Even as the final echoes of the ceremony still reverberate in the chamber, I’m overwhelmed by a sensation that the stone walls are closing in around me, inch by claustrophobic inch. My lungs, drained from the ritual’s intensity, struggle to draw in air. Each slow, measured breath feels painfully insufficient, as if no amount of oxygen can soothe the storms raging inside my head. In one last attempt to stay standing, I press my palm against the cold, unyielding wall. It’s etched with cryptic symbols that glow dully in the torchlight, each one mocking the depths of my confusion.
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A spasm of lingering pain snaps up my spine, a stark reminder of how my body nearly collapsed under the incantations’ force. Though less agonizing than the flash of blinding torment I felt at the ritual’s climax,
