The chamber did not return to stillness. Though the mural's glow had guttered into silence, the air remained charged, like the sky before lightning splits it open. Every breath carried the faint metallic tang of iron and dust, as if the very stone had been bled dry once and never forgotten. The torches lining the walls guttered erratically, shadows twitching along the dome, restless as if disturbed from slumber.
Leo sat slumped against the dais. His body was clammy with sweat, his skin pale, and his breaths shallow but sharp. His knuckles were split raw, his chest heaving too fast, but his eyes, his eyes burned. The fragment had not gone quiet; it lingered in his veins like smoke, whispering less, sulking more, like a predator denied its kill.
