The descent into the Cathedral's subterranean levels felt like walking into the throat of a sleeping giant.
The air grew progressively colder, but the ambient Holy Mana became so dense it was suffocating. Elena walked at the rear of their formation, her chest heaving slightly as sweat beaded on her forehead.
Maintaining the [Vacuum Shroud] to bend the light around them was becoming exponentially harder the deeper they went
. The holy energy naturally resisted her wind, treating it as a foreign impurity.
"We are at the bottom," Alaric rumbled softly, raising a hand to halt their advance.
Before them lay the entrance to the Deep Vault.
It wasn't a standard wooden or iron door. It was a solid, ten-foot-tall slab of pure Adamantite, etched with glowing, interwoven geometric runes of absolute light. There was no keyhole. There was no handle.
