Hall of a Thousand Eyes

The night before, the heroes go to sleep as they always do. The air smells different, but they pay it no mind. They fall into a deep slumber, and when they awaken, they find themselves in an impossible place. There is no sky or ground, no sense of up or down, only a space bathed in shades of purple, red, and orange, as if the air itself were burning in a dream.

Before them stretches a winding bridge that cuts through the void. It is made of polished stone that gleams under a light without a source. It is the only ground they can stand on.

All around them float a thousand eyes. Some are the size of a fist, others as large as a house. All watch in silence, turning slowly, blinking in unison, following every movement. Sometimes one blinks with a golden flash, and another, closer, seems to have shifted… though no one saw it move.

There are no rails, no safety, only the narrow path twisting and coiling over the emptiness. With every step, the bridge creaks, and a strange feeling settles over them, as if someone, or something, were watching from inside their own minds.

Their only purpose here is to move forward. Cross the bridge without falling, without staring too long into the eyes, and without listening to the whispers that begin to rise from the shadows.

Because if one falls, no one knows what lies below. Only that the eyes are waiting. And they are hungry.