Round 737

Merrin’s grip tightens on her heavy mace as she stares at the floating shard of glowing liquid. The portal’s energy pulses rhythmically, each beat making the air around them ripple like water disturbed by a stone. She shakes her head sharply, trying to clear the persistent headache from the noxious gas exposure that still makes her temples throb. “I don’t know,” she admits grimly, her voice low. “But I have a feeling we’re about to find out.” Varikka shifts her weight carefully, her scarred hands still gripping the ancient sword with white-knuckled determination despite the agony shooting up from her sprained ankle. “The rising water in the corridor below is getting worse,” she mutters through clenched teeth. “We need to move before we’re trapped down there.” Merrin nods, her dark eyes scanning the chamber’s stone walls for any sign of a safe exit route. “Agreed. But first—” She gestures toward the shard as it drifts closer to the portal’s swirling surface. “—we need to see what that thing does.”*