A year later, Riley found himself summoned for yet another task.
He walked beside his father in silence, the echo of their footsteps bouncing along the narrow corridor.
His father's expression was carved from stone—grim, unyielding—and Riley didn't need words to understand the weight behind it.
Whatever lay ahead would not be simple.
The corridor stretched on endlessly, its walls damp and cold.
Torches mounted on iron brackets burned weakly, their flames twisting in the stale air, casting warped shadows that seemed to slither across the walls.
The smell reached him first—a rank, suffocating stench that grew stronger with every step.
By the time they emerged into the chamber, Riley was prepared, but the odor still hit him like a fist to the gut.
The hall was vast, circular, and oppressive. Darkness pooled in its corners like stagnant water, while the torches lining the perimeter offered only meager light.
