Round 613

The corridor ahead was a twisting maze of stone and shadow, the air thick with dust and the scent of decay. Merrin half-dragged Varikka forward, the dwarf's weight solid against her side, her injured ankle making each step an obvious agony. The Guardian's voice followed them like a physical presence, his words carrying an unsettling mix of curiosity and threat. "Shouldn't have done that," he called after them, his tone almost conversational despite the situation. What had they stumbled into? The narrow passage forced them to move single-file, darkness pressing in from both sides. Merrin's mind raced, calculating their options. They needed solid ground, somewhere safe from the collapsing tower—and Varrika needed rest for her ankle. "We've got to keep moving," she said, her voice low and urgent. The sound of the collapse was fading behind them, but that meant little in this maze of stone and shadow. Varikka nodded, her face set despite the pain. She knew they had no choice.