When they finally left the marble chamber, Marron expected the corridors to look as bleak as before: cracked stone, scorched walls, moss that smelled faintly of damp metal. Instead, she froze on the threshold.
The dungeon had changed.
Stone passages that had once felt like a throat closing around them now opened into wide chambers lined with smooth flagstones. The jagged walls had softened, curved into arches that looked almost welcoming. Water trickled nearby—not the stagnant drip-drip she remembered, but a stream running bright and clear, winding through the stone like a vein of life.
Elena's mouth parted in wonder. "Is that…?"
"Yes," Marron whispered. "That's real water."
It caught the torchlight in shifting ripples, and for a heartbeat, she could almost imagine they were walking through one of Brookvale's garden courtyards after a summer rain.
