Luka sat on the edge of the bed, sharpening one of his daggers. The rhythmic scrape of whetstone against steel was the only sound in the dim room, save for the occasional crackle from the hearth.
Snow dozed nearby in a curled ball of white fluff, chest rising and falling slowly, tiny puffs of smoke leaking from his nostrils.
Serene was seated by the window, polishing her cracked shield with slow, deliberate motions. Her brow was furrowed.
"That coin…" she said finally, voice low. "It was old. Too old. You saw the markings, didn't you?"
Luka nodded. "Rootscript. Same as the druidic relics from the Gravedark Reaches. But twisted. Warped."
He set the blade aside and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"Whoever's behind this isn't just using forgotten magic. They're remaking it. Rewriting it."
Serene looked up. "To what end?"
Luka didn't answer immediately.
Then: "Control. Subjugation. Take everything that protected these lands and pervert it into something that obeys."
