"Stay here, I'll take a look down there." Kael shouts to Klee. She doesn't answer, but he continues.
Kael takes his first step into the tunnel, the torch casting a flickering glow against the damp, uneven walls. The air, though warm, was heavy, laden with an indescribable odor that mingled wet earth, mold, and an acrid remnant of something organic, rotting. The whisper followed him, an incomprehensible chant, an inverted prayer that seemed to reverberate from the stones themselves.
The corridor wound downward in a slow, incessant spiral, like the throat of some monster sucking the living into its dark belly. Kael felt his skin tingle, the weight of silence mixed with the constant hum of that hidden voice. He gripped the hilt of his sword more tightly, the cold metal conveying a tenuous, almost illusory thread of security.