The silence in the deep fault was broken only by the sluggish, molten drip of cooling basalt from the ceiling.
Jack stood over the shattered carcass of the Ember-Weaver, holding its heavy, crystalline heart in his right hand. The fist-sized orb pulsed with a slow, hypnotic rhythm, dark veins of dormant crimson and pitch-black fire flickering beneath its translucent obsidian shell.
To any surface warrior or clan chieftain, this was merely a trophy of an impossible hunt.
A priceless elemental reagent to be traded for kingdoms or ground into dust for high-tier alchemical draughts.
To Jack, it was a blank vessel waiting for an anchor.
His heterochromic eyes narrowed as his gaze locked onto the shattered chitin of the dead beast.
He summoned the interface of his Soul Warden authority, channeling his intent straight into the broken remains.
