The ancient and enigmatic temple stood silently amidst the ruins of an old wizarding settlement. The stonework, weathered by centuries of forgotten magic, bore the mottled imprint of time, and Ian couldn't begin to guess which age he had stepped into.
He gazed up at the dusky, amber-hued light filtering through the crumbling ceiling, seeping in like molasses through the cracks, slow, steady, and suffused with age.
Dust danced weightlessly in the dim light, cloaking the ancient stones in a solemn, almost reverent shroud. On the high altar, the enchanted flames flickered restlessly, casting twisting shadows against the cold walls.
"There's magic lingering here," Ian murmured, his eyes scanning the chamber. The worn stone columns were etched with arcane sigils, their contours hinting at a forgotten era of brilliance and wonder.
Every stone bore the scars of millennia, their rough textures whispering secrets of a time long gone. The walls displayed distorted and eerie carvings, ancient scripts, or perhaps lost totems of power, too old even for Hogwarts' vast libraries.
It all seemed to pulse with a power that defied understanding, a magic potent enough to bend reality itself.
Encircling the altar stood seven colossal statues, their features worn smooth by time, yet still radiating an aura of solemn majesty. Scattered across the floor were broken slabs of runestone, once perhaps used to chronicle this place's mystic history.
"These aren't runes…" Ian muttered as he tried to decipher the script carved into the temple walls. It was the same feeling he'd had in the Illusory Tower, a blind spot in magical knowledge, a dead language lost to time.
There was a distant resemblance to the texts he'd glimpsed in that spectral place, yet this was clearly a separate tradition, an older school of magic altogether. By Ian's reckoning, the magic here predated the 20th century by over two thousand years.
After all, this script had last been seen during the age of Merlin and the court of King Arthur. The presence of such glyphs made it impossible for this temple to belong to any era more recent than that ancient, legendary time.
As Ian observed the surroundings, a growing clamour outside caught his attention. The din crept closer until hurried footsteps echoed at the entrance. The young girl who had earlier fled in fear was now being dragged back by a procession of robed figures.
Their garments were odd, woven with archaic patterns and embroidered sigils. Their faces were grave, their movements ritualistic. The girl trembled with terror, her mouth and wrists bound by glowing magical restraints, whimpering softly.
"For all our sakes, this is the burden you were born to bear," Intoned the leader, a towering wizard built like a troll in size, his face painted with ancient glyphs. He held a staff crowned with luminous gems, and his robes rustled with layered enchantments. His presence echoed that of the legendary high seers of old.
He glared down at the girl, voice booming with disdain. "You must chant the Hymn of Slumber, that the god may remain in rest. If you refuse, we will all feel His wrath."
The high wizard's face twisted in fury, his thick brows knitted like clasped fingers as he barked, "Do not speak nonsense! There is no one else here, only us, the ordained. No soul may trespass within our sacred temple!"
"Not even a Doxy could sneak in…" He scoffed, but his words faltered as a junior priest nudged him urgently in the side. He waved the hand away irritably.
The same hand returned with even more insistence.
"This is consecrated ground," The high priest grumbled. "I am guiding the Dream Queen through her divine purpose. Do not interrupt me again."
Again, he was cut short.
This time it was not just one acolyte. All of them were staring, aghast.
"By the stars… There! There's someone!" Cried one, pointing a trembling hand toward the altar, a place forbidden to all.
"No---!" The high priest stammered, his elderly eyes finally following their gaze. He turned and recoiled.
There, on the high platform, stood a boy. A wizard. Ian. He was calmly observing them in return, head tilted in quiet curiosity.
"A profane act! What wickedness is this?!" The high priest's skin turned ghostly pale. His knees nearly buckled as he raised his staff, torn between defending the sanctity of the altar and the terror gnawing at his gut.
"Great Circe... the god has stirred?" Muttered one of the priests, his skin tattooed with flowing runes. His voice trembled with disbelief, devoid of reverence, only raw fear.
The others mirrored his dread, shifting backwards like waves receding from a shore.
"He's no god! Compose yourselves!" The high priest barked, trying to rein in the spreading panic. His words were resolute, but the crack in his voice betrayed his doubts.
"How could he not be?! The altar glowed! And He spoke to me!" Cried the girl, freed in the chaos, her voice trembling but defiant.
"You were deceived by phantoms!" The high priest snapped, casting her a sharp look before turning to Ian with burning suspicion.
"Who are you?! How dare you trespass within the sacred temple at such a time?!"
The man's voice was deep and cold, his gaze as sharp as a cursed blade, fixed squarely on Ian standing atop the high altar. Despite the accusatory question, the young wizard merely raised an eyebrow, utterly unbothered.
"Where is this place?" Ian didn't bother responding.
His thoughts were elsewhere, focused more on the time and location than on the furious figure before him.
"This ground is forbidden! Your presence has gravely disturbed the god's slumber. You must descend at once and answer for your trespass!" The high priest barked. He didn't appear concerned that Ian was a mere boy; his voice thundered with outrage, though there was an unmistakable tremor beneath it.
"The god's slumber…?" Ian echoed, puzzled. At first, he'd thought the girl had simply misunderstood him. But the more he heard, the more he sensed something amiss. His attention shifted once again to the high platform beneath his feet.
Bronze relics littered the altar, ceremonial, yes, but oddly untouched. There were no offerings, no incense, not even the lingering trace of reverence. Ian's gaze swept across the dais until it settled on something hidden, something the others clearly feared.
Where once the light of the Twilight Realm had flickered through the portal, now only a soft magical glow remained. Behind it, concealed by shimmering veils, was a peculiar bronze enclosure.
Calling it a "room" was generous, it resembled a giant alchemist's coffer, a box just a few meters in length and width. The veils, though enchanted, weren't especially old. They hung like gossamer curtains, dimly obscuring what lay within.
"Oi! Stop! Step away from there!" The high priest shouted suddenly, voice rising in panic as Ian took a step forward. He seemed to forget all ceremony in his desperation.
"Do not defile that sacred chamber! Should the god awaken, it will be our doom, yours included!"
His cries turned frantic, echoing wildly through the vast temple. His wide eyes were filled with dread, as if Ian were some unspeakable spectre conjured to bring about calamity.
(To Be Continued…)
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