Lyerin stepped forward, his movements fluid and confident as he led the group deeper into thework of caves.


    The atmosphere shifted immediately, the air growing heavier, colder, and tinged with something metallic and sour.


    The faint light of their torches flickered as if struggling against an unseen force.


    Shadows stretched unnaturally across the cave walls, twisting and contorting like living things trying to break free from the stone.


    Each step felt as though it carried them miles deeper into the earth, and every echo of their boots seemed to mock their presence.


    The path ahead sloped downward, narrowing into a spiraling descent.


    The rock walls were slick with a dark, oily substance that seemed to move, crawling slowly, leaving behind a faint phosphorescent trail.


    The soldiers exchanged wary nces, some tightening their grip on their weapons, others swallowing hard to keep the bile down.


    There were no sounds of water droplets here, noforting signs of life. Only silence broken by their ragged breaths.


    "What… is this ce?" one of the soldiers asked, his voice trembling, eyes darting to the writhing substance on the walls. He avoided touching it at all costs.


    Lyerin barely nced over his shoulder. "A ce long forgotten," he said calmly, his tone indifferent, as if leading them through a routine walk. "Don''t touch it."


    "Why?" another soldier demanded, the stress making his voice sharper than intended. "What happens if we do?"


    "Something you would not enjoy," Lyerin replied, a hint of amusementcing his words. He continued walking, his pace never slowing.


    They pressed on, deeper into the unnerving cavern.


    Strange carvings emerged on the walls, etched deep into the rock as if by ws.


    They depicted twisted, inhuman figures locked in battle, writhing tendrils emerging from their bodies, their faces contorted in agony or rage.


    The carvings seemed to shimmer in the dim light, giving the impression that the figures were moving.


    The soldiers recoiled as they passed, some covering their eyes, others muttering prayers under their breath.


    "What are these… things?" a young soldier asked, his voice cracking. His wide eyes were fixed on one particrly grotesque carving of a creature with too many limbs and a gaping maw.


    "Echoes of the past," Lyerin replied without pausing. "Things that should have remained buried."


    The ground began to change beneath their feet, shifting from hard stone to a spongy, pulsating surface.


    It gave slightly under their weight, and an unsettling warmth radiated from it.


    With each step, a faint thumping noise reverberated through their boots—almost like a heartbeat.


    The realization sent a shudder through the group.


    "What is this?" a soldier shouted, his voice tinged with panic. He stopped moving, staring down at the ground as if it might swallow him whole.


    "Living stone," Lyerin answered simply, turning to face him. "It senses fear. Keep moving."


    Several of the soldiers exchanged nervous nces, their fear evident.


    Despite Lyerin''s warning, their steps became hesitant, and the thumping grew louder.


    The walls, too, seemed to close in, undting as if breathing in tandem with the floor.


    One soldier stumbled, catching himself on what looked like a cluster of crystalline spikes protruding from the wall. The crystals emitted a faint, sickly glow.


    "Beautiful," he whispered, unable to tear his gaze away. Then the spikes twitched, withdrawing from his touch as though repulsed. He stumbled backward, his face pale.


    "Keep your hands to yourselves," Lyerin said, his voice sharp now. "This ce has a will of its own."


    As they continued, grotesque statues emerged from the gloom.


    Each was different—some humanoid, otherspletely alien, with elongated limbs, segmented bodies, and eyeless faces.


    Some appeared to be screaming, their mouths open wide in silent agony.


    Others were hunched over, as if hiding from an unseen horror. The soldiers skirted around them, their skin crawling.


    "Were these… alive once?" someone asked, barely above a whisper.


    "Perhaps," Lyerin replied, unbothered. "Perhaps not. Does it matter?"


    Every turn in the cavern brought new horrors.


    Pools of viscous ck liquid bubbled ominously.


    Faint, ghostly whispers drifted through the air, speaking in anguage none of them recognized but all understood instinctively as a warning.


    asionally, flickers of movement appeared at the edge of their vision, vanishing the moment they tried to focus on it.


    Several soldiers whispered among themselves, some specting about curses, others debating whether they had already crossed into another realm.


    The descent finally ended, opening into a vast chamber.


    The air grew frigid, and an oppressive force pressed down on them, making it difficult to breathe.


    Whaty before them took their breath away—and not in awe, but in pure, visceral terror.


    The chamber was lit by an eerie light emanating from an ancient-looking disk set into the floor.


    It pulsed rhythmically, casting shadows that seemed to dance with malevolent intent.


    The walls of the cavern were covered in countless skeletal remains—humanoid and otherwise.


    They were woven into the stone itself, their bony fingers reaching outward as if seeking escape.


    "What… is this?" a soldier managed to choke out, his voice quivering.


    Lyerin stepped closer to the disk, his expression unreadable. "A nexus. A meeting point of power." He turned back to face them, his eyes cold and distant. "And it is not weing."


    The soldiers exchanged nces. Their hearts pounded in their chests, and a cold sweat dripped down their backs.


    Whatever this ce was, they knew one thing—it was no ordinary cave.


    The oppressive silence of the chamber was shattered by a faint sound—a distant scraping, like metal against stone.


    It was almost imperceptible at first, easily dismissed as a trick of the cavern''s unsettling acoustics.


    The soldiers froze, their breaths caught in their throats.


    Eyes darted nervously, straining against the dim, pulsing light of the disk.


    Every shadow seemed alive, every whisper of movement amplified by the weight of their fear.


    Another scrape.


    Louder this time.


    It echoed through the chamber, setting their nerves on edge.


    "Did anyone else hear that?" one soldier whispered, his voice barely audible.


    Sweat dripped down his temple, and his hand trembled as he clutched his rifle.


    A shiver ran through the group. Another noise—a clinking, skittering sound, like thousands of insect legs brushing against stone.


    It was closer now, impossible to ignore.


    Each scrape, each chitter, seemed to vibrate through their bones.


    The walls themselves felt as though they were moving, shifting to channel the noise directly into their ears.


    The soldiers gripped their weapons tighter, hearts pounding like war drums.


    The sound grew louder still. A rhythmic, pulsing cadence that mirrored the beating of the ancient disk.


    The floor beneath their feet began to tremble.


    Shadows moved across the walls, twisting and writhing, forming grotesque shapes that made even the bravest among them recoil.


    The scraping and skittering crescendoed, drowning out all other sounds until it was an all-epassing roar.


    "Get ready!" Lucas barked, trying to steady his own nerves. His voice was tight with tension.