The corridor feels endless. The sound of my footsteps mixes with Killian’s, but echoes as if hundreds of us were walking together. With every breath I take, I feel the weight of centuries pressing down, heavy as stone. The castle doesn’t just exist, it watches, it judges, it demands.
The modern torches cast a cold light, but it’s as if there are eyes behind them, following every step. The corridor ends in a carved stone arch, its surface alive with symbols I don’t recognize. Yet the Ankh seems to, its pulse vibrates under my shirt, answering each curve etched into the wall like a secret language only blood can read.
Beyond it, the hall opens wide. High, vast, grand. A vaulted ceiling stretches so tall it looks like an inverted night sky, iron chandeliers swaying like constellations caugh
