Get up.

This time, she got up.

Her feet hit the cold stone floor before she could think to stop them, her movements never rushed. She told herself to stop, to sit back down, to not listen, but her body ignored her. Her hand reached for the door, trembling slightly, and she turned the handle with deliberate slowness.

The corridor outside was darker than her room, the shadows deeper, almost alive. She shivered as the air touched her bare arms. Somewhere in the distance, something dripped steadily, the sound echoing faintly through the halls. The grooves in the floor seemed to flow like rivers in the darkness, as if catching light from some unseen source.

Follow.

“Why,” Cerina whispered, but the question was hollow. Her feet moved anyway, carrying her down the hall. The grooves beneath her soles felt warm, and she wondered if the hum in her mind and the flow of the stones were connected.

As she rounded a corner, the faint sound of chanting reached her ears. Low and rhythmic, it came from somewhere below, threading through the silence like a snake. It was a language she didn’t recognize, guttural and harsh. The hum in her mind grew stronger, aligning with the rhythm of the chanting, pushing her forward.

Her breaths quickened as she descended a narrow staircase, the air growing somehow warmer with each step. She thought repeatedly of stopping, of turning back, but her feet carried her on. The hum in her mind was relentless.

And then, as she reached the bottom of the stairs, the chanting stopped and the air went cold.

The silence that followed was absolute, thicker than the darkness, pressing against her like a second skin. And somewhere in that silence, she swore she heard the faintest whisper of her own name.