Maws of Danger
The passageway stretched ahead like a maw of darkness, closing around them with every step they took.
The chill in the air wasn't just cold; it was a biting, almost invasive sensation, like the very walls were pressing their icy intent upon them, whispering of ancient secrets best left forgotten.
Shadows pooled unnaturally in the corners, and the labyrinth's silence felt alive, watchful, its oppressive stillness bearing down on them with a weight they couldn't shake.
Pyris walked slightly ahead of the group, hands in his pockets, eyes darting with lazy interest from one shadow to the next.
He seemed almost disinterested, but anyone watching closely would see the way his gaze lingered on every crack in the stone and every flicker of movement.
He was taking everything in, processing the labyrinth's dark language–one that would fuck them up should they not be careful.