The Obsidian Pass lived up to its name with a quiet, suffocating terror that felt far more dangerous than the roaring heat of the river they had just left behind.
Here, the path narrowed until it was barely wide enough for three people to walk abreast, wedged between two colossal walls of solid obsidian glass that stretched up thousands of feet, cutting off the blood-red horizon and throwing the pass into a bleak, violet-tinged twilight. The stone underfoot was slick, reflective as a dark mirror, and freezing cold to the touch. Every step echoed with a sharp, metallic ring that bounced off the glass walls, repeating three or four times before dying out in the distance.
