The darkness of the catacombs was a different entity from the polite shadows of Mirewood Hall. It was a thick, ancient, and hungry dark, heavy with the dust of forgotten eons and the cold, mineral scent of the deep earth.
Caelan moved through it not as a Duke, but as a predator. The living, breathing map of Viregate was a roaring symphony of chaos in his mind, but his movements were a study in pure, economic lethality. Every step was precise. Every breath was controlled.
Beside him, Lucien was practically humming with joyful anticipation.
"I must say, brother," Lucien whispered, his voice a cheerful echo in the oppressive silence, "this is a significant improvement over Lady Celestria's poetry evenings. The ambiance is far more honest."
