Scene 1 – The Corridor of Steel
The mist floor dissolved behind them, vanishing into nothingness like it had never existed. Jemil's boots struck solid stone once more, the sudden weight of reality pressing against his chest. His lungs still burned from the whispers that had clawed at him. Every breath carried the ghost of voices—accusing, longing, condemning.
The swordmaster walked a half-step ahead, her back straight, but he could feel the tension in the set of her shoulders. She hadn't said a word since the illusions faded. Perhaps she feared her voice would crack, or perhaps she simply didn't trust herself not to say something she couldn't take back.
The new floor stretched before them: a long, narrow corridor lined with polished obsidian walls. At first glance it seemed lifeless, empty—but Jemil's instincts screamed danger. The air carried a metallic tang, sharp and cold, and every faint movement of his cloak echoed far louder than it should have.
Then the walls stirred.
