fortress was silent.
The walls were damp. Water occasionally dripped from the ceiling, the sound echoing through the emptiness before fading into silence.
Asogi and Jiho stood facing each other. Roughly ten steps separated them.
The ground was stained with dark patches; a thick fluid seeping from between the stones spread slowly, and the dark substance dripping from the tendrils resembled blood.
As it touched the surface, the fluid gave the stones a strange gleam. The air was still. The atmosphere was thick with an oppressive calm.
Asogi didn't move. Only the tendrils emerging from his shoulders swayed in slow, deliberate motions.
Beneath his skin, something seemed to ripple—as if something alive, something mimicking thought, lay underneath. The tips of his tendrils were forked; some slowly opened to reveal deep, wet slits within.
Then, all of them began to speak.
