Winter Flint's Arc

Chapter 8 of 18

Winter picked up one of the vials the bark-reader had given him and held it up so every clan could see the rot swirling inside. "This is what's coming for us," he said. "And now we know where it leads." He pointed down at the stone steps. "Every tunnel we mapped in the chamber converges below the storehouse. The seal is breaking from underneath." The sprite elder moved to the edge and looked down. "How long?" she asked. Winter met her eyes. "The rot destroyed a heartwood tree in three days. We don't have much more than that." High Chieftain Durgan pushed through the crowd, his face grim. "Then we go now," he said. "All of us." A murmur ran through the gathered fae. The hill elf representative stepped forward. "We don't know what's down there," she said. "This could be a trap." Winter looked at the wooden trapdoor that had been hidden beneath the cottage floor for centuries. "It's been here the whole time," he said. "Waiting for us to stop arguing long enough to see it." Durgan was already descending, his boots finding the stone steps without hesitation. The bark-reader followed, then the sprite elder, then the gnome representative. Winter watched as the clans filed down into the passage that had opened beneath them. Some went willingly. Others hesitated at the edge, looking back at the clearing ringed with charred stumps as if measuring what they were leaving behind. But they went. Every single one. Because the choice had been made for them the moment the floor collapsed and showed them a truth they couldn't ignore. Winter went last, pausing at the top to look back at the tapestry swaying in the wind. Madrigal's warning had brought them here. Now they had to finish what she'd started. He stepped onto the stone and followed his council into the dark, feeling the weight of every clan descending behind him. They weren't unified yet — not truly. But they were moving in the same direction for the first time in generations. And that was enough to build on.