The wind was still. A faint fog covered the vines and beneath them was a drop that promised only death.
Damon didn't want to know what lurked below. When he had once poked his head over the edge he saw vague silhouettes, shapes that felt inhumane. Since then he had learned to stay silent and keep walking.
Seras stood at the very front holding a map, or rather the route Amadeus the lich had carved out for them.
It had been two weeks since they entered this place. The slow creeping thought that they might never return spread among them like rot.
As if that wasn't bad enough, high above the fog the distant silhouette of a dragon still patrolled the skies. Rexagon was searching for them. Searching for Damon.
His legs felt heavier with every moment of unease. Here fear had weight. Gravity thickened around them like invisible chains.
Renata hadn't said it out loud, but Damon could tell their supplies were running low. There was still no sign of escape from this cursed maze.
