Inside the tomb, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. Gone was the chaotic clamor of battle, replaced by an oppressive stillness that settled over everything like a heavy shroud.
The air was motionless, damp, and chilling—so cold it bit into my skin despite my resistance to most temperatures. The silence wasn't peaceful; it was eerie, unnatural. It reminded me of the calm just before an execution.
From the outside, this place had the grandeur of a long-forgotten palace—massive spires, archways carved with ancient artistry, and banners now frayed with the passage of time.
But stepping through its threshold revealed a stark contrast. The inside was not some magnificent hall or throne room, but a series of narrow, winding corridors carved from age-worn stone.
No undead greeted us here. No spectral arrows flew. Just Einar, walking ahead with his back turned to me, his living armor swaying with every step.
