The minutes trickled by, a heavy and monotonous rhythm, like grains of sand pouring from an hourglass of eternity.
The sound of the trio's footsteps echoed in the eerie silence of the ancient corridors, the only thing reminding them of their own existence.
Each hall they passed through was like a more disturbing art gallery than the last.
Grotesque statues, sculpted by time and perhaps a maddened god, seemed to watch them from within the shadows.
The paintings and nonsensical inscriptions carved into the walls displayed not the rise and fall of a cult, but a chronology of madness itself.
With every step, the despair and pain that had seeped into these stones became more palpable.
They were constantly on edge.
Their eyes scanned every corner, every dark alcove, and their ears were strained to catch the faintest whisper of sound.
Yet, there was still no sign of the "sole guardian" Cassian had mentioned.
