The breathing walls tightened.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
Stone groaned like ribs crushing around a long-dead heart. Starlight orbs flickered, casting warped shadows as the air grew thick. The spiraled mural beneath their feet pulsed—a heartbeat, and with each pulse, the darkness squeezed inward.
Then it exhaled.
A gust roared through the chamber, cold and fetid, reeking of ages past.
The mural split apart at the far end of the room.
Tiles cracked, spiraled outward, revealing something that shouldn't move.
A mass of twisted limbs rose from the gap—no, not limbs.
Arms.
Dozens of them.
All fused into one hunchbacked torso, wrapped in broken chains. Some links still embedded in its flesh, rusted metal biting deep.
Its head hung unnaturally low, as if the neck had surrendered long ago.
And then it lifted.
No eyes. Just a pit.
