The passage twisted and turned, winding deeper into the earth than I had thought possible. The walls were no longer crystal but raw stone, black and gleaming, veined with faint traces of the green light that had guided us through the Rift. The air grew colder with each step, thicker, harder to breathe, pressing against my lungs like a physical weight. The whispers had stopped entirely, replaced by a silence so profound it seemed to press against my eardrums, a silence that was somehow more terrifying than the cacophony that had come before.
Ysolde walked ahead, her silver hair glowing faintly in the darkness, casting just enough light for us to see the path. She moved with purpose now, her steps quick, her shoulders set. The centuries of imprisonment had fallen away, and in her eyes I saw the queen she had once been: proud, powerful, unbroken. Her bare feet made no sound on the stone, and her silver hair swayed with each step, catching the faint light like moonlight on water.
