Round 168

The cavern air crackled with ancient energy as reality itself seemed to warp around them. Seraphine's keen elven eyes strained against the oppressive darkness, trying to decipher the pattern of glyphs crawling across the walls like living shadows. Her shoulder still ached from the fall that had cost her the staff, a dull throb that served as a constant reminder of their predicament. The air itself felt wrong here, thick and resistant, like trying to breathe underwater. Every breath was a conscious effort, her chest heaving as she fought against the unseen pressure.

Jeane moved quickly, positioning herself near the entrance to the tunnel ahead—of course she was taking charge again, issuing orders with that infuriating confidence born of ignorance. If they followed her lead, they'd likely all be buried under tons of rubble before reaching whatever lay beyond. Seraphine's jaw clenched involuntarily. She could feel the ancient stone groaning beneath her feet, a low rumble that vibrated up through the soles of her worn boots and into her very bones.

The ground shuddered violently, and fresh dust rained down from the unstable ceiling. Jeane's gaze darted between Seraphine, Varrika, and the approaching ethereal woman—the Mistress of the Chamber. "We're being pulled into that... whatever it is!" she snarled, her wings beating futilely to no effect.

Seraphine felt a chill run down her spine as she realized the truth of Jeane's words. The runes on the walls were indeed counting down faster now, their pulses becoming more frantic with each passing moment. Whatever lay beyond that yawning void was pulling them in, and there was nothing they could do to stop it.