Daelan's POV
It's dark.
Not just the absence of light—a consuming, breathing void.
The air is thick, heavy with something unspoken, ancient, as if the very space around me is alive, watching, waiting.
I take a step forward—
Squelch.
My foot sinks slightly.
I look down.
The ground is red.
Not just red—wet. Thick, glistening liquid pools across the surface, rippling with my movement.
The scent of iron hangs in the air.
Blood.
I'm walking on blood. Interesting.
I keep moving.
A staircase appears before me, descending into the abyss.
Down.
The staircase leads only down.
I stand at the top for a brief moment, staring into the abyss below. The steps are black stone, polished like obsidian, yet slick with the thick crimson liquid that seeps between the cracks, dripping down the steps.
I take the first step.
Then another.
The only sound is the wet squelch of my boots against the blood-drenched stone and the faint, rhythmic drip, drip, drip from the unseen ceiling above.
