BRIAR'S POV
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I have no clue if what I'm hearing is the hammering of my heart or my own footsteps, and I pray that it's the prior as I descend onto the steps, the darkness smelling of mold, dirt and dust. Each step is slow and it steals my breath for all the wrong reasons. Everything feels wet, as if the walls were condensating from no fresh air, and I can't ignore the cold, icy feeling creeping down my spine as I stalk down the steps. The orange glow from the flame torches expand when I reach the bottom, and the entirety of the space is filled with night, but no natural light. It's flame torches, their light reflecting off gold-- mountains of gold. Statues, crowns, jewelry, paintings, and a heap of gold coins, cutlery, goblets and more. So much gold that what I'd seen earlier seemed ir
