The dungeon exuded an air of oppressive darkness, its walls constructed of ancient stones that seemed to absorb any hint of light that dared to intrude. The only illumination came from sporadic sticks on flame mounted on the damp, cold walls, casting flickering shadows that danced eerily across the floor.
Amidst the dimness, silence reigned supreme, broken only by the faint squeaks of murids scurrying about in hidden corners and the occasional chirps of insects that had found refuge within the cracks and crevices. It was a realm of forgotten despair, where time seemed to have stood still, and the echoes of past anguish lingered like ghostly whispers.
In this desolate realm, the meager light from the flaming sticks cast haunting silhouettes upon the damp walls, adding to the oppressive atmosphere. Yet, in surprising contrast to the bleakness of his surroundings, Elder Wang's actions exuded a glimmer of tender whimsy.
