Daemon stood at the mouth of the skull, his boots just brushing the wet stone where the blood-like water pooled. For the first time, real hesitation flickered in his chest. No torch. No map. Just darkness yawning back at him like an open grave.
"Tch." His teeth clicked in irritation. Stepping into blackness blind wasn't bravery. It was stupidity.
But before the thought could fully settle —
Fwmp.
A row of ancient, iron-forged torches along the stone walls lit up one by one, like a path welcoming him inside. Their flames didn't burn yellow — but pale blue, casting cold shadows that danced along the jagged, narrow corridor.
Daemon's eyes sharpened.
"A dungeon?" His voice echoed slightly, lost in the hollow space.
He turned back once, looking at Caldrin, who stood rooted to the spot, refusing to cross the boundary. Smart animal. Even without aura, the horse could sense it.
