And so… I waited.
At first, I wasn't alone. Thirty others, all the souls shattered by the loss of comrades swallowed by the dungeon, stood with me before that sealed gate.
We clung to the same fragile hope, our breaths fogging in the chill, our eyes fixed on the unyielding stone.
Together, we whispered their names into the wind, as if our voices could call them home.
One hour bled into two. Then three. Then more.
The sun sank below the jagged black peaks, painting the barren sky in crimson, like the blood we feared had been spilled within.
Still, no one came.
No one.
When night's bitter cold gripped the earth, I collapsed onto the stone, my body broken by exhaustion, hunger, or the weight of despair, I couldn't tell.
I was barely conscious, a husk of myself, but the others carried me. They pressed stale bread to my lips, held me upright, kept my heart beating.
They were my tether to life.
And yet… the moment I could stand, I returned.
To that same cursed gate.
