The descent didn't announce itself with some dramatic drop or crumbling edge—it just became, gradually sloping as if the dungeon itself was guiding us deeper into its rotting heart. I could feel the shift beneath my boots, less of a change in incline, but more of a change in substance. The stone underfoot no longer felt like carved brickwork. It had taken on a strange elasticity, firm yet faintly yielding, as if it wanted us disposed of and was debating whether or not to swallow us whole.
The tunnel had grown quieter, not in any peaceful, tranquil way. It was the silence that lingered right before a scream, thick and pressing, like the air was holding its breath in anticipation and in turn cause effects on all of us. My own breath came a little slower, more deliberate, it was clear my body knew it needed to conserve whatever reserves it had left or be left with nothing.
