There was stillness.
Pure, heavy stillness — and silence so absolute that even my heartbeat felt like a disturbance.
Then something snapped.
It wasn't loud — just a small, brittle sound, like a hairline crack running across glass.
But it echoed strangely through the warped corridors, vibrating against the stagnant aether.
I moved instinctively, following the disturbance.
The corridors twisted and stretched unnaturally, as if space itself didn't know how to behave here.
The flickering torchlights along the walls distorted shapes, warping shadows into bizarre, writhing figures.
Finally, I arrived at another door.
This one was different — larger, thicker — embedded seamlessly into the wall, as if it had always been a part of it.
Ancient murals were carved into its surface: an image of the fur coat man from before, depicted kneeling, bound, and overshadowed by a massive, amorphous entity that could only be Malthorn.
I frowned, stepping closer.
