Round 49

As the chamber hung heavy with tension, Sister Hale shifted her weight carefully off the pressure plates, feeling them stabilize under her. The ground pulsed beneath her feet: THRUM-THRUM-THUD, steady as a heartbeat counting down seconds before something awakened fully. She watched Gravedigger Renn huddled against the wall, his panic-smell thick and cloying, and wondered if he was more useful alive or dead. Silra's teal eyes scanned the glowing runes tracing the sarcophagi, her gaze cold and calculating as she assessed their meaning. The plates weren't simple triggers; they were reading Intent through pressure distribution—the way they held their weight, balanced their centers of gravity, communicated non-verbally through stance alone.