Gradually, the corridor widened, transforming into a natural hall. The walls here were smoother, as if polished by time or water. Finn slowed his pace, carefully examining every protrusion, every niche. There was something different about this place, as if the space around him held ancient secrets.
The light of the tulwar glided along the walls, pulling strange shadows from the darkness. Suddenly, the beam fell upon a section where the stone was darker in hue. Finn stepped closer, raising the sword higher. In the golden glow, outlines of figures emerged, drawn in ochre and charcoal.
The images seemed to come alive in the flickering light. Slender silhouettes of people, arranged in a circle, moved in some ancient dance around a massive bison. The animal was depicted with astonishing skill—every line conveyed its power and majesty. Its horns, curved like blades, seemed ready to gore anyone who dared approach.
Nearby, another scene unfolded. The same dancing figures surrounded a towering mammoth. The artist had rendered it so masterfully that even the fur, sketched with simple strokes, looked almost tangible. The beast's tusks curved gracefully, and its trunk was raised high, as if in a triumphant roar.
Finn moved slowly along the wall, letting the light reveal more details of the ancient artwork. There were hunting scenes: people with spears pursuing various animals. Some of the hunters wore strange headdresses, resembling horns or animal masks.
Between the main scenes were smaller drawings: handprints, spirals, wavy lines like flowing water. In places, the pigment had nearly faded, leaving only ghostly outlines, yet even these were mesmerizing in their ancient magic.
One scene in particular drew his eye—a ring of people, hands clasped, encircling some creature. Its silhouette was deliberately distorted, as if the artist had tried to depict something beyond simple description. The figure seemed at times human, at times beast, and in the next moment, something entirely other.
The air here was unnaturally still, as if time itself had frozen before these ancient images. Silence pressed against his ears, broken only by the distant drip of water deep in the cave. The droplets formed a strange rhythm, almost matching the imagined movement of the painted figures.
Finn ran his fingers along the rough surface of the wall, feeling the textures left by the ancient artists. In places, the pigment still retained its vivid color, protected by a thin crust of mineral deposits. Some drawings overlapped, creating intricate compositions of interwoven lines and shapes.
Further along, the wall bore a procession of animals: deer with branching antlers, bears, wolves. Each creature was rendered with striking accuracy, as if the artist had studied them for long hours, memorizing every movement, every detail of their form.
Between the hunting scenes were imprints of hands—dozens of them, varying in size, as if left by an entire tribe. Some were small, childlike; others large and powerful. All stretched toward the center of the wall, where a particularly complex mural dominated the space.
The tulwar's light slid across the stone, creating an illusion of motion. The figures seemed to truly dance, the animals ready to step off the wall at any moment. Shadows from the uneven rock added depth, making them even more lifelike.
Finn moved slowly along the wall, absorbing every detail. The drawings seemed to tell a story whose meaning had long been forgotten. Some scenes repeated with slight variations, as if the artists had tried again and again to capture something vital.
Gradually, the images grew sparse, then vanished altogether, replaced by bare stone. The wall curved sharply here, leading the corridor in a new direction. Casting one last glance at the ancient gallery, Finn pressed onward, carrying the memory of what he had seen.
The cave narrowed again, twisting into a winding passage. Now the walls bore only natural patterns, shaped by water and time. The distant sound of rushing water grew clearer, urging Finn to quicken his pace.
The corridor snaked between stone columns, at times squeezing so tight he had to turn sideways. The backpack snagged on outcrops, but Finn paid it no mind, his focus fixed on the approaching noise.
The air grew damper. The walls were slick with moisture, glistening under the sword's glow. Droplets fell from the ceiling, trickling down his neck, but the chill only sharpened his senses. Each step brought him closer to the source of the sound, now unmistakable—the roar of a waterfall.
The tulwar pulsed in his grip, casting uneven reflections on the wet stone. At some point, Finn realized the water wasn't just dripping—it flowed in thin rivulets beneath his feet, merging into a single stream. The current strengthened, pulling him forward.
Then, abruptly, the passage turned, and the noise of water crashed against his ears with renewed force. A shiver ran down his spine, and his hands, clutching the tulwar, trembled treacherously. Something ancient and dreadful lurked beyond this bend—something that made every instinct scream at him to run, to flee as fast and as far as he could.