There was a word for this. This emptiness in the air, laced with a bitter dread. Something to call the unease that derived from the hollowness of what once possibly teemed with life. What was it? Was there even a word for it? Words tumbled through Silias' mind as he traversed through the remnants of man. Words of his tongue and not. Bending and twisting, over and over. Nothing sparked of familiarity. 

Two soldiers, side to side, led the path. Their swords were drawn and their eyes wary as they scanned for danger. Runes, strings, plates--traps that, perhaps in a far off ruin, would litter the ground and walls. But not here. Here, past the arch, the corridors were cold and empty. Stone after stone, crumbled and worn. At his side was Val'rasar, her eyes ever sharp and her body tense for readiness. Then there was Silias. Ever calm, ever confident. The darkness permeated the other three, digging into their hearts with daggers black with fear. But for Silias, it was a challenge. He didn't just feel the fear and the choking cloth of dread--he [i]relished[/i] it. Danger always had a reward.

"Sire," Val murmured, eyes darting about, "I mean no disrespect, but is this a truly wise choice?"

The lord did not respond. Not out of ignorance, but of contemplation. His face was unreadable. His body, save for the tap tap tapping of his fingers and the shift of his eyes, remained still. 

"Perhaps," he said after a moment, long fingers brushing against the wall, "we are fools of our own making, walking closer to our death." He pulled his hands away. A fine layer of dirt marred the soft tips. "Or perhaps we are wisemen, fetching gifts of rare treasure from where cowards dare not walk."

Nothing was said after that.

The party continued in silence, stopping only when they came upon a set of double doors. They were tall and oak, ornate carvings on their edges worn smooth over time. Though the black hinges were tinged red with the faintest of rust, they were thick and strong, somehow able to withstand the tests of time. At a simple flick of the hand from Silias, the soldiers rushed forward and, with a hefty shove, threw open the gates. As they did so, the temperature of the room seemed to drop. The prickling at the back of their heads grew heavier, and the smell of must and mold and something bitter seemed to worsen. There, before the four, was a set of stairs that fell into a veil of darkness. Wordlessly, Silias nodded in a simple command: move forward.

Dark. That was the only way to describe it. Deep and dark and...and that word. That missing word. Around them, choking them, twisting the daggers in their hearts as silent whispers prodded their mind. A lantern was lit by one of the guards. Low and dim, it was enough to keep everyone from tripping, but weaker than the darkness around them. The amber glow illuminated the sides of the stairwell, giving way to eerie carvings in the stone. Ancient battles of man and demon, the grotesque creatures twisted beneath their killer's stone swords as they thrashed in an eternal battle. Alongside were maidens, marble faces awash with stone tears. Weeping in the dark, but for what? A fallen lover? A lost home? Freedom from this infernal plain? Silent cries in an endless night.

They soon reached the bottom, but at that point, the air had grown heavier. The ominous feeling that whispered to them above ground had grown stronger until stomachs were twisted and fingers trembled. Even Silias, for a brief moment, felt a flash of doubt cloud his mind.

[i]Go back,[/i] it whispered. [i]Leave.[/i]

[i]Never,[/i] he said in defiant reply.

There before them was a door. Similar to the previous one, it was hearty and strong, able to stand against the wear of years gone past. The soldier's stared, hesitance clear on their faces. 

"Open it," Silias commanded, arms crossed. "Do it, and I promise whatever lies inside, if good, shall fall to you."

The paise continued. A heartbeat passed. Nervous looks were shared. Then, slowly, the door opened.

What lay inside, no one could quite comprehend so readily. There was gold. Gold, and silver, and rubies, and material devices of the heart's desire. Glimmering brightly as a stray beam of sunlight snuck through a crack in the ceiling. A dragon's horde of treasure, all for them. Silias stared, a small grin breaking his somber expression. A small laugh fell from his lips as he marveled the treasures. All for them. "Go!" He slapped the back of the nearest guard, his demeanor merry, "I made you a promise, did I not? Now go! Bathe in the riches, and buy yourself a wife or two!" The guard blinked, stunned, before glancing at his companion. A nervous smile broke across their faces, and they hurried forward to the pile before them.

Silias took a step forward to join them, but an iron grip latched onto his wrist. He whirled around, fierce anger in his eyes until he saw the look on Val's face. She stared at the pile. No, not the pile. Something beyond it. Silias followed her gaze until he saw the source of her troubles. There, nearby, was a hole in the wall. It held no treasure. No light. No hope. In this hole was darkness. Pure, unadulterated darkness. And from it, the suddenly noticeable taste of dread.