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Zoltan followed Revas's lead, his eyes fixed on the intricate patterns of runes and symbols that adorned the floor. Each step felt like a potential misstep into unknown peril. He trusted Revas implicitly, knowing that his knowledge of these ancient markings was far superior to Zoltan's own.

Revas's voice broke the tense silence at varying intervals to offer additional guidance, at one point Zoltan had to sidestep a rune that shimmered with an ominous glow. Zoltan didn’t question Revas’s guidance, feeling a chill run down his spine as he imagined the consequences of stepping on such a rune.

As they progressed, Revas continued to point out the safe paths, instructing Zoltan with calm authority. Zoltan's heart raced with every careful step, the weight of each decision palpable in the air. He gripped his staff tighter, relying on it not just for balance but for a sense of security amidst the unknown magic that surrounded them.

Revas’s words encouraged, urging Zoltan forward. With each successful maneuver around a dangerous rune, Zoltan felt a surge of relief mixed with admiration for Revas's expertise. Together, they navigated the maze of symbols, inching closer to their goal with each cautious step, the floor beneath them a tapestry of ancient power and potential danger. Once Zoltan was across, he looked to Zevran and Megara behind him, as they made their way as well.