Arthur's lungs burned as he staggered forward, sweat cascading down his face and neck, soaking the collar of his already damp shirt. His eyes—wild with desperation—continued to scan the dimly lit room he had burst into moments ago.
'Come on, come on…'
He took several more unsteady steps, squinting through the gloom. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows across ancient stone walls. He needed to find him. Needed to find Aziel.
A large, calloused hand clasped his shoulder firmly from behind.
"Arthur, stop," Jonas's deep voice resonated with urgency. "We need to hurry back. We can't separate from the group. Let's go."
But Arthur didn't respond, barely registering his words. He continued his frantic search, revisiting the same corners, the same alcoves, the same shadowed recesses—examining them over and over, hoping against hope that something would materialize before his eyes.
