The next day, Erian moved through the corridors with slow steps, his left hand brushing the wall while his right hand felt the floor before him.
Every so often, he stopped to listen, just to make sure his savior wasn't too close. Not because he feared finding him, but because he feared not being ready if it happened.
His fingers moved over the stone patiently. He already knew part of those walls: he could reconstruct in his mind the cracks, the reliefs, the abrupt changes in texture.
But this particular corridor was new. The stone was more polished, and the carvings formed continuous lines that didn't break off abruptly like in other collapsed sections.
The tips of his fingers brushed against a deep groove, followed by straight and curved traces. Erian stopped, frowning. They were symbols… but different from the ones he had found so far. Softer. More familiar.
