Amon slowly walked toward that place.
Each step he took was careful, cautious. His grip on the wooden torch tightened slightly as the firelight swayed with his movement. Shadows danced across the walls, stretching and twisting like living things, but he forced himself not to stop.
The closer he got, the brighter the fire made the area.
And then he saw it clearly.
In the center of that part of the hall stood a small rectangular stone stand. It rose up to his waist, firmly planted into the floor, as if it had been part of the temple since the very beginning.
The stone was dark, similar to the rest of the temple, but smoother. Time had worn its edges down, rounding them slightly. Strange carvings ran along its sides. Symbols and patterns that Amon didn't recognize. They weren't letters. More like marks… ritualistic and deliberate.
On top of the stand rested a large, flat stone slab.
