The marble beneath Kale's boots was remarkably smooth, yet the silence of the corridor was so profound it felt as though the air itself was holding its breath. He moved forward with a measured pace, his daggers held in a loose but ready grip as he navigated the ancient graveyard of the Buried Reaches.
Neo remained perched on his shoulder in his original hydra form, all three of his draconic heads weaving through the air with a restless energy. The shimmering green scales of the beast were the only source of vibrant colour in an environment that seemed designed to drain the world of its vitality.
As they ventured further from the initial landing site, the dim light from the ancient braziers began to falter, swallowed by a darkness that felt unnervingly physical. It was not merely an absence of light, but an active oppression of mana that pressed against Kale's skin like a heavy, unseen weight.
