Zyra POV
The cold stone bit into my palms, slick with sweat and blood. Every breath rattled harshly in my lungs, and the metallic scent of my own wounds mixed with the stale, thick air of the chamber. I tried to move, tried to stand, but my legs felt like lead, my body a puppet with strings cut and fraying.
Dael wasn’t there.
I could feel his absence like a phantom limb. Every instinct screamed for him. The way he had silently guided me, protected me, had made this madness slightly survivable. And now… he is gone. The crimson wolf mask swallowed by the abyss beneath Level Two, leaving me exposed, unshielded.
The voice from the darkness, the organizer, the distorted, omnipresent figure, echoed through the corridors again. It was calm. Calculated. Inhuman.
“Level Three: survive. The ex
