The Price of a Kingdom
The stone stairs creaked beneath Leon's boots as he descended, each step swallowed by the heavy blackness pressing in from all sides. The torches along the corridor sputtered in their brackets, coughing out thin flames that barely held back the oppressive dark. Smoke curled through the air in lazy spirals, carrying the familiar scent of burnt oil and damp stone.
Every step deeper felt colder. Thicker. As if the air itself didn't want to be breathed.
Behind him, the guards' footsteps followed—steady, disciplined, their armor whispering against their uniforms as they kept formation around him. Their presence didn't feel protective. It felt ceremonial, like escorts to a place where light had long since died.
Leon ran his hand along the banister, feeling how the wood had been blackened by age and heat. This place hasn't changed, he thought. Rotten air. Hidden sins. Everyone pretending they don't hear the screams that once lived here.
