The air in the dungeon grew colder, more oppressive as James and his companions descended to the second level. The walls, once rough stone, had become smooth, polished black, reflecting only the faintest light from Zeldor's glowing blade. Every step forward felt heavier, the weight of the mountain pressing down on them, and the silence was suffocating. The atmosphere was charged with something dark and foreboding, like the calm before a storm.
The armies behind James, dwarves, elves, and soldiers of Eberdeen, marched in single file, barely squeezing into the narrow halls. The once powerful force now felt small, constrained by the dungeon's malevolent design.
"This place… it's different," Yori said, her voice tight with unease.
Pippy glanced at the walls, her ears twitching as if she could hear something they couldn't. "Yeah, I don't like this. It feels like the dungeon's… alive."
