The group advanced into the bowels of the Nest with slow, cautious steps.
For what felt like hours the tunnels coiled and narrowed, dripping with thick resin that hissed faintly where it struck stone.
Each drop struck like a drumbeat in the silence, too loud, too steady, until every sound seemed to throb inside their skulls. The oppressive air weighed heavy, thick with damp heat and the scent of decay.
The claustrophobic sensation deepened with every pace. Roots pressed in from overhead, bending low like ribs of some colossal beast. Resin pooled along the floor and tugged at their boots, clinging like tar.
Kalrek, of course, had claimed the lead. He forced laughter every few minutes, each nervous chuckle bouncing against the walls and vanishing abruptly as if swallowed whole.
