Round 700

The air was thick with more than just noxious gas—it felt heavy, wrong somehow, like the very atmosphere was pressing in on them. Varrika shifted her weight again, grimacing as she put pressure on her injured ankle. The makeshift rope creaked above their heads, a sound that sent a fresh jolt of fear through Merrin's already racing heart. She could feel every individual strand of fiber straining under the load, imagine it parting with terrifying ease. "We need to move," she said again, her voice coming out higher than intended. "Now." Varrika nodded once, curtly. "Where?" The question hung between them, heavy as the air itself. Merrin's eyes raked over the chamber walls, searching for any sign of an exit, a hidden panel, a crack in the stone that might offer escape. But the room seemed sealed tight, a perfect cube of ancient stone designed to hold whatever—or whoever—had been trapped inside.