CONNOR POV
The tunnel behind the kelpie’s pool was never meant for someone built like me.
That became obvious about ten steps in, when the stone ceiling dipped low enough that I had to duck, shoulders scraping damp rock on both sides, the space narrowing in a way that felt intentional rather than accidental, like whoever carved this passage had wanted bodies to feel trapped, compressed, aware of every inch of themselves as they moved forward.
Claustrophobia wasn’t something I usually struggled with. I’d been underground plenty of times, in caves, ruins, places far worse than this. But this wasn’t just about size. It was about pressure. About the way the walls seemed to lean inward, the air thick and stale, heavy with rot and old magic and something else underneath it that felt like anti
