Round 922

The air inside the chamber was thick with dust and the scent of stone on the verge of collapse. Merrin stood at the edge of the pit, her eyes fixed on the Time-Splitting Sword lying half-buried in the rubble mere feet away. The sword's blade pulsed with an otherworldly energy, casting flickering shadows across the debris-strewn floor. Every second that passed felt like an eternity as the sound of creaking stone and shifting rubble grew louder around them.

Varikka leaned heavily against the wall, her face contorted in pain as she tried to distribute her weight evenly between both feet. The makeshift bandage Merrin had applied to her sprained ankle was already starting to show signs of strain, darkening with fresh blood seepage. "Merrin," Varikka said through gritted teeth, "we need to move. That sword won't retrieve itself."