The chamber at the heart of the temple pulsed with a dim, unnatural glow. The walls rose higher than the eye could follow, carved with runes that seemed to slither when stared at too long.
In the center of the vast hall lay the fragment, an obsidian shard hovering above a broken pedestal, edges humming with a vibration that wasn't sound so much as pressure on the bones.
The squad of humans slowed, their earlier chants and whispers snuffed out by the oppressive weight of the place. Some crossed themselves, others clutched their weapons tighter, but none dared step closer.
Lindarion's eyes locked on the fragment. It was not a relic of faith or culture. It was a wound in the world. His system stirred the instant his gaze met it, glyphs flashing at the edge of his vision, warnings he had never seen before.
Nysha hissed under her breath, shadows writhing along her fingertips. "That thing isn't just old stone."
