The tunnels narrowed, winding deeper and deeper until the air grew warm and thick with the scent of mineral dust and ancient roots. The light from the amber veins pulsed more steadily now, like the beat of a great heart beneath the soil. Every few steps, faint vibrations shivered through the ground—soft, rhythmic, alive.
Lira felt them before she saw them. A whisper of movement in the soil, the scrape of tiny claws, and the low murmur of voices, faint but distinct, as if the earth itself were speaking. She held up a hand to halt the group.
"They're close," she whispered.
The Book glowed faintly, pages turning on their own until one settled open. The drawing on the page shifted—tiny, rounded creatures with glimmering eyes emerging from darkness. The ink pulsed in time with the heartbeat of the earth.
