The maze closed in around them like the grip of a monstrous beast.
Its claustrophobic walls pressed tightly, slick with centuries of condensation, each stone scarred by time and etched with patterns too ancient to decipher.
The air was thick, oppressive,a heavy blanket that clung to their skin, infused with the stench of rot, mildew, and blood long dried into dust.
At the forefront was Caelum, his torchlight casting jagged shadows that danced across the walls.
Only thirty strong men now when remain now,each man limping, sweating, shoulders hunched as if the very ceiling bore down on them personally.
Their eyes were wide with terror; the whites stark against grime-streaked faces.
Weapons clutched tightly in trembling hands betrayed their exhaustion.
Silence enveloped them like a shroud,broken only by the drip of unseen water and the scuff of boots on rough stone.
