The Silver Mines did not merely extract ore; they extracted hope. As we crouched on the jagged ridge overlooking the complex, the sheer scale of the horror became apparent. The mountain, once a sacred peak of the southern ranges, had been hollowed out like a rotting tooth. Great iron refineries belched thick, silver-tinted smoke into the violet sky, and the sound of a thousand hammers striking stone created a rhythmic, soul-crushing percussion that drowned out the wind.
But it was the smell that made the outcasts retch. It wasn't just the sulfur or the slag; it was the smell of burnt hair and sterilized blood. This was a factory designed to break the spirit of the wolf.
"The perimeter is electrified with silver-wire fencing," Leo whispered, peering through a set of brass binoculars he had scavenged. "And those towers... they aren't just for lookout. They're fitted with the same Silver Pulse technology we saw in the valley, but these are larger. Industrial grade."
