Round 144

The air in the narrow stone passage seemed to thicken with each passing second, heavy and suffocating despite the dust that swirled visibly through the weak blue glow of ancient runes lining the walls. Seraphine pressed her back against one sweat-slicked stone surface, fingers splayed wide for balance as the entire tunnel groaned ominously around them. The sound was like a living thing in its death throes—wooden and cracking, grinding and shifting under immense pressure. "Jeane," she managed through gritted teeth, her sharp elven features drawn tight with apprehension. "The binding magic—the runes are failing. I can feel it fraying at the edges like old rope." She wasn't just feeling it metaphorically; the arcane signatures were literally unraveling before her enhanced senses, each pulse of the spell weaker than the last. "If this structure gives way completely while we're trapped in here—"