June made his way deeper into the Prism, tracing the faint pulse of magic like a bloodhound chasing a scent. His golden eyes flicked carefully between the branching tunnels, always alert, always calculating.
He knew he was somewhere he shouldn't be.
He knew he was walking into things Kai and Kathlyn had barely survived.
But June had never been the type to stay on the sidelines.
He moved fast through the narrow corridors, ducking under half-collapsed beams, weaving past patches of corrupted mana that curled like oil across the stone. After maybe ten minutes, he reached something unexpected:
An armory.
The space opened suddenly, a wide, vaulted chamber lined with old racks of weapons, stands of armor, and crates half-buried in dust. Most of it looked ancient — rusted swords, shattered shields, pieces of mail so brittle they crumbled when he brushed his fingers near them.
But one rack near the far wall still glowed faintly.
June's eyes sharpened.
Magic.
Something preserved.
