The sun hadn’t yet risen when they stood before the crumbling temple.

  It loomed at the heart of the settlement, half-buried in sand, its stone worn smooth by centuries of wind. What had once been grand—pillars etched with flame motifs, a domed roof cracked but still intact—now stood quiet, swallowed by time.

  No one spoke.

  Zafran stepped forward first, brushing a hand across the stone frame of the entrance. Cold.

  Karin followed, her breath shallow. “This is it.”

  Elsha knelt beside the threshold, fingertips tracing faint imprints in the sand. “Tracks. Not fresh… but someone’s been here. Within the week.”

  Ysar leaned forward, squinting at the partial footprints. “Bandits?”

  “Could be.” Elsha didn’t sound convinced.

  “Be cautious,” Zafran said quietly.

  The doorway loomed wide and heavy, the stone above engraved with ancient script—worn, indecipherable, but unmistakably Aftree’s mark: a flame curled into the shape of a crown.

  The wind seemed to die at the threshold.

  They lit their lanterns—no fire magic here. The risk of collapse, of igniting the wrong thing, was too great in forgotten places like this. The soft glow of oil and wick flickered across their faces, casting long shadows behind them.

  When they crossed the threshold, the air changed.

  It was cooler, denser. The scent of dust and old stone filled their lungs. The silence wasn’t dead—it listened. The ruin didn’t creak or moan. It breathed—a slow exhale, ancient and still.

  Karin paused at the doorway, her hand hovering against the frame, then cast one last glance at the pale horizon. No light had broken the sky yet.

  She stepped inside.

  The temple swallowed the world behind her.

  Inside was vast, silent. The hall stretched wide—rows of massive columns holding up a fractured ceiling that still bore remnants of painted murals, gods and beasts locked in stylized combat, faded into ochre and soot.

  Statues of Aftree lined the space—some intact, most shattered. A man with hair like rising flame, four arms stretched outward. Two of them held axes, massive and chipped from age. Others were broken at the torso, only feet left on pedestals, rubble scattered like bones.

  “Well…” Ysar’s voice broke the stillness. He glanced around, wide-eyed. “I wouldn’t say it’s unimpressive. You don’t see places like this every day.”

  “You’ve never been to the Grand Temple of Laoh in Ocean Tide,” Karin said, adjusting her coat.

  “They kicked me out just for standing too close,” Ysar muttered.

  The central path of the hall led straight to a sunken chamber—a staircase carved into the stone floor, spiraling downward in a wide arc. A broken brazier sat at its mouth, long since cold.

  “So… they built this massive hall just to go underground?” Ysar asked, frowning.

  Elsha nudged him gently with her elbow, a silent reminder.

  “Right. I’ll shut up,” he muttered.

  Zafran stepped to the edge of the staircase, peering into the dark. “It goes deep,” he murmured. The lantern light barely reached the curve of the steps before fading into black.

  He took the first step.

  The stone groaned faintly underfoot—not dangerously, but like something waking after a long rest.

  Karin followed, her lantern raised. The shadows danced across the walls, revealing ancient carvings—scenes of offerings, battle, and a god rising from flame.

  Elsha came next, silent as the dark.

  Ysar hesitated at the top, then sighed and followed.

  The light from the surface narrowed behind them, swallowed by the dark.

  Step by step, they descended.

  And the silence deepened with every breath.

  The spiral descent seemed to stretch endlessly downward.

  Each step echoed against the stone, swallowed by a darkness too thick for their lanterns to pierce. The air was still—stale, but not choking—with the faintest trace of ash and old incense. Only the soft scuff of boots accompanied them now. No one spoke.

  Karin kept close behind Zafran, her eyes drawn to the carvings that surfaced in the lantern’s flicker—men and beasts, flame-born wars, gods battling the formless. The descent felt like walking into the belly of something ancient, forgotten, and alive.

  At last, the stairs ended in a narrow corridor—low, tight, carved deep into the earth beneath the temple. Even Karin had to duck. The stone here was darker, more compacted, as though pressed by centuries of weight and silence.

  Zafran raised his lantern.

  He stopped beside a wall sconce—an unlit torch, wrapped in aged, enchanted cloth. Without a word, he brought the flame close.

  The torch caught instantly—but it didn’t burn like ordinary fire.

  Karin let out a quiet breath. “What…”

  The flame didn’t rise—it ran.

