The group walked with heavy steps.
The dungeon's stone floor beneath their boots and claws was no longer just rock—it felt like something ancient, something smoldering, watching, waiting.
Every step forward toward the exit was a heartbeat of restraint, as if the mere sound of their breath might trigger the wrath of whatever force had turned the goblins to ash.
Elius led, his expression unreadable, five flying swords orbiting him slowly, silent as death.
Beside him, Ron walked low, raptor tail twitching, claws ready, eyes scanning with a primal intensity.
Behind them, Lina floated just slightly off the ground, half-ethereal, her translucent ghost-clones scattered like shadows that clung to walls, gliding silently, their eyes gleaming with wariness.
Klee hovered near Shiro, her healing orbs glowing a soft sky-blue, while Shiro pressed on despite the lingering pain from his severed clone connection.
