Leon's party descended deeper into the catacombs, guided by the ever-courteous Manon and his warm, almost reverent hospitality. Though the weight of urgency hung over them, Manon needed time… time to dismantle the ancient seals that bound his Emperor in eternal slumber.
But as they approached the final threshold, something shifted.
Manon paused, his senses sharp. A subtle wrongness crept through the air. Without a word, he tapped the tip of his spear, transforming it back into a golden bell.
He rang it once, its chime echoing through the empty stone halls like a gentle ripple on still water. Then again. And again. Each toll bounced back hollow, unanswered. No response. No resonance. The warmth in Manon's expression faded, replaced by a grim, tightening urgency.
His smile twisted into a grimace, tinged with anger.
Something was wrong. Horribly wrong.
