The Deep-Vein Station felt less like a work of engineering and more like the interior of a dying god. We descended a spiral staircase of damp limestone that seemed to wind forever into the roots of the city. The air grew heavier with every step, saturated with a fine, misty spray that tasted of iron and ancient minerals. Above us, the rhythmic thump-thump of the primary pumps vibrated through the walls, a sound that felt like a failing heartbeat.
Master Valerius and his entourage of Hydro-Mages followed us at a distance, their teal robes hiked up to avoid the puddles. They whispered among themselves, their silver staffs casting a cold, artificial light that did little to cut through the gloom. They didn't look like engineers; they looked like mourners at a funeral they had caused.
