The air in the sub-vault grew dense and suffocating, smelling sharply of ozone and cold damp stone. I kept my footsteps light, moving silently along the shadow-drenched perimeter of the lower drainage junction. The brass lantern in my hand cast erratic glimmers against dripping stone walls where centuries of imperial history lay buried beneath dust and neglect.
Ahead, a faint, rhythmic humming vibrated through the floorboards—the unmistakable signature of an active arcane siphon drawing power directly from the citadel’s foundational ley-lines.
I rounded a massive granite pillar and froze.
Two operatives clad in the dark, slate-grey wool uniforms of the Eastern Reach courier corps stood before a gaping maintenance hatch. One of them held a glowing, crystal-core siphon embedded deep into
