Round 6 Transcript

Silra's boots find purchase in the cracks between stones as she picks her way forward. This whole road is a damn invitation to break an ankle—or worse. She glances back at Jeane, who's striding like the place was paved yesterday by her own hands instead of decaying under centuries of neglect and something far more unpleasant. She's not wrong about the magic, though—that symbol she wears is practically singing its blasphemy. Jeane, you're either very brave or very stupid for leading with your chest on this road. Either way, slow down long enough for me to check if there are spikes waiting underfoot before we all end up impaled like offerings.

The road shifts beneath my boot as if it's breathing. "Stop," I snap again. The rust on the city wall looks newer than it should—someone's been maintaining these ruins more diligently than neglect allows. "Jeane, stand down for one moment." I trace the crack I found with my finger: too straight to be natural decay. Too deliberate. Silra's right—the whole road feels like a trap waiting to spring. And Jeane's symbol is pulsing again—either she's feeding it too much of her own power or something in this cursed city is answering its call. "Renn," I say, keeping my voice low so the wind doesn't carry it across empty ground where it might not belong. "What else did you see when you ran? Besides the guards?"

Jeane steps forward despite Sister Hale's warning, her boots striking the stone with a defiant rhythm. This is not the time for caution, sister. We have work to do, and Gravehill will not rebuild itself out of sentiment. She withdraws her unholy symbol from beneath her cloak—its dark metal catching what little light remains—and holds it up as if testing something in the air.

The city feels... heavy today. But that's its nature, is it not? Weighted with history and purpose. We're not thieves sneaking into a tomb—we are its rightful claimants, here to restore what was lost. Her eyes narrow at Silra. If this road has teeth, elf, then I suggest we show them we are not prey before they have the chance to close around us. Or perhaps you'd rather slink back to whatever forest offers more secure footing? Jeane's fingers tighten around her symbol; she feels the familiar thrum of power answering her call, even as the wind picks up and something cold coils in her gut—a sensation that has nothing to do with the weather.

But there is... something. Something beneath us. Watch your steps.