Round 960

The ancient stone passageways groaned around them, dust sifting down from cracks that seemed to open and close like breathing mouths. Merrin stumbled forward, the Time-Splitting Sword heavy in her hands—not just from weight but from the pulsing, alive energy that made her skin crawl. Varikka limped beside her, face twisted in pain, every step a visible agony on her ruined ankle.

"You sure this is the right way?" Varrika hissed, her voice barely more than a thread of sound in the oppressive stillness. Merrin shook her head, not stopping. "The map says it should be here." But maps were written by hands long dead and forgotten, and these tunnels seemed to twist and reshape themselves like living things. A sudden gust of air hit them from behind—a cold wind that carried the stink of something ancient and wrong.

The corridor opened into a vast chamber, light pulsing from within. Merrin hesitated, her instincts screaming warning, but Varikka's weight pulled her forward. They staggered into the space, and Merrin's eyes widened. A massive chamber stretched before them, walls carved with symbols that seemed to writhe when looked at directly. And in the center...

A figure stood there, tall and terrible, its form shifting between human and something else entirely. The Guardian. Its eyes fixed on them, and a voice like grinding stone filled the air. "You should not have come here."