The orange flame disappeared silently behind Kyrian the moment he crossed the gate.
Kyrian did not even notice. Or perhaps he simply did not care. His eyes were focused on the path ahead, and nothing else mattered at that moment.
On the other side of the gate, there was only a staircase. Long. Dark. Deep.
The surrounding walls were made of the same dark red stone as the gate, smooth and polished by time, covered in runes nearly erased by centuries of oblivion.
Small orange fire torches floated attached to the walls at regular intervals, faintly illuminating the descending corridor with a light that resembled dying embers more than living flames.
Kyrian looked downward. The staircase seemed endless, step after step vanishing into the darkness below, as if the entire mountain were hollow inside.
Then he began descending.
...
The sound of his footsteps echoed continuously through the depths of the mountain.