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  It darted sideways, like water chasing carved veins in the wall. The fire flowed—along grooves, up columns, across the ceiling—awakening the forgotten patterns like blood returning to a limb.

  The entire corridor came alive.

  Amber light traced ancient murals—beasts rising from molten rock, horned silhouettes bound in gold, war unending. And at the center of it all: Aftree. Four-armed. Towering. His eyes twin furnaces staring through time.

  The warmth crept in—not hot, but comforting, like a blanket against the chill. The fire gave the ruin breath.

  Karin stepped forward, caught in the glow. “It’s beautiful…”

  Zafran didn’t speak right away. His eyes studied the living walls, the language of flame.

  “Ancient magic,” he said at last. “That’s unexpected.”

  Elsha’s hand brushed against the stone. Her voice was low. “Beast.”

  They all turned.

  Claw marks.

  Raked deep into the wall, nearly polished by time.

  Ysar swallowed hard. “That’s… reassuring.”

  The flames dimmed, shifting from gold to steady amber. The corridor settled into an eerie stillness—alive, but watching.

  Zafran gave a nod. “Let’s go.”

  They pressed onward into the hall beyond, every step revealing more signs—claw marks, cracks from long-forgotten tremors, remnants of something else. Something that never truly left.

  Their steps echoed softly through the narrow hall, the enchanted flames casting warm light on stone murals that watched in silence. The air was still—heavy with dust, old breath, and memory.

  The corridor narrowed, winding through ancient stone like the inside of a buried spine.

  Ysar walked near the back, his voice cutting lightly through the stillness. “So, do you think they held rituals here? Or maybe—like—summoned things? I mean, it’s Aftree’s followers, right? No one in their right mind would—”

  He stopped mid-sentence.

  Elsha had raised one hand. One finger.

  A signal.

  “Wh…?” Ysar blinked.

  Karin spoke quietly. “Elsha?”

  “Quiet,” she murmured, barely above a whisper.

  Her eyes were ahead now, wide but focused. Her hand moved to the hilt of her blade.

  “Do you hear that?” she asked, still and listening.

  The others froze.

  Long silence.

  Nothing.

  “No,” Karin said, brows furrowed. “I don’t hear anything.”

  Zafran turned to Elsha, gaze sharp. He didn’t question her—he watched.

  Elsha didn’t move. Her voice came low. “Something’s breathing. Low. Heavy. It’s… growling.”

  Ysar chuckled uneasily. “You sure it’s not your stomach?”

  Elsha ignored him. Her fingers tightened on the hilt.

  Zafran stepped forward with slow precision. “Where?”

  Elsha pointed with a nod—toward a bend deeper in the ruin.

  The air shifted again.

  Still no sound to the others, but Zafran trusted her.

  He drew his sword, slow and silent. “Be prepared. Eyes open.”

  Ysar swallowed, fingers flexing near his blade. “Okay… now I’m nervous.”

  The corridor opened into a chamber.

  Ceiling low. Walls marked by time and claw. Cracks split the stone like veins.

  Elsha tensed—frozen one step before the threshold.

  Then—

  From the shadows, something exploded forward. A blur of muscle and fangs.

  Claws scraped stone.

  Elsha moved first. Her blade met its strike with a solid clang. “Beast!”

  Then came more.

  From each corner of the room, four more emerged—fangs bared, eyes wild with rage. They weren’t mindless. They were focused.

  Five in total.

  Zafran lunged to intercept one, his sword flashing. He parried a claw swipe, metal clashing against scale with a sound like striking an anvil.

  “It’s armored!” he called.

  Another beast launched at Ysar, jaws wide.

  It missed—slammed into the wall behind him, cracking stone.

  Ysar spun mid-step, slicing at its side, but his blade scraped harmlessly off its plating.

  “They’re like full armored knight!” he shouted, backing up quickly.

  Karin raised her hand—but hesitated.

  Too narrow. Too close. The heat would roast all of them.

  She cursed under her breath and shifted backward, trying to find line of sight. “No angle,” she hissed. “No fireball.”

  The beasts moved fast, circling.

  One slammed toward Elsha again—she ducked low and rolled, bringing her blade upward across its underside. A shallow gash. It howled.

  “Below!” she shouted

  Another lunged at Zafran’s side. He turned sharply, catching it with a knee and twisting into a low cut—sparks flew as steel scraped the creature’s neck.

