The pulse came again.
Once. Deep. Barely audible. But this time, the air itself shifted.
Mira stepped back. Tomas's hand went to his knife.
Leon remained still.
Another beat. This one faster. Then another. And another.
The obsidian beneath them lit faintly—not glowing, but threading with red veins that pulsed in rhythm. The spirals on the floor grew clearer. More precise. And then they began to move. Not the stone—just the light. Tracing patterns faster than the eye could follow.
"We should leave," Tomas muttered.
Leon didn't move. His eyes remained locked on the centre groove. "No. We wait."
Mira looked at him, uncertain. "For what?"
"For whatever remembers."
The pulse stopped.
Silence.
Then something groaned beneath the platform. Metal against stone. The entire structure shifted slightly, not enough to collapse—but enough to reveal a seam around the platform's edge. It wasn't just a floor. It was a lid.
Tomas backed away. Mira held her wardstone higher.
