The air grew colder as Elara and her group made their descent into the chasm. The faint glow of the ancient runes dimmed as they lowered themselves deeper into the darkness, each step more precarious than the last. The ropes they had anchored above strained against their weight, and the sounds of creaking leather and scraping metal echoed eerily in the vast void below.
Elara's heart pounded in her chest, not from the physical exertion, but from the oppressive feeling that pressed down on them all. The whispers that had haunted them on the surface had grown louder, a chorus of disembodied voices weaving through the darkness.
"Keep moving," Kirin's voice came from above her, calm but tense. "We're almost there."
Elara glanced down and could barely make out the bottom of the chasm, illuminated by the faint light of Morgana's enchanted staff. Morgana, at the rear of the group, murmured words of power under her breath, the light she summoned flickering in the deep shadows.
