The coral walls rippled with silent anticipation as Apollo took his first step into the dome. His reflection stared back with eyes that seemed a heartbeat out of sync with his own movements.
The gold in his veins quieted to a watchful hum, sensing something ancient stirring within this chamber of memories.
"It's beautiful," Mira whispered, her voice dampened by the strange acoustics of the space.
Thorin grunted, keeping one hand near his axe. "Too beautiful. Nothing good comes in pretty packages."
The dwarf's reflection mimicked his scowl with unnerving accuracy, though Apollo noticed its eyes held something the real Thorin's did not, a flicker of wonder beneath the suspicion.
The smith's weathered face betrayed nothing as he studied the gleaming walls, but his fingers twitched against the axe handle, betraying his unease.
"The reflections," Cale said, moving closer to the curved wall. "They're... moving wrong."
