CHAPTER 138: DEEP CUT 3....

Lyra wrote of Duskfall’s shadowed groves, where her shadow traps was pinning rogue tamers’ beasts, their screeches echoed in the darkness.

Her sister’s memory was heavy but Salaris’s screeches kept guiding her through the traps, her gauntlet flared with defiance, her resolve was unyielding despite the emotional weight and her progress was a mirror of Kelvin’s own struggle.

Darius described Ironholt’s ruins, his rift-sealing gems binding spectral energies, their glow stabilizing his soulstone, the remnant’s presence haunting, Rhoam’s growls anchoring his courage, his grin sharp in his words, his determination a reflection of Kelvin’s resolve to face the wyrm.

The letters strengthened Kelvin’s heart, their words were a reminder of their unity, their missions were parallel struggles to reclaim their pasts, their bonds was a flame that burned across the land, urging him to press on despite the wyrm’s escape and Vark’s ambush.

He penned replies, detailing the lair’s battle and the Veil chamber’s secrets, his hand steady as he wrote, Xerion’s warmth beside him, the tunnel’s quiet a stark contrast to the lair’s chaos, the memory of his parents’ portrait in the container watching over him, their smiles a quiet encouragement, their legacy a flame that burned brighter than his fear.

The monitoring device hummed, its runes flickered with a message: "The wyrm’s Veil roots run deep. Stop it before Vark claims its power."

The words underscored the mission’s stakes, the wyrm’s escape and Vark’s ambush a dual threat, their Veil ties a shadow that deepened the challenge, the riftborn core in his pack a dangerous asset that could tip the balance.

Kelvin clutched his amulet, its drake essence was warm, his parents’ memory was a flame that burned brighter than his fear, their absence was a void he vowed to fill by defeating the wyrm and stopping Vark’s Crew, their legacy was a call to action he could not ignore.

Kelvin and Xerion was preparing to pursue the wyrm deeper into the mines, the lair’s glow kept fading behind them, the tunnels a labyrinth of danger and memory.

Vark’s threat was looming like a storm on the horizon, their bond was a flame against the darkness, their Veilbane Medal kept gleaming.

Its violet and gold surface was a symbol of their triumph and burden, ready to face the wyrm and reclaim Valebreach for those lost.

Their resolve burning like the fire essence they’d confront, their hearts steady as Xerion’s hiss echoed in the tunnels, a promise of victory in the face of fire and shadow.

The next day Kelvin continued with his journey where the mines of Valebreach descended into a realm of shadow and fire, its tunnels were darkened into a labyrinth of blackened stone, the faint glow of fire essence veins was giving way to eerie violet runes that was etched into the walls.

Their psychic energy was casting a malevolent light that flickered like the ghosts of Kelvin’s past, each pulse was a reminder of the Veil’s lingering curse.

His boots crunched on a floor littered with riftborn bones, their surfaces shimmering with unstable energy, their jagged edges catching the faint light, each step a testament to the mines’ haunted history.

Kelvin’s pack was heavy with Mealin’s fire-sealed tome, fire-resistant ores, wyrm essence, water runes, ice runes, the rune-etched pick, the Veil-tainted scale, the psychic crystal, the dune-etched spear, the riftborn core, and a newly salvaged psychic shard.

Each of the item was a lifeline for the battles ahead, their weight was anchoring him against the memories that surged with every echo with the collapse that claimed his parents.

Their screams was swallowed by the mines’ depths, his father’s burning form was a shadow that etched in his nightmares, his mother’s gentle voice was silenced by stone, her lessons on rune-etching was a guide through the darkness.

The drake-essence amulet at his chest glowed faintly, with its warmth echoing Mealin’s words: "Honor their legacy, Kelvin. You are stronger than your fear."

Xerion slithered beside him, his twenty-foot serpentine form was a cascade of crimson and gold scales, with their faint scars shimmering with vitality, the honor rune that etched in the Sanctum’s infirmary pulsing softly, his amber eyes kept scanning the darkness with predatory focus with their 82% sync ratio a steady pulse in Kelvin’s chest, a beacon against the mines’ oppressive weight.

The wyrm’s distant roars was a call to press deeper, their bond was a flame that burned through the shadows of his past, urging them toward the beast’s trail.

