It wasn't a corridor in the normal sense.
No torches. No walls.
Only open space on either side, shadow-thick, unending.
Their path was a walkway, raised barely a foot from the nothing beneath. Black stone. Veined with pale gray lines that occasionally pulsed, dim and irregular.
Lindarion walked first.
Lira behind him, blade ready but not drawn.
Luneth to the right, silent. Watching everything.
Sylric behind, steps careful, expression unreadable.
Stitch stayed in the center. Erebus walked rearguard, too quiet.
It felt like walking through a vein. Like they were blood cells passing through a body older than time.
Each step further narrowed Lindarion's thoughts.
He couldn't feel his fire affinity.
Or darkness.
Only void.
It pressed against his ribs with slow, cold pressure. Not painful. Not unwelcome. Just… present.
The walkway curved left.
Then right.
Then stopped.
They reached a platform.
