The chamber's silence grew oppressive, stretching thinner with each passing breath. The humans fanned out reluctantly, their torchlight jittering against the murals of burning half-dragons. The black pit yawned at the chamber's heart, swallowing even the firelight. Every flicker seemed dimmer the closer it drew to that abyss.
Lindarion stood at the edge, shadows licking across his boots like ink reluctant to move forward. His gaze pressed into the darkness, but it gave nothing back, no reflection, no depth, only a hungry void.
Ashwing stirred on his shoulder, claws scraping faintly as he shifted uneasily. It's watching, the dragon's childish voice whispered, unsteady. It doesn't have eyes, but it's watching. I don't like it.
'Stay still,' Lindarion answered. His mind brushed the dragon's with the same practiced ease he'd had for four years, firm but not unkind. 'Fear feeds whatever lingers here.'
