The dark did not just hide the room; it felt heavy, like it was actively pressing the remaining air out of their lungs. Inside the sealed sanctuary, the cold was different from the mountain winter outside. It was a stagnant, damp frost that smelled of old stone, wet leather, and the sour stink of unwashed bodies trapped for days inside heavy armor. The only thing keeping the pitch-black room from swallowing them completely was the faint silver glow of the runes carved into the back of the door.
But those silver lines were fading.
