The entrance to the fortress was like stepping into a different world. The air was colder here, biting at their skin with an unnatural chill that felt like the icy breath of a long-dead beast. The darkness within was absolute, swallowing the light of their torches and leaving only the faint glow of magical wards to guide them. The walls, made of a glossy black stone, seemed to pulse with a sinister energy, as if they were veins in the body of some ancient, sleeping creature.
Kael led the way, his sword drawn, its blade shimmering faintly with protective runes. Morgana walked beside him, her staff glowing with a blue light, casting shadows that danced across the twisted walls. Elarion and Rowan brought up the rear, their weapons at the ready, every sense alert to the dangers lurking in the darkness. Isolde walked in the middle, her eyes half-closed, her fingers tracing symbols in the air as she whispered incantations to ward off the malevolent energies pressing down on them.
