Foster sat up slowly, his body aching from the brutal impact of his fall. The ground beneath him was cold and smooth, as if carved from ancient, thousand-year-old stone. The air was dry, laden with the smell of ashes and mystery.
He glanced around. The corridor in which he found himself was narrow, its rough stone walls adorned with torches that had lit themselves upon his arrival, casting flickering shadows on the floor. Far behind him, the ceiling was closing in, cutting off any possibility of return. He had no choice but to move forward.
His fingers tightened on the handle of his katana. His heart was still beating violently against his chest, his body on high alert. This place was unnatural. It belonged neither to the world of the living, nor to the world he knew. He was somewhere else, a prisoner of a will he didn't yet understand.