Round 593

The stone groaned like a living thing in its death throes, each shuddering intake of breath drawing fresh cascades of dust and debris from above. Merrin’s grip on Varrika tightened instinctively as another tremor ran through the floor—this one harder than the last. They were running now, driven by the primal need to escape the collapsing structure even as rational thought screamed that there was nowhere safe in this damn place.

“Where are we running to?” Merrin gasped, her voice barely heard over the roar of falling stone. “There’s nowhere safe in this damn place!” Varrika’s jaw remained set, a grim line against the pain that lanced through her with every step. Her good hand tightened around the haft of her mace, seeking comfort in its familiar weight even as she knew it offered little defense against the very structure trying to consume them.

“We keep moving,” she growled back, her voice rough with effort and something deeper—fear perhaps, or maybe just the certainty that stopping meant death. “Find a wall still standing. Use our backs to the stone.” The air grew thick with dust and the scent of ancient decay as more of the ceiling gave way behind them.