Round 96

As the stormy sky seemed to darken further, its leaden clouds like a physical manifestation of their collective unease, Silra and Sister Hale burst out of the collapsing tunnel entrance, sprinting across the market district. Vendors and civilians fled in all directions, screaming as they tried to escape the chaos. The air vibrated with the relentless thrumming of the pressure plates, now silent except for the distant rumble of collapsing structures and the soft clinking of Sister Hale's dagger against her belt.

Silra's eyes locked onto Gravedigger Renn's lifeless form, his legs stiff from collapse, while Sister Hale's gaze darted between the surrounding buildings, her silver holy symbol clutched tightly in her hand. "The plates weren't designed to collapse—they were built to release whatever's been waiting beneath Gravehill," Silra said, her voice laced with conviction as she grabbed Sister Hale's arm. The words tumbled out in a rush, punctuated by the jingling of the rusted key from a dead magistrate in the wind.

Sister Hale stopped running and turned back toward what used to be their escape route—the tunnel entrance now choked with rubble. "Wait—we need to understand what just happened before we panic," she said, gripping her holy symbol tightly. The runes' pulse had faded, replaced by an eerie silence broken only by the distant rumble of collapsing structures. They reached the edge of the market district and spotted a nearby inn with its doors wide open, welcoming weary travelers.

The two women sprinted toward the inn, dodging panicked vendors and civilians fleeing in all directions. As they approached the entrance, Sister Hale pulled them toward it, her eyes fixed on the inn's sign creaking in the wind. The stormy sky above seemed to darken further, its leaden clouds like a physical manifestation of their collective unease, as if sensing the weight of their decision: to seek refuge within the inn's walls and regroup before facing whatever horrors lay ahead.