Kael ducked under a collapsing bridge, rain drumming like war drums on the steel above. The Black Sun Syndicate's assault had pushed him deep into the forgotten districts of Ember City—the underground tunnels where the city's old magic lingered, long before skyscrapers and neon.
Rourke followed closely, coughing from the smoke of the magical explosions. "You feel that?" he shouted over the chaos.
Kael nodded. A low vibration thrummed beneath the concrete, subtle but unmistakable. The Iron Veins responded, guiding him toward the source. It was alive—ancient, cold, and hungry.
From the shadows emerged a figure draped in tattered robes, carrying a staff that shimmered with latent power. Their eyes glowed gold, and the aura around them made the air thicken.
"You are Draven," the figure said, voice like gravel and lightning. "The city has whispered your name for decades. It seems the Iron Veins are not a secret anymore."
Kael kept his guard up. "And who are you? Another Syndicate pawn?"
The figure's laugh was dry, almost amused. "I am neither your enemy nor your friend—yet. But if you want to survive the war to come, you must learn the truth of your blood, and what lies beneath Ember City."
Before Kael could respond, the tunnel shook violently. Shadows detached themselves from the walls, twisting into humanoid forms that hissed and lunged. The ancient power beneath the city was awake—and it was hungry for blood.
Kael flexed his hands, veins glowing brighter than ever. "Then let's feed it, and see who survives," he muttered.
Steel, magic, and shadows collided in a symphony of violence, the underground echoing with the sounds of a war that had roots older than the city itself.