The stairwell started shallow. Then dropped hard.
Lucen kept one hand on the stone wall. It was cold. Slick. Like water had seeped through the stone a hundred years ago and decided to stay.
Senna walked first. Her boots were light but sharp against the steps, like precise rhythm, blade still drawn.
Mira followed next. She'd tied a flickering light crystal to the front of her bow, and the glow made the walls look damp. Wrong. Almost alive.
Lucen came third.
Callen limped in the rear, slower than before. He didn't complain. Just kept a hand on the railing and muttered under his breath every few steps.
No one asked what he was saying.
Lucen didn't want to know.
The deeper they went, the more the light crystal seemed to lose color. It still lit the space around them, but everything it touched turned pale. Bleached.
'This is fine,' Lucen thought. 'Not haunted at all. Definitely not walking into some cursed hero's tomb with a grudge against light and teenagers.'
