Ethan's heartbeat still echoed in his ears as he stumbled through the doorway. The alley, the twisting streets, the shadows—they were gone. In their place stretched a narrow corridor, dimly lit by a strange green glow that seemed to seep from the walls themselves. The air smelled of damp stone and something older… ancient.
The corridor was longer than it should have been, each step echoing unnaturally. Shadows lingered at the edges, slithering along the walls, whispering in voices he couldn't quite understand.
This… this must be the place the shadows were leading me to… Ethan thought.
He noticed faint inscriptions carved into the walls, glowing faintly. They weren't words—at least not in any language he knew—but they seemed to move as he looked at them, rearranging themselves into shapes: doors, keys, strange symbols.
A whisper slithered through the corridor, chilling him to the bone:
"Forward… only forward… or be lost…"
Ethan swallowed hard. His hands shook as he ran them along the wall, tracing the carvings. The moment his fingers touched one of the symbols, a cold pulse ran through him, and the shadows recoiled slightly. For the first time, they were not merely threatening—almost as if they were… testing him.
He stepped carefully, trying not to think about how surreal the world had become. Each footfall felt like a trial; each glance at the twisting shadows felt like a question he had to answer. And then he saw it—a door at the far end of the corridor, partially hidden in darkness, faintly glowing, as if the corridor itself wanted him to reach it.
Ethan's throat went dry. One step at a time… just one step… He moved forward. The whispers followed, echoing softly in his mind:
"Courage… truth… survive…"
And with that, he crossed the midpoint of the corridor, realizing something strange: the shadows were no longer trying to scare him—they were observing, waiting to see what he would do next.
Whatever this place was, Ethan understood one thing: the corridor wanted him to move forward—and there was no turning back.