The walls whisper names I do not recognize.

  Forgotten sylbles, erased by time, fyed by ancient prayers and unanswered pleas. They crawl over my skin, cling to my flesh like living curses.

  The steps beneath my feet never rise.

  They sink into the bowels of the world, dissolve beneath my steps, swallow me in their fatal embrace. With each descent, they seem narrower, more sinister. As if the dungeon itself sought to digest me.

  I have forgotten why I am here.

  A dream? A punishment? A quest?

  All of it has faded, drowned in oblivion, consumed by the night.

  But I know one thing: I descend.

  Again and again.

  There is no silence in these depths.

  Only the muffled breath of what watches.

  The creaking of stones twisting.

  The rasping of creatures lurking beyond the veil.

  They say we were nine.

  They say we were once human.

  But how many of us still remember the light of day?

  I saw my reflection once.

  Not in a mirror, no.

  In a bck, stagnant pool, older than the stone itself.

  It smiled at me.

  A smile I had long since lost.

  A hungry smile.

  So, I killed it.

  And I kept descending.