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The air reeks of burnt ozone as you crest the jagged ridge. Below, the Obsidian Spire claws at a blood-red sky—its twisting form alive with crackling energy. Your gauntlet hums in response, ancient runes flaring along its edge. That cursed relic hasn’t reacted like this ...since…
"Last chance to turn back," rasps Velyn, her twin daggers gleaming with venom even as her fingers tremble. You don’t bother answering. The memory of smoke-choked screams still drowns out all other voices.
Three bridges span the chasm. The left shimmers with illusion magic, its stones singing a lullaby that makes your eyelids leaden. The central one reeks of honesty—broad, unadorned, undoubtedly trapped. The right? Just splintered ropes and rot. You grin. Honesty was never your strength.
The spire shudders as you step onto the illusion-bridge. Stone melts beneath your boots, becoming glass, then water, then nothing. You fall through the lullaby, gauntlet screaming as it tears reality’s fabric. The impact cracks your ribs against real stone. Velyn lands silent beside you, but her smirk dies as the walls breathe.
"Mortals." The word slithers from all directions. Glyphs ignite—a maze of searing light. Velyn pivots, blades tracing protective arcs. You press your bleeding palm to the nearest symbol. Let the spire taste your memories. Let it choke on them.
The walls scream first.
