The hallway stretched endlessly before them, cloaked in dim violet torchlight and lined with statues that stared down like silent judges. Cold air pooled at their feet, thick and unmoving, like the breath of something ancient and watching.
Eclipse walked at the center of the trio, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his borrowed cultist robe. The garment was heavy and coarse, stitched from dark wool that reeked faintly of incense and ash. Strange sigils were embroidered along the hem, faded from time and wear, their meanings deliberately cryptic. Every step he took felt like walking in someone else's skin. The fabric was rough and itched against his skin, but it was the only thing keeping them unnoticed—so far.
