The cavern stretched before us, vast and silent, its walls glittering with crystals that pulsed with that sickly green light. The air was cold and thick, heavy with the weight of ancient magic that seemed to press against my skin, my lungs, my very soul. Ysolde walked ahead, her silver hair flowing behind her like a banner, her bare feet silent on the smooth stone. She moved with a grace that was almost otherworldly, a remnant of the queen she had once been before Erebus stole everything from her.
The volunteers followed in a loose formation behind us, their torches casting dancing shadows on the crystal walls, their faces pale but determined. Fen kept his hand on his sword, his eyes scanning the darkness for threats that might still lurk in the shadows. Grete whispered a prayer under her breath, her lips moving soundlessly. They had come this far; they survived the labyrinth, the mirrors, and the endless darkness. They would not turn back now.
