From the South

The corridor stretched on far longer than it had any right to, each torch guttering as though the dark itself leaned in to listen.

She pressed a palm to the cold stone and felt, faintly, the pulse of something vast turning over in its sleep beneath the keep.

Whatever waited at the end of this passage had been waiting a very long time, and it had learned the shape of patience.

He counted his breaths the way his master had taught him, but the numbers slipped, and the silence pressed closer.