The sacred chamber of the Eternal Flame was suffused with a haunting glow, the flickering fire a restless shadows that danced along the ancient stone walls like spirits unable to rest.
The chamber's vastness was deceptive; though no larger than a noble's hall, it carried a weight that pressed upon the soul.
Every slab of marble, every rune carved into the walls, whispered of centuries of prayer and sacrifice.
The air carried with the mingled scent of burning oil, incense, and faint traces of blood—sacrifices long since dried but never forgotten.
The silence broken only by the crackle of the unnatural flame that burned without fuel, as it always had.
Aric stood alone at the center, his hands clasped behind his back, his silhouette outlined in stark defiance against the brilliance of the fire.
His dark cloak pooled around his boots, its folds heavy with the weight of schemes, yet he wore it as though it were a mantle of royalty itself.
