The floor of the Rift was not solid.
I had expected stone cold, ancient, unmoving, but what lay beneath my boots was something else entirely. It shifted and pulsed beneath me, soft and yielding, like the skin of some great beast. The green light that veined the walls flowed through the ground as well, pulsing in a rhythm that was almost like breathing.
Runa stood beside me, her hand on her sword, her eyes scanning the darkness. The volunteers fanned out behind us, their torches flickering in the cold air.
"We need to move," Runa said. "The longer we stay here, the stronger the whispers become."
I nodded, raising my hand. The ember blazed, golden light spilling from my palm, pushing back the shadows. The green veins recoiled from the radiance, and the whispers faltered, just for a moment.
"This way," I said, pointing toward a passage that had opened in the wall.
We walked.