The tunnels were darker now, their walls were kept pulsing with psychic runes that stung Kelvin’s mind with faint visions—his parents etching runes was in these very mines, their hands were steady as they taught him the patterns and their smiles was warm with pride, their courage was a guide through the mines’ ghosts, though their absence was a void that ached with every step.

Mealin’s tome was his compass, its leather was cover etched with wyrm lore, its pages kept detailing the wyrm’s trail through Veil-tainted passages, marked with warnings of unstable molten pools that bubbled with liquid flame, though their heat was threatening to burn through his fire-resistant tunic, and psychic traps that could unravel a tamer’s resolve with visions of failure.

Kelvin paused to consult it with his gauntlet flaring faintly as he traced a rune, its glow was illuminating the map, revealing a network of tunnels leading to the wyrm’s deeper lair, their paths fraught with dangers that tested his Sanctum training.

The rune-etched pick swung in his hands, its fire runes was flaring as it shattered debris blocking a narrow passage with its weight a reminder of the smith who had known his parents, their legacy was etched in its runes, their teachings was on facing beasts with courage a flame that guided his steps.

Xerion’s tail smashed through larger obstacles like fallen rocks, charred beams, shattered crates with their debris scattering across the floor, his scales was flaring cautiously, their crimson and gold hues dimmed for stealth,

His amber eyes tracked faint glimmers of Veil artifacts like, psychic crystals embedded in the walls that has their violet glow pulsing with malevolent energy; riftborn bones that was scattered across the floor with their surfaces cracked but shimmering with unstable power, hints of the wyrm’s unnatural origins was a creation born of Veil hubris that threatened Valebreach’s survival, a legacy that echoed his parents’ tragic end.

Signs of Vark’s Crew was all over the tunnels with dune rune fragments, looted tools, broken crates that was marked with their jagged sigils, their greed evident in the scavenged remnants, their tracks was a stark warning of a coordinated threat, their pursuit of the wyrm’s essence was a danger to the mines’ fragile stability, a shadow that deepened the mission’s stakes.

Kelvin knelt to examine a shattered crate, its contents was fire essence shards, half-carved dune runes, a broken tamer’s gauntlet with faded Veil runes, which was a proof of their looting, with their presence a haunting echo of the Red Wastes ambush years ago, where Vark’s mocking laughter had taunted his fear, and the lair’s chaos, where their skiffs had roared with dune energy.

His heart pounded as he clutched his amulet, its warmth easing the memories of his parents’ collapse, their screams a ghostly echo in the tunnels’ silence, their absence a void that fueled his resolve to end the wyrm’s threat and stop Vark’s Crew, their legacy a call to protect the town they’d loved, their memory a flame that burned brighter than his fear.

Xerion’s hiss was sharp with his senses detecting movement ahead, the faint hum of psychic energy pulsing through the runes, their sync ratio guiding their stealth as they pressed deeper, the wyrm’s roars growed louder, their vibrations was shaking the stone, their bond was a flame against the mines’ oppressive darkness, urging them toward the beast’s trail, their determination was unyielding despite the growing danger.

A sudden hiss cut through the silence, not Xerion’s but a chorus of malevolent sounds, as a pack of Level 7 Rare Riftshade Serpents emerged from a rune-etched chamber, with their scales shimmering with psychic energy.

Their eyes was glowing violet, their venomous fangs was bared and their bodies coiling with deadly grace, their psychic pulses stinged Kelvin’s mind with visions of failure like, his parents’ collapse, the Sovereign’s assaults in the Rift, the wyrm’s flames consuming Valebreach, the town’s cliffs crumbling into ash.

The chamber was a crucible of blackened stone, with its walls pulsing with Veil runes, their violet glow kept illuminating the riftborn bones that scattered across the floor, with their jagged edges catching the light.

The serpents’ hole was a trap guarding the wyrm’s path, its instability was a mirror of the mines’ ghosts.

Kelvin’s scars kept burning with the memories of a knife in his chest, but he stood firm, his gauntlet flared with fire runes that was tempered by ice, his voice was steady as he whispered to Xerion, "For them, we are fighting for Valebreach."