Viktor stepped through the dark threshold, his bare feet touching cold stone that felt both ancient and newly formed—the weird paradox of dungeon construction. The air shifted, pressure changing like diving underwater, and suddenly the darkness pulled back like a curtain.
Empty black space stretched before him. Not the void kind of darkness. More like someone had painted everything with matte black paint and then strategically placed lighting to make certain things stand out.
Several wooden dolls stood scattered across the floor. They were crude things—carved from what looked like oak, joints visible, faces featureless except for shallow indentations where eyes and mouths should be. They stood motionless, arms at their sides, like props waiting for a play to start.
At the center stood something different.
A wooden knight.
