The gates of the fortress groaned open as Zara led the group forward. The mask, now hanging from her belt, felt unnaturally heavy. Every step she took seemed to echo in the unnatural silence, as though the very air within the structure absorbed sound.
“Zara,” Callum whispered, his eyes darting to the jagged walls. “This place... it’s alive. Look.”
Creeping vines lined the walls, pulsating faintly as if they were veins pumping some unholy energy. Their movement wasn’t random; it was deliberate, almost predatory. Selena Rourke, still bound but eerily calm, smirked.
“Feeling uncomfortable?” she teased. “The fortress is alive, you know. It feeds on fear and doubt. Try to keep your mind steady.”
“Quiet,” Zara snapped, though her own resolve was faltering. She gripped the hilt of her knife tighter, her senses on high alert.