They passed the narrow throat of stone as though entering the gullet of some slumbering beast. The walls closed in until the air itself felt taut, stretched thin over ancient masonry. A pregnant hush reigned—the silence of old stone, sealed away from breath and voice for untold centuries. Their footsteps echoed, too loud in such stillness, as if drawing attention. The floor beneath them was smooth, but slanted ever so slightly, forcing them to tread with care, feet sliding at odd angles.
Shafts of pale blue and violet light—thin veins of crystal woven into the walls—glimmered faintly along the edges of the corridor. The hue was ghostly, as though the bones of the earth still softly glowed. Wherever the light touched, shadows were born: long, slender, drifting. Li Wei's cloak whispered as he stepped.
