The corridor stretched before us, dark and endless, its walls pulsing with that sickly green light that had become our constant companion. The air was thick, heavy with the weight of ancient magic, and the whispers that had plagued us since the descent were now a constant presence, pressing against my consciousness like hands reaching for purchase. Each step echoed in the silence, a hollow sound that seemed to be swallowed by the darkness before it could travel far.
Runa walked beside me, her hand on her sword, her eyes scanning the shadows that clung to the edges of the corridor. The volunteers followed behind us, their torches flickering, their faces pale in the dancing light. They had survived the first two trials, but I could see the toll it was taking on them: the shadows under their eyes, the tension in their shoulders, the way their hands trembled when they thought no one was looking.
