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The stale scent of iron clings to crumbling stonework as you descend into the catacombs. Your torchlight dances across glyphs older than empires, their meanings warped by centuries of dripping water. Shadows twist in ways that defy the flame’s reach—something stirs benea...th your boots, a low vibration humming through bone. The last expedition’s journal mentioned a seal, shattered by hubris, and now their rusted blades litter the passage. Whispers coil around your thoughts, promising answers if you dare relinquish the light. What claws at the dark isn’t hunger. It’s patience.
