The air grew thick with the scent of decay as they descended further into the chasm. The phosphorescent fungi, once a source of dim illumination, dwindled, replaced by an oppressive, suffocating darkness. Elara, her hand still trembling from her earlier fall, felt a cold dread seep into her bones. This wasn't just physical exhaustion; it was a weariness that gnawed at her spirit, a reflection of the unending night that pressed down on their world. Rhys, ever stoic, offered a silent hand, his grip firm and reassuring. Kaelen, the wizened mage, muttered incantations under his breath, weaving a fragile shield of light around their small group. Even Orion, the enigmatic warrior whose past remained shrouded in mystery, seemed affected by the growing despair, his usually impassive face etched with a grim determination.