The tunnel narrowed.
Rocks scraped their shoulders as they sprinted through the tightening corridor, their breath loud in the darkness. The flickering light orb from Seren's magic bounced wildly on the rough stone walls, shadows dancing like phantoms. Behind them, the abomination—the Demonic Maw—howled, its warped voice echoing like tortured steel.
"Don't look back! Just run!" Leonhart barked, voice tight.
Bran stumbled beside Kaidën, sweat soaking his tunic, face pale. The boy was fast, no doubt, but he wasn't built for this kind of relentless pace. Kaidën could hear Bran's strained breathing, the way his boots skidded awkwardly over loose gravel.
The tunnel forced them into a single-file line, limiting movement. Leonhart led, his eyes scanning for any sign of an exit. Seren followed behind him, her magic orb barely keeping the shadows at bay. Kaidën kept to the rear, Bran in front of him—the furthest point from the chasing terror.
