Round 94

The ancient stone ground against stone with a sound like teeth grinding awake, groaning open under its own weight into darkness beyond. Merrin stepped back instinctively, her hand still tingling from where she'd brushed the hidden plates—sparks had leapt at her touch, and now the runes pulsed with hungry light. Jeane moved forward instead, her crimson eyes scanning the shadows for threats visible only to her kind. The air tasted wrong here, thick with decay and something else, something ancient that made Merrin's skin crawl.

"Stay close," Jeane whispered, barely audible over the echoes of their own footsteps. "This place is active. The magic isn't sleeping—it's feeding." Varrika shifted her grip on the heavy mace, muscles tensing beneath scarred skin. She positioned herself between Halie and the corridor entrance, a solid wall of dwarf muscle ready to meet whatever emerged from the dark.

The gate creaked wider as Merrin worked the mechanism with careful fingers, prying at ancient locks that resisted modern steel. Each click and scrape seemed unnaturally loud in the oppressive silence. Finally, the last bar gave way, and the portal swung fully open on protesting hinges. A gust of stale air rushed out, carrying the stench of decay and something else—something metallic, like old blood.

Jeane's wings tightened instinctively as her eyes adjusted to the gloom beyond. The corridor stretched deeper into the tower, lined with more runic carvings that glowed faintly in the darkness. She could feel it—the malevolent presence within, watching them, waiting. "We're not alone," she said softly, more to herself than anyone else. "Something's in there."