Rumi leaped into the yawning darkness of the primary descent shaft, her agile body turning mid-air to catch the sheer rock ledge below.
The vertical drop plunged sixty paces through sheer granite, forcing Rumi to brake her descent with brief spatial flickers.
Her twin daggers scraped the rock face, shedding bright orange sparks that illuminated ancient imperial masonry.
"Gravity is merely another suggestion when you possess four agile paws and two good blades," she chuckled under her breath as she landed gracefully.
The air in the subterranean corridor smelled of ancient damp lime, pressurized steam, and the faint, sweet trace of captured mortal memories.
Before her sprint began, she remembered the warm weight of the glazed honey buns Hajin shared on the dais, and how her tail curled around his wrist in silent trust.
That simple, domestic warmth was an impenetrable armor that protected her soul from the suffocating pressure of the Underworld.
