Nicalo felt it too, a wrongness that went deeper than physical discomfort. His instincts, honed by decades of dungeon exploration, screamed warnings that his rational mind struggled to process. But they'd come so far, invested so much hope in this expedition.
His nieces were counting on him. Lysora County needed this success.
"We press on," he decided, though he moved his hand to his sword hilt. "Stay close. Watch each other's backs."
They descended through corridors that seemed to grow more alien with each step. The architecture itself began to feel wrong, angles that hurt to look at directly, shadows that moved independently of their light sources, whispers in languages that predated human speech.
Brother Thane's prayers grew more frequent and fervent. Sister Miraleth's holy symbol began to dim despite her growing desperation to kindle its light. Even Korven's usually unshakeable confidence showed cracks as his defensive instincts screamed at threats he couldn't identify.
