They pressed forward into the second path, their nerves already taut from the earlier gauntlets of traps.
Chitterfang scurried ahead as always, sniffing the air and brushing its whiskers against the stone. The corridor seemed to stretch on without end, the silence broken only by the soft tap of boots against stone.
Yet there was a strange change in the air. The cold draft that had earlier slithered through cracks in the walls now grew stronger, as though they were approaching some enormous void.
At last, the path widened and they emerged into a space so vast it swallowed the flickering glow of their talismans whole. For a moment, they stood frozen at the threshold, peering into a darkness so thick it felt alive. Even cultivator senses could not fully pierce the gloom.
"Light more talismans," Senior Brother Duan instructed.
