The air grew colder the deeper they ventured into the palace. The once-grand halls of stone and crumbling marble gave way to narrow corridors lined with dust-covered statues—many of them broken, their eyes gouged out or faces chipped into twisted, unreadable expressions. Borik and Liam led the way, Borik holding the tattered map.
They said little as they moved, the only sounds being the low hum of their boots against the floor and the occasional whisper of wind moaning through unseen cracks in the structure. Now and then, a cold draft would sweep past them, raising the hairs on their arms and necks—not from temperature alone, but from something else. An unnatural stillness that clung to the air. A silence that didn't feel empty, but full… watching.
Liam raised his fist, motioning for a halt.
