Round 597

The air inside the hidden chamber was thick and heavy, like breathing underwater. Merrin's eyes strained in the dim light, picking out ancient carvings on the walls—creatures with too many limbs, symbols that curdled something deep inside her gut. The ground beneath them groaned, a sound that made every hair on her neck stand upright. Varrika moved beside her, favoring her ankle with each step, face set in a grimace of pain and determination.

"Well," Merrin said, voice barely more than a breath, "this doesn't look like the kind of place where we want to be when the ceiling decides to come down." She glanced at Varrika's injured leg, then back at the yawning darkness beyond the threshold. "But I don't think we have much choice."

Varrika shifted her weight, hand tightening around her mace haft until her knuckles turned white. The metal bit into her palm, a sharp pain that grounded her against the rising dread in her chest. "Careful now," she muttered, more to herself than Merrin. "We don't know what we're dealing with here." She took one step forward, then another, each movement sending fresh agony shooting up her leg.

The ground beneath them shifted again, a rumble that seemed to come from deep within the earth itself. Dust sifted down from overhead, catching in the torchlight like falling snow. Merrin's gaze darted upward, eyes wide with sudden fear. "Varikka," she hissed, grabbing the dwarf's good arm. "We need to move. Now."