The five hundredth step marked a turning point that Renard felt in his bones before he understood it intellectually.
The magical pressure, which had been building gradually like water slowly filling a basin, suddenly doubled. Then doubled again. The inscriptions carved into the stone blazed with such intensity that looking directly at them made his eyes water, and the air itself seemed to crystallize around him, becoming so thick and resistant that each breath felt like swallowing syrup.
Behind him, he heard a scream cut short, followed by the sickening thud of a body hitting stone. Then another. And another.
The staircase had claimed more victims.
