The hall stretched on, lit only by the ghostly flames flickering along the walls.
Each step echoed—not with the sound of footfalls, but with a weight.
Like they were walking through a place where the past had never ended.
The voice had not spoken again.
But its presence was everywhere.
It wasn't haunting them.
It wasn't stalking them.
It was waiting.
Argolaith led the way, his sword sheathed but his hand resting loosely on the hilt.
Malakar walked beside him, calm as always, the violet flame of his gaze casting eerie shadows along the walls.
Kaelred followed a step behind, blades drawn, muttering. "Creepy voice. Timeless fortress. Flickering lights. Nothing weird at all."
They passed beneath a massive archway—its edges carved with ancient runes long faded, their meaning lost to time.
Beyond it, the air grew colder.
The light dimmed.
But they kept walking.
They entered a massive chamber, circular in shape, its walls lined with towering statues of cloaked figures.
