"Okay… I've been walking for straight eight hours, and there's only… darkness. Nothing but endless shadows stretching in every direction,"
Azrael muttered under his breath, his dark eyes scanning the void-like corridor of the Old Path.
"Where the hell is this path even taking me?"
His footsteps echoed unnaturally, a hollow rhythm that seemed to belong to no natural place.
The air was thick, humid, carrying a faint metallic scent that reminded him of old iron pipes long abandoned.
Azrael paused for a moment, flicking the cigarette from between his fingers and grinding it under his boot.
Sparks fizzled into nothingness.
He rubbed his eyes briefly, though the shadows didn't move.
They weren't shadows in the normal sense, they seemed alive, as if the path itself were breathing around him.
A faint wind whispered through the place, carrying words just out of reach, unintelligible but heavy with intent.
