The world dissolved into a cascade of shimmering, obsidian light, and when it solidified, the serene, star-dusted forest of the seventh floor was gone. The eighth floor was a landscape of profound gloom. The air was cold and still, carrying the scent of damp stone and ancient dust. A faint, phosphorescent moss clung to towering pillars of basalt, providing the only illumination in a vast, subterranean cavern. The ceiling was lost in a darkness so deep it seemed to swallow the very concept of light.
Lilith's silver ponytail was a stark, brilliant banner in the oppressive gloom. She took a single, measured breath, her senses expanding. The transition was instantaneous. One moment, there was only the echo of her own arrival. The next, a low, unified growl resonated from every shadow, a sound like grinding stones.
