Round 747

The ground shuddered again, a violent tremor that sent cracks snapping through the already unstable floor beneath their feet. Merrin grit her teeth, fighting for balance as dust rained down from above. In the sudden darkness, she could still feel Varikka's hand in hers—warm and solid despite the dwarf woman's labored breathing.

"Varrika!" Merrin called out, her voice echoing off the crumbling walls. "Are you alright? The ground—" Another violent shake cut her off mid-sentence, and she stumbled forward, yanking Varikka with her. The dwarf woman let out a grunt of pain but didn't cry out, even as Merrin's momentum sent them both crashing to the floor.

Merrin found herself sprawled on top of Varrika, their faces inches apart in the oppressive darkness. "Sorry," she muttered, scrambling to get up. "I didn't mean to—" A shower of small stones and dust rained down from above, punctuating her apology.

Varikka's voice came out strained as she tried to push herself up. "We need to keep moving," she said, her words barely audible over the groaning of the collapsing ruins. "The whole place could come down..."

Merrin nodded even though Varrika couldn't see it in the darkness. She knew the dwarf was right—they needed to find solid ground before this entire cursed tower collapsed on top of them. But with Varikka's ankle injured and their vision gone, moving quickly through these treacherous corridors seemed like a recipe for disaster.

"What if we light one of our torches?" Merrin suggested hesitantly. "At least then we'd be able to see where we're going."