The narrow hallway stretched endlessly before me, its walls damp and stained with age. A faint draft whispered through the cracks, carrying the scent of mildew and forgotten things. At the far end stood a sturdy oak door, its surface marred by scratches and dents. The door seems to be
, hinted at by the rusted bolt slid firmly into place. I stepped closer, my boots echoing on the stone floor, and tested the handle with a tentative tug. It held fast, unyielding, as if daring me to uncover what lay beyond.
