The chamber had become a war zone. Shadows and light clashed and recoiled, the air thick with the weight of ancient magic, heavy enough to press against my lungs with every breath. The bodies of the fallen volunteers lay motionless near the walls where the shadows had thrown them, their torches extinguished, their faces pale in the dim glow of the remaining crystals. The survivors huddled together near the entrance of the chamber, their weapons shaking in their hands, their faces masks of exhaustion and fear.
Runa fought beside me, her sword a blur of steel, cutting through the shadows that crept too close. Her injured arm hung at her side, useless, but she did not retreat. She did not yield. Blood trickled from a cut on her forehead, mixing with the sweat on her brow, but her eyes were fierce, unbroken.
