Their footsteps echoed softly over cracked black stone.
The air of the underworld was colder than before, not the terrifying chill of death, but something gentler, like a frozen dawn in a world without a sun. Far ahead, the gate to the next floor shimmered faintly. Pulses of violet-blue light throbbed within it, reflecting the silhouettes of three figures walking slowly closer.
Sylvia led the way, her chains trailing behind her like living shadows.
Alicia walked to her right, twirling her staff idly, tiny sparks of blue light dancing at its tip. On the left, Stacia's expression was serious as always; her gaze followed the faint mana patterns flowing outward from the gate ahead.
There was no conversation this time, only the whisper of the underworld's wind between their measured steps. The silence wasn't born of fear; each of them was simply lost in thought.
Alicia was the first to break it.
"Sylvia, you're still thinking about Dantalion, aren't you?"
