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Chapter 9 - The Bones Beneath

The tunnels didn't welcome visitors.

They swallowed them.

The air thickened the second I stepped inside—smoke, rust, faint static bleeding along the cracked relic panels lining the walls. Agro's hooves echoed behind me, cautious, uneven, each step grinding over stone littered with ash and shattered neural glass.

Empire tech bones rotted down here.

Buried transit lines, forgotten conduits, melted reinforcement beams blackened by godfire—everything the empire once built, hidden now beneath Hollowstone's cracked skin.

And the deeper we moved, the more the crown hummed.

It pulsed faint against my ribs, heat threading sharp under my jacket, the whispers twisting tighter behind my eyes.

Find it.

I didn't ask what it was.

The tunnels sloped hard, walls narrowing, flickering sigils etched in forgotten empire runes glowing faint under dust. Old power lines cracked along the ceiling, sparks bleeding off corroded plates.

No one had walked these tunnels in years.

But the footprints told another story.

Boot tracks.

Scavenger treads.

Fresh.

Agro's ears twitched, nostrils flaring sharp. His hooves scuffed against the floor, weight shifting, ready.

"Yeah," I muttered, voice low, hand curling on the sword hilt. "I smell it too."

The wrongness.

The air crackled faint with tension as we crept deeper—the tunnels branching into rusted archways, skeletal transit lines sagging above. Half-collapsed vault doors gaped open along the walls, relic panels hanging loose, wires tangled like veins.

And ahead… faint light.

Shadows moved—three figures clustered near an old service bay, their gear patched, faces hidden behind scavenger masks etched with crude, faded symbols.

They hadn't noticed me yet.

Their voices bled through the static hum:

"—told you it was down here—"

"—relic chamber's close, shut up—"

"—if we find it, we're rich—"

Agro shifted behind me, his coat bristling faint, hooves grinding over glass shards.

The scavengers snapped toward the sound.

Too late.

I was already moving.

I shoved forward, boots crunching ash, sword clearing the scabbard with a faint rasp. The first scavenger barely turned before my blade cracked against his shoulder—dented armor folding, his body slamming into the wall.

The others scrambled—blades drawn, curses spilling through mask filters.

One lunged—knife glinting.

I twisted, slammed my boot into his knee, sword cracking against his ribs. He hit the ground hard, gasping.

The last one hesitated—eyes wide behind cracked lenses, fingers trembling on his weapon.

"Don't," I warned, voice low.

He bolted instead—scrambling down a side tunnel, footsteps echoing sharp.

I didn't chase him.

The two at my feet groaned, dazed but alive.

Good enough.

I pressed past them—deeper into the tunnels, Agro following close, the crown pulsing molten pressure against my ribs.

The relic chamber wasn't far now.

The walls widened into a vast underground hall—arched ceilings sagging beneath collapsed reinforcement, relic glass panels cracked along the floor, faint sigils glowing in fractured circuits.

At the center… a pedestal.

Burned, melted, blackened—but intact.

And resting atop it—a shard.

Not currency.

Not Ash or Ember.

No—this one pulsed brighter, a fragment of neural glass etched with empire runes, its edges glowing faint under the flickering light.

It hummed with memory.

Old, dangerous, buried.

The crown in my pack pulsed harder—the hum bleeding sharp into my skull, fragments of forgotten history cracking behind my eyes.

Images blurred—citadels burning, kings falling, gods twisting in gold-soaked lies.

And that shard… part of it.

A relic the empire buried—one they didn't want found.

Agro huffed behind me, his weight shifting.

I approached the pedestal slow, boots crunching over glass.

Every step sharpened the hum—the pressure gnawing at my spine, threading molten under my ribs.

The shard wasn't big—hand-sized, jagged edges, runes flaring faint with pulse light.

But it felt heavy.

Like carrying memory.

Like carrying ruin.

I closed my fingers around it.

The hum cracked through my skull—visions snapping like glass—firestorms, shattered cities, the Forgotten King's silhouette blazing atop a crumbling citadel.

His voice—low, bitter, alive behind the echoes:

"They will bury us. But the bones remember."

The shard burned against my palm, heat flaring—then dimming, the hum fading to a faint, steady thrum beneath my ribs.

I slipped it into the pack beside the crown, my pulse ticking fast.

The world still carried buried lies.

But I wasn't done digging.

Not yet.

Behind me, Agro pawed the ground, ears pinned, eyes sharp as broken glass.

We moved fast, cutting back through the tunnels—the scavengers gone, shadows thicker, smoke bleeding faint from cracks in the walls.

The crown's hum faded.

The shard's weight stayed.

Hollowstone loomed above as we emerged—the city groaning, old walls sagging under relic scars, smoke curling through the alleyways.

The night stretched wide—the horizon bleeding faint light over the ash dunes beyond.

The road waited.

Old kingdoms, buried scars, forgotten gods.

I tightened the pack, adjusted the sword, my hand steady on Agro's reins.

The past clawed back.

And I was ready to follow it.

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