The path wound downward into a narrow gorge, its stone walls steep, wet, and slick with ferns that dripped with the last tears of the storm. Thin waterfalls spilled in silver ribbons from cracks above, breaking into mist that hung like veils in the air. The sound was ceaseless, a layered whisper of dripping, rushing, and streaming water, so constant it seemed to burrow into their ears until silence itself felt impossible.
The group moved in single file, boots sinking into mud that sucked with each step. The air was close, damp, heavy with the mineral scent of stone and moss. Though dawn had broken hours ago, little light reached them here, filtered to pale gray by the towering cliffs. Every breath seemed colder than the last, and with each turn the gorge pressed tighter, as though the stone itself meant to swallow them.
