The chill in the air deepened with every step Ethan took down the spiraling stone staircase. The musty smell of damp earth and something acrid, almost metallic, clung to the walls. The hidden dungeons beneath Blackwell Academy were a stark contrast to the gothic grandeur above, a warren of crumbling cells and forgotten chambers that seemed to whisper tales of imprisonment and dark deeds. He clutched the makeshift spellbook Eleanor had hastily compiled for him – a collection of half-understood incantations and hastily sketched diagrams. It wasn't much, but it was all he had.