The chamber opened with a hiss that was slow, dragging iron against old stone, iron gears grinding to life after too many days of being sealed in darkness.
Quinn stepped over the threshold after taking a deep breath.
It didn't take long for the cold to wrap itself around him. The sensation was immediate. It was not a chill but a memory of death, a temperature that seeped into the marrow, whispering of crypts and things buried alive. His breath fogged in front of him, then vanished like it feared what lingered here.
Morgana's voice murmured something soft, ceremonial, but Quinn didn't hear it. The room was vast, vaulted, and almost entirely devoured by shadow. Black stone wrapped the walls like a cocoon. The torches behind them cast thin light that barely reached ten steps into the chamber. The rest was covered by the dark so he stopped walking.
It wasn't out of caution but instinct. Something in the dark was breathing and he could feel it. Whatever it was, it was not human.
