Chapter 41. Submission Accepted

She paused at the threshold of the corridor and felt, almost in surprise, that the air here was warmer than she remembered. Not by much, and certainly not in a way that felt inviting—there was always a chill to these stony halls—but as though the walls themselves had softened their resistance, as if they had anticipated her approach and drawn back their ancient guardians just enough to let her pass without protest.

The torches set along the walls burned low, their tendrils of flame barely stirring, offering slender fingers of light that stretched into the shadows like threads pulled taut. Each wavering glow cast a gentle amber pool on the floor, and in those glowing ovals, the rough-hewn stones took on a muted warmth, almost reassuring, if one could set aside the weight of history that lingered in every crack.

Lora moved forward without a sound, her bare feet meeting the cold stone in a slow, deliberate glide. No echo, no shuffle—just a silent communion with the corrido