Caverna

The air in the cavern was thick, heavy with the scent of damp earth and something else, something musky and ancient. It clung to their skin, a second layer of oppressive atmosphere that pressed in on them from all sides. They had stumbled into it, a gaping maw in the side of the craggy Osvaldian foothills, a welcome, if unnerving, respite from the relentless, alien sun. Leopoldo, ever the pragmatist, had been the one to notice the subtle shift in wind currents, the faint, cool exhalation that hinted at an opening, a potential shelter. Now, huddled together, their meager fire casting dancing shadows that mocked the true darkness, a palpable unease settled over the small band.

Alterra, her eyes wide and searching the impenetrable blackness beyond the firelight, clutched a rough-hewn stone. Her usual fiery conviction was tempered by a tremor of apprehension. “It feels… old,” she whispered, her voice barely disturbing the silence. “Older than the mountains themselves.”

Genghis Khan grunted, his broad shoulders hunched, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his curved blade. He scanned the perimeter, his gaze sharp and suspicious, as if expecting an ambush in the very stillness. “Old is not always safe, woman. Sometimes, old is where the true dangers sleep.”