Kaelen's fingers touched the cover of the Chronicle.
"This is what it means."
They was no longer in the crypt. Theye was somewhere else. Somewhere vast and ancient. The sky was the color of old bruises. The ground was made of something that might have been bone. The air was thin and cold. It smelled of ozone and iron.
Before him stood a city.
It was beautiful in a way that hurt to look at. Spires of crystal reached toward the bruised sky. Bridges of light arched between towers. Streets were paved with stone that glowed with an inner warmth. People moved through the streets. Their forms were graceful. Their faces were serene. They wore robes of white and gold. Their eyes held a peace that Kaelen had never known.
The Elders.
The word came to him not as knowledge but as recognition. He was seeing the past. The civilization that had come before. The ones who had built the network and bound the vein.
But something was wrong.
