The door closed behind us like a coffin lid.
No more footsteps, no rain, no calls. Only silence.
And darkness.
I stood there, breathing too fast, pulse too loud. The light outside had disappeared as if it had never existed. Just a faint glow somewhere in the depths of the corridor – dim, reddish, like embers beneath ash.
Alaric still held my hand, tighter than necessary. His skin was cold, his fingers rough. I could feel him forcing himself to breathe calmly, but beneath that calm something vibrated – anger, fear, or both.
The woman walked ahead. Her steps were barely audible, her soles gliding across the floor as if barely touching it. No hurry, no uncertainty. As if she had walked this path a hundred times before. Perhaps she had.
"Where are we going?" I asked, more quietly than I intended.
"Beneath the city," she answered. "Where the Ring was born."
Alaric inhaled sharply. "You're not taking her there."
