Chapter 102: A Story
Inside the tomb, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. Gone was the chaotic clamor of battle, replaced by an oppressive stillness that settled over everything like a heavy shroud.
The air was motionless, damp, and chilling—so cold it bit into my skin despite my resistance to most temperatures. The silence wasn’t peaceful; it was eerie, unnatural. It reminded me of the calm just before an execution.
From the outside, this place had the grandeur of a long-forgotten palace—massive spires, archways carved with ancient artistry, and banners now frayed with the passage of time.
But stepping through its threshold revealed a stark contrast. The inside was not some magnificent hall or throne room, but a series of narrow, winding corridors carved from age-worn stone.
No undead greeted us here. No spectral arrows flew. Just Einar, walking ahead with his back turned to me, his living armor swaying with every step.
The blackened, pulsing surface of it seemed more alive than ever—as if feeding off the silence itself.
I followed him, my footsteps quiet yet purposeful. Hearing my approach, Einar glanced over his shoulder.
His scarlet eyes were narrowed, scanning me with an unreadable mix of caution and calculation.
"Let’s just ignore the anomaly," he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. "Unless you know something I don’t."
I caught up to walk beside him, matching his pace. "No," I said, my tone neutral. "I don’t know anything about this place."
He gave a curt nod but said nothing more, his focus shifting back to the corridor ahead.