[Location: The Melting Pot Inn – Abyss Layer 6]
Time soon passed, and after talking about the event with Ziriork, Damien soon found a room for he and the others to rest
Unfortunately, the room smelled of stale oil, rust, and cheap alcohol.
It was a small, cramped box made of riveted iron plates, typical for the Slag Heap district of Argentum.
Outside, the mechanical hum of the city never ceased, a constant, grinding reminder that they were deep underground.
Damien sat cross-legged on the rusted metal frame of his bed.
He looked at the other bed in the room.
Isabelle was sleeping. Her breathing was shallow, her chest rising and falling with a fragile rhythm.
The violet fire that usually danced in her eyes was extinguished.
Her skin, usually pale and flawless, was grey and crisscrossed with fine, glowing cracks, the physical scars of a soul pushed past its breaking point.
She looked small.
