The warehouse groaned under its own weight. Damp air thickened with the smell of rust and something older, something permanent. I followed the masked figures, arms gripped firmly, and every step felt like sinking into a trap.
Click… scrape… shuffle…
The stairs spiraled down into darkness, iron groaning under each careful step. Pipes lined the walls, veins in the belly of the city. My pulse matched the rhythm, quick and uneven.
I tried sarcasm, but it scraped out raw. "Well… basement tour. Five stars for ambiance. Zero for personal space."
No response. Just silence. Calculated, patient, oppressive.
The stairwell opened into a cavernous chamber carved beneath the city. Dozens of masked figures stood in precise rows. Torches hissed against wet stone, shadows shifting like predators.
Hum… murmur… silence.
Every head turned toward me. Every mask fixed. Recognition in the absence of faces. The shopkeeper stepped forward, voice calm and echoing: "He's here."
Hands struck stone. Thump… thump… thump…
I clenched my jaw, forcing humor through the tension. "Lovely. Nothing like a warm welcome. Do I get a fruit basket too, or just the creepy drumline?"
The rhythm rose and fell. The crowd leaned forward, silent but attentive. I realized the masks weren't hiding faces they were hiding intentions. And those intentions were all trained on me.
Click… scrape… drip…
Two figures stepped forward, chains in hand. Not to bind, but to guide. A path cleared to the center of the chamber, where a circle etched into the stone glimmered faintly with symbols I half-recognized.
I froze. Stage. Ritual. Me. Main act.
"Trial, huh?" I muttered under my breath. "Fantastic. Always wanted a secret club initiation. Didn't realize the audience would be this… enthusiastic."
No laughter. No breaks. Just silent expectation.
The shopkeeper raised a hand. The rhythmic pounding stopped instantly. He turned to me, eyes unreadable beneath shadow. "The Trial begins."
Splash… hum… drip…
I stepped forward into the circle, stomach twisting. The air pulsed with anticipation, the masks watching, the chamber alive with silent threat. Every instinct screamed that this was no longer discovery. This was judgment.
And I muttered, teeth clenched, sarcasm almost bitter: "Well, here goes nothing."