The tension between Eryndor, Kaelen, and Seris hung thick in the damp air of the ruins. The flickering light of the rune stone in Eryndor’s grasp cast eerie shadows against the cracked walls of the chamber. Each shadow seemed to twist and writhe like living things, whispering secrets too faint to hear but too loud to ignore.
Kaelen leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, his expression dark. “So, what now? Do we blindly trust this glowing rock to lead us into another death trap?”
Eryndor’s grip tightened around the rune stone. Its warmth pulsed against her palm, a comforting contradiction to Kaelen’s biting tone. “It’s not blind trust. The runes chose me. They’ve guided us this far.”
“They’ve guided us to near-death twice,” Kaelen shot back, his voice rising. “If it wasn’t for Seris
