Round 386

The temperature shift hit like a physical blow, immediate and absolute, transforming the narrow corridor into something that breathed heat instead of air. Each pulse of warmth wasn't random; it followed the rhythm of my own heart, matching beat for beat as the living stone adapted to my presence. The entity at the bottom of those stairs watched with eyes that saw too much, its voice slithering into my mind like smoke. "Open yourself," it commanded—or was it invited? The words felt less like choice and more like inevitability, the kind of command that...