The ruin breathed with dust and silence as Leo and his companions descended deeper, each step dragging them further from the world above. The air was heavy here, stagnant, as though the mountain itself had swallowed breath centuries ago and never released it. Their lanterns guttered in the stale drafts, flames flickering low, shadows stretching long against walls scarred with age.
The carvings began almost immediately, spirals and grooves etched into stone, curling like rivers frozen in midflow. They trailed endlessly along the corridor, weaving together in vast patterns that hinted at motion even as they stood still. The further they walked, the thicker the air became. Dampness clung to their throats, metallic and sour, carrying the faint tang of rust. Beneath it lingered something older, sharper, a taste that turned the stomach, like dried blood ground into dust.