  Karin glanced around the room. “This is bad.”

  Ysar backed toward her, panting. “We’re being surrounded.”

  The beasts closed in again—relentless.

  The beasts were nothing like ordinary animals.

  Their hides were black, sheathed in onyx-scaled armor that shimmered faintly in the flickering light—like volcanic glass fused to muscle. Their claws were curved like sickles, their fangs too long for a natural jaw. Power coiled in their limbs, but they moved with a strange edge—lean, gaunt. Starved.

  And they surged.

  Zafran didn’t leave Karin’s side.

  She had her hand raised, prana curling in her palm—but her eyes kept shifting, scanning. The chamber was wrong. The walls were too close, the ceiling too low. A proper fire spell could cook them all alive.

  “Karin!” Zafran barked. “Focus. No fireballs. Think!”

  “I am thinking!” she shot back, retreating to the wall. “And hating every second of it!”

  One of the beasts lunged at her blind side.

  Zafran turned fast—his sword slammed into its ribs with a clang that rang out like struck iron. The creature reeled, staggering back.

  But he couldn’t follow through.

  There were two of them.

  If he left Karin for even a second, the other would take her down.

  He was locked in place—shield and sword both, holding the line alone.

  Across the room, Elsha was already moving.

  Her twin blades flashed in a deadly rhythm—one high, one low, slashing at the gaps between armor. She spun beneath a claw and raked her left blade across the beast’s lower flank.

  “Lower ribs!” she called. “Gap between the scales!”

  “I see it!” Ysar shouted, flanking.

  He darted in from the side, ducking under a wild swipe. His movement wasn’t flawless—he still favored his recovering shoulder—but he pivoted into a sliding roll, kicking up dust as he drove his blade deep into the soft spot Elsha had exposed.

  The beast convulsed.

  Black blood hissed onto the stone.

  It collapsed, twitching, breath gone.

  “One down!” Ysar grinned, panting.

  But another was already on him.

  It lunged—claws outstretched.

  Ysar twisted—

  Too slow.

  The claw barely missed his injured shoulder but caught his side, sending him sprawling. He hit the ground hard and rolled through dirt and grit, gritting his teeth.

  Elsha turned in a blink—her blade caught the beast’s claw mid-swing, deflecting it off course. Sparks flew.

  She grabbed Ysar by the back of his collar, yanking him upright. “You good?”

  “Totally meant to do that,” he groaned.

  “Try not to next time.”

  They stood back-to-back now, blades raised, breath quick and sharp.

  Across the chamber, Zafran ducked low, slashing into a beast’s belly. The blade bit deep—but not enough. He couldn’t commit to the finish, couldn’t overextend.

  Karin was still behind him.

  One wrong step, and she was dead.

  Karin’s back was pressed to the wall, breath quick and shallow. She couldn’t cast wide. Couldn’t burn. Not here.

  But—

  Her eyes narrowed. She whispered something low—not a chant, just thought turned into motion.

  Snap.

  A thread of fire surged from her palm—narrow, focused, hissing with steam as it lanced toward the beast like a spear of boiling light.

  It struck the beast square in the side of the face. Not a blaze, not even a burn—just a sharp, searing flash.

  The creature recoiled with a shriek, blinded, snarling.

  Zafran didn’t need more than that.

  He stepped in—one clean stroke, straight through the gap beneath its jaw.

  The beast fell without a sound.

  He didn’t look back. “That’s more like it.”

  Karin, breathless but steady, allowed herself the faintest smirk. “Guess I’m learning.”

  On the other side, Ysar slashed at another beast’s leg, cutting through its tendon. It collapsed with a shriek.

  Elsha didn’t hesitate.

  She drove both blades down—one through its eye, one through its throat.

  It twitched once. Then nothing.

  They turned—ready.

  Only two beasts remained.

  They didn’t charge.

  They backed slowly toward the far side of the chamber, slipping into the shadows beyond a crumbling stone arch.

  Elsha raised her blades. “They’re retreating?”

  “No,” Ysar said, his voice low, eyes narrowing. “They’re not retreating.”

  The beasts stood aside—

  Making way.

  And then it came.

  A roar—deep, thunderous, intelligent.

  “Humanssssss… THIEVESSSSSS!”

  The stone trembled.

  Something massive stirred beyond the dark.

  Something that could speak.

  And it was coming.