Argolaith moved with quiet footsteps, deeper into the earth than most dared to go.
The air was hot and dry, but not suffocating—yet.
His hand trailed lightly against the wall, tracing ancient grooves as he walked.
The tunnel slowly began to widen.
What had once been a tight corridor of stone gradually opened with each step, until the ceiling arched above him like the inside of a cathedral long buried.
Every sound echoed now.
His footsteps.
His breath.
Even the slight scrape of cloth against stone.
The air had a rhythm to it.
Not wind, not movement—but something older.
Like the beat of a slow, massive heart.
Or the breath of something sleeping.
It wasn't just sound.
He could feel it now.
A pressure that ebbed and flowed faintly through the soles of his boots.
Glancing ahead, his eyes caught a soft blue glow.
Clusters of mushrooms dotted the base of the walls, their caps glowing like moonlight through mist.
He hadn't seen anything like them before.
He crouched.
