The Shaman's voice filled the room again, steady at first but already faster than it had been earlier in the night, the sound of it echoing across the stone walls while it stood at the broken table with both hands pressed against the cracked surface and its staff leaning within reach against the edge.
The rhythm of the words had changed.
Earlier the Shaman had spoken slowly, careful and controlled, but now the pace had shifted and the words came quicker, almost pressing into each other as the ritual moved forward.
Something about it felt urgent.
Like the Shaman was trying to make up for lost time.
The markings on the walls reacted to the voice.
The lines started turning on again, one by one. They lit up from the outer edges of the room and slowly moved toward the middle. The light spread across the stone in thin lines, like small cracks glowing under the surface.
The crack across the table was still there.
The stone had not repaired itself.
But the Shaman had adjusted.
