The descent had no end.
Under the world's center, stone steps spiraled down, the air thick enough to drink and moist with ancient condensation. Bitter, metallic, and alive, the flavor of old dirt was pulled in with every breath. As Seren went, her hand touched the wall, her fingers following faded engravings that seemed to be the ghost of words. She partly feared to understand them, half recognized them as symbols.
Kael’s grip never left hers. The sole source of warmth here was that. As they descended further, the sound of their own bodies—heartbeats, breathing, the scrape of boots on stone—replaced all other sounds, including the drop of water and the murmur of movement.
Seren whispered, "This isn't just a prison," but her words seemed to fade away as soon as they left her lips. "
