The Throne of Varian

The weight of the abyss still clung to Daniel's mind as he and Mira pressed forward, their steps echoing down corridors that twisted like the coils of some ancient serpent. Even as the pulsating darkness receded behind them, it refused to fully release its grip; tendrils of shadow seemed to cling to his thoughts, whispering silent, eternal truths in a language older than time. The Citadel itself had become an ever-shifting living labyrinth—its walls bending and distorting at the edges of his vision, as though the stone were made of memory and shadow.

Mira remained close by, her golden eyes scanning every corner of their surroundings with unwavering focus. Though her breathing was controlled, Daniel could sense that she, too, was still shaken by the recent encounter. Whatever force had tried to claim him had nearly succeeded, and now its memory pulsed in the recesses of his mind like a relentless drumbeat.