"Nether City was founded three thousand years ago, during the celestials' Great Purge," Morvane spoke while leading them forward, his voice a calm thread stitching past tragedy to present survival.
Footsteps rang lightly on the obsidian street as Morvane guided them forward.
The faint sheen on his black armor caught the blue lantern glow, yet his voice carried the dust of old wounds.
"Back then," he said, each word measured, "Our Ghost Clan was almost wiped out... Only a handful slipped deep underground and stumbled upon this natural pocket of nether aura. That lonely refuge kept the bloodline breathing."
Jared caught the tremor beneath the calm statement and pictured survivors hauling their injured through endless tunnels, the air growing colder with every yard.
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