The descent into the canyon was a grueling exercise in sensory deprivation. As Kael led the phalanx down the jagged cliff face, the air transformed, losing the thin, metallic chill of the upper Labyrinth and taking on a thick, cloying heat that smelled of rusted iron and old copper. The river of black ichor below did not flow with the sound of water; it moved with a low, wet thrumming, like a massive jugular pulsing deep within the throat of the Void.
Kael felt the heat soaking into his tactical suit, the carbon fiber plates absorbing the stagnant warmth. Beside him, Daenery moved with a rigid, predatory grace, her hand white knuckled around the Star Veil Lens. The starlight within the glass was reacting to the atmosphere, turning a bruised, angry violet that cast long, flickering shadows
