The Citadel had always stood as a beacon of hope and knowledge, its ancient walls holding the secrets of countless generations. But tonight, it was shrouded in an eerie stillness, as if the very stones were holding their breath. Thorne and Lyra moved through the dimly lit corridors, the silence around them heavy with the weight of what they were about to do.
Their footsteps echoed softly as they descended deeper into the heart of the Citadel, following the directions they had found in the journal. The passages grew narrower, the air colder, as if the warmth of the world above had been left far behind. The flickering light of their torches cast long, wavering shadows on the walls, adding to the sense of unease that gnawed at them.
"We're almost there," Thorne murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. He glanced at Lyra, who nodded grimly, her expression set in steely determination. They had no choice but to go forward. The ritual was their last hope.
