They pressed onward.
The first chamber lay beyond the altar, its entry framed by two massive doors. Each door bore a carving, one a dragon descending in flame, the other a dragon rising in water. Their eyes had been inlaid with stone long since shattered, leaving hollow sockets that seemed to glare at the intruders.
The doors should not have moved. Stone that size should have defied them. But when Lindarion laid his palm against one, it shifted. Effortless. As though the temple itself recognized his touch.
The commander stiffened. "What sorcery is this?"
"An open door," Lindarion said flatly. He pushed, and the chamber revealed itself.
It was smaller than the hall, but no less deliberate. The walls were covered in murals, painted in pigments that hadn't faded despite centuries of stone and silence.
