Chapter 118 - The Unthreading

The task of unweaving a soul from a mountain was not a delicate affair. It was a loud, hot, and physically exhausting process that involved more iron pry-bars than magic wands. We had four days before the Royal transport arrived, and the first forty-eight hours were spent entirely in the damp, static-charged sub-levels of the Relay Tower. I stood on a rickety wooden scaffold, my face inches from the granite pillar where the Centurion's spine was embedded. The silver-inlaid bone was no longer just a structural component; it had grown a network of fine, metallic filaments that reached deep into the stone, like the roots of a tree searching for water.