The ritual surged, golden light flaring brighter, but the Veil's presence fought back.
Crimson mist leaked from the stonework, curling upward like smoke, whispering voices returning, distant and sibilant.
"Lies… all lies… the truth sleeps below."
The sacred light dimmed, the sigils flickering.
Leon stepped forward instinctively, Lysette's training guiding his limbs.
He inhaled, pushing his palm out—a sharp, glowing arc of wind surged, laced with light, cutting through the rising mist like a blade of holy fire.
The whispers stopped, the fog scattering.
Lysette's voice faltered, her hands trembling, but she resumed, her chant steadying.
The light surged again, stable now, and a vision bloomed above the dais, rippling like heat over water: a vast cavern of bone arches, pools of black water reflecting crimson light, an oppressive presence—ancient, immense, watching.
The Catacombs of Sorrow.
Leon gasped, his heart pounding.
