The echo of the door slamming shut still shook the stone beneath Donato's feet.
For a moment, he couldn't move.
The temple's light vanished behind him and the world swallowed him whole.
A darkness so thick it felt like wet cloth pressed against his skin.
Cold wind curled around him like fingers.
Somewhere in the distance, water dripped in a slow, rhythmic beat.
Drip…Drip…Drip…
His pulse hammered in his ears.
"Alessia," he whispered. "Elowen…"
But there was no answer.
Just the strange, living silence.
Then—a faint light flickered ahead of him.
Donato inhaled sharply and forced his legs to move.
His boots echoed softly as he stepped forward, guided only by the weak glow.
The ground under him felt uneven, ancient, almost breathing. The further he walked, the colder the air grew, until every inhale sent a sharp sting into his lungs.
The light brightened with each step.
And then—Donato stopped.
Because the shadows finally peeled back enough for him to see it.
