The morning didn't come.
Not truly.
Instead of sunlight, there was only a dull shift in the air—a suggestion of daybreak.
The sky remained colorless, washed-out, and indifferent, and the red glow from the stone steps had not faded. It pulsed now, slightly brighter than before, like it had grown more eager overnight.
Argolaith stood at the edge of the cliff before anyone else stirred, his cloak tugged gently by the windless air.
The staircase remained unchanged—ancient, forbidden, and incomplete, as though it wasn't built but rather revealed, peeled back from the world like a scab removed from an old wound.
Behind him, the others began to rise.
Kaelred blinked blearily. "Please tell me this is one of those nightmares you get to wake up from."
"No dream," Malakar said, already inspecting the red-lit steps with narrowed eyes. "This path wants something."
Argolaith didn't turn. "Then we'll give it nothing."
Kaelred stared. "We're not going down there?"
