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description
Torchlight danced wildly as Varian edged deeper into the cavern’s throat, boots crunching over gravel stained with the residue of centuries-old sorcery. His pulse hammered against his ribs—not from fear, but the oppressive weight of power humming in the stagnant air. It clung to his skin like oil, whispering of things best left buried. A rasping chuckle slithered from the darkness ahead, and he froze. The shadows congealed, twisting into a humanoid shape that defocused his vision, edges blurring as though reality itself rejected its presence. "Little torchbearer," it crooned, voice a symphony of shattered glass and funeral ash. "You reek of mortal delusions—that pretty blade might as well be a twig against what sleeps here." Varian’s knuckles whitened around the sword’s leather-bound hilt, warmth bleeding from the ancestral steel into his palm. He said nothing. Words were currency for beings that feared silence. The figure lunged without warning, coalesced darkness solidifying into a jagged blade that screamed through the air. Steel met void-forged edge in a shower of crimson sparks, the impact shuddering up Varian’s arms as he pivoted, boots skidding across stone. The cavern trembled, ancient runes flaring amber along the walls as two forces—one born of flesh and stubborn hope, the other of primordial hunger—clashed beneath the mountain’s bones.
