Round 957

The air felt wrong—as if the very stone was breathing around them, carrying something ancient and unsettling through the halls. Merrin tried to focus on the sound of their footsteps echoing off the walls, but the silence between echoes seemed to press inwards, thick and suffocating. She couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched from unseen corners.

Varikka moved beside her, her injured leg dragging slightly with each step. The dwarf woman's breathing was labored, but her voice remained steady when she spoke. "This place wasn't built by hands like ours," she said quietly. "I can feel it in the stone."

Merrin felt a chill run down her spine that had nothing to do with the temperature. She knew exactly what Varikka meant—the wrongness here was palpable, seeping into the very air they breathed. But they couldn't turn back—not now. The passage stretched ahead, dark and uncertain but offering their only hope of escape.

Together, they pressed forward into the darkness, the weight of the Time-Splitting Sword a comfort in Merrin's hand despite her exhaustion. Whatever lay ahead, they would face it together—because that was their way.