Noah raised a hand mid-step. "Careful. There are traps ahead."
Cordelia stopped beside him, eyes scanning the corridor. The stone beneath them pulsed faintly with dull necrotic sigils — faded, but still active. Cracks lined the walls, and the air carried the stale bite of old mana.
They advanced slowly, avoiding loose glyphs embedded in the tiles. Some hissed when they stepped too close. Others flickered like dying embers.
Noah didn't speak again, and Cordelia didn't ask questions. They moved with the unspoken precision of two people who had done this before — not in this world, maybe, but somewhere close enough.
The corridor opened into a wider chamber — high ceiling, broken columns, and faded banners bearing the insignia of Saphielle's house. In the center stood a group of figures in black robes, hoods drawn low. Necrotic energy pulsed at their fingertips, the air thick with the scent of decay.
Noah cursed under his breath. "Servants. They're trying to stall us."
