The tunnel was long, but not in any sense that lent itself to distance. Its narrow passage throbbed like the inside of some enormous windpipe, a place not built but grown from old, wet bone and strained cartilage. Each step Ludwig took was swallowed by the unnatural hush, the walls pressing in as if to claim him.
The air itself felt fetid and cloying, soaked through with the sweet rot of decay. Copper hung thick on his tongue with each breath, mingled with the stench of churned soil, mold, and blood gone cold long ago. From the ceiling and walls, roots twitched with slow animation, glistening with sap and something darker. Some of them recoiled as he passed, others slithered forward, brushing his shoulders, curling toward his arms like blind worms seeking confirmation. He did not flinch, but he felt them. Their touch clung.
He didn't stop to read their meaning. Not out of courage, but necessity. There was no time for hesitation, not now.
