Deep in the lightless belly of the isolation vaults, the silence was absolute, broken only by a soft, wet hiss.
Sara stood in the center of her cell, a pale figure against the damp rock, her hand pressed firmly against the rear wall.
She did not look like a prisoner.
She looked like a part of the fortress itself, cold and unmoving.
From beneath her fingernails, a dark, oily liquid seeped out in slow, steady pulses.
It was Morcant's masterpiece. An alchemical rot designed to eat through the very bones of the world.
As the black liquid touched the heavy stone, it bubbled and smoked, turning the ancient mortar into a foul smelling sludge.
This was not a sudden break. It was a slow, invisible murder of the building's foundation.
The acid followed the cracks in the rock, finding the massive iron support beams that held up the weight of the entire Guild.
Outside the iron bars, the hallway was lit by a single, flickering torch.
