surprises with bad manners," he said, not turning. "I like surprises."
Jorath's laugh was dry, cracked. "You won't like this one, Shadow. The Starvein doesn't share."
Vaelreth's grin sharpened, but before he could retort, the path widened into a chamber. The rune's glow flared, revealing walls etched with symbols—spirals, eyes, hands reaching for something unseen. At the center, a stone slab pulsed with green veins, like a heart trapped in rock. The Starvein's hum was deafening now, a voice without words, pulling at Vaelreth's chest.
He stepped forward, drawn despite himself. "Well, hello," he whispered. "You're chatty for a myth."
Kaelith grabbed his arm, her grip iron. "Don't. You don't know what it is."
"Exactly," Vaelreth said, pulling free. His fingers brushed the slab, and the hum surged, visions flashing: a world of fire, a city of glass, his own hands breaking runes he'd never seen. He staggered, his smile faltering. The Starvein wasn't just alive—it was *awake*.
Jorath's voice was a hiss. "I told you. It sees you."
Before Vaelreth could snap back, a shadow moved—not from the walls, but from the slab itself. A figure formed, not Lyssa, but another Veiled Order mage, cloaked in black, eyes like molten gold. "You trespass, Shadow," it said, voice echoing with the Starvein's hum. "Leave, or be bound."
Vaelreth's laugh was wild, reckless. "Binding's boring. Let's dance."
He whispered a word, tasting blood, and a rune on the wall flared, cracking the stone. The figure lunged, its hands weaving a spell that burned the air. Kaelith moved faster, her dagger slashing, but the figure dissolved into shadow, reappearing behind Jorath. Vaelreth's rune roared, the chamber shaking, and the slab's veins pulsed brighter, drowning the fight in green light.
"Enough!" Vaelreth shouted, his voice raw. He slammed his hand on the slab, forcing his will into the Starvein's hum. The light dimmed, the figure froze, and the chamber stilled. But the hum didn't stop—it whispered his name, over and over.
Kaelith yanked him back, her eyes blazing. "You're going to kill us all."
"Maybe," Vaelreth said, his grin returning, unsteady but sharp. "But it's not boring."
Jorath clutched the wall, his face ashen. "You've marked yourself, Shadow. The Starvein owns you now."
Vaelreth's smile didn't waver, but his heart kicked. The chamber was quiet, but the hum lingered, and the shadows held eyes. The game wasn't his anymore—it was theirs.