Round 929

The Time-Splitting Sword hummed in Varrika’s hands, its power visible as rippling light along the blade—beautiful and terrifying all at once. She moved carefully through the rising water, her friend Merrin pressed against the far wall. Each step was agony on her sprained ankle, but she gritted her teeth and pushed forward. The water rose higher with each passing moment, now lapping at Merrin’s hips. Her friend’s face was pale with fear, dark eyes wide as she watched the current tug at her legs. “Varikka,” Merrin called out, voice tight. “You need to be careful. That ankle won’t hold if you push too hard.” Varrika looked over, meeting Merrin’s gaze. “I know,” she replied, her own voice strained. “But we can’t stay here either.” The Guardian’s roars echoed through the identical chambers again, closer this time. They were trapped between drowning and being caught by their pursuer.