The corridor seemed to stretch on forever, each step Elara took echoing like a distant drumbeat in the oppressive silence. The walls of the Temple of Nyx were lined with ancient carvings, their meanings long forgotten, yet they pulsed faintly with an eerie, otherworldly glow. The further they ventured, the more the temperature dropped, each breath turning to mist in the frigid air. But it wasn't just the cold that seeped into their bones; it was the palpable weight of malevolence, as if the very stones of the temple were infused with the darkness they had come to confront.
Elias walked just behind Elara, his sword drawn, his senses on high alert. His usual confidence was tempered by a wary caution; he could feel the danger lurking in every shadow. Morgana brought up the rear, her staff held out in front of her, its tip glowing faintly as she muttered incantations under her breath, warding off the darkness that pressed in on them from all sides.
