The map had cost Lyria two silver coins and a favor she'd rather not remember, but now—as the three of them stood before the crumbling stone archway marked with warnings older than their grandparents—it was worth it. The Temple of Eldros loomed ahead, its entrance choked with vines that seemed to twitch in the wind. Therion kicked a pebble into the abyss below the cliffside path, listening for a sound that never came. "We're going to die because Lancaster has a death wish and bad taste in decor."
Lyria ignored him, tracing the map's shimmering ink with a grin. "Forbidden just means 'fun' in dead people language." Ardyn adjusted his glasses, the lenses catching the low light as he squinted at the ominous script. "'The unworthy shall be consumed,'" he read aloud, then immediately yelped as Lyria grabbed his wrist and dragged him forward. "W-Wait, we should at least—" "Nope," Lyria said, popping the 'p' as she shouldered the rotting doors open. Therion phased through after them, muttering about "stupid decisions" and "probably cursed artifacts."
Inside, the air hummed. Not metaphorically—literally, like a plucked harp string vibrating in their bones. The walls pulsed with veins of blue light, throbbing in time with their footsteps. Ardyn reached out instinctively toward the nearest glowing rune, but Therion yanked him back by his coat collar. "Don't touch the creepy glowing temple walls, scholar boy. That's Horror Story 101." Lyria, of course, immediately pressed her palm flat against the stone. The light flared beneath her fingers, racing up the walls in sudden, jagged lines. Somewhere deep in the temple, something screeched.
Therion's hand went to his dagger. "Why do I travel with you people?"
Then the ground lurched.
Ardyn stumbled, his boot catching on something that definitely hadn't been there before—a raised tile, now sunken beneath his weight. The walls shuddered, and with a sound like cracking bone, the corridor ahead split open, revealing a yawning staircase spiraling into darkness. A gust of air rolled up from below, carrying the scent of wet stone and something metallic. Lyria's eyes gleamed. "Now that's an invitation."
Therion groaned. "That's a trap."
Ardyn, still half-dangling from Therion's grip, swallowed hard. "Technically, it could be both—"
Lyria was already moving, her boots scattering dust as she descended without hesitation. Therion muttered a curse and phased after her, dragging a protesting Ardyn along like a disheveled, panicking kite. The stairs seemed to go on forever, the walls pressing closer the deeper they went. The blue light had turned an uneasy violet here, pulsing like a bruise.
Then—
The chamber opened suddenly, a cavernous space lit by a single shaft of moonlight from a crack in the ceiling far above. At its center stood an altar, and on that altar...
Lyria's breath caught. "Oh, you have to be kidding me."
Therion's grip on Ardyn tightened. "We're leaving."
Ardyn didn't argue.
Because there, resting innocently on the stone, was a perfect replica of the Obelisk back home—except this one was bleeding, thick rivulets of black liquid oozing from its surface and pooling on the floor. The liquid twitched.
Then the altar blinked.