"Well, here we are," a man grunted, his voice echoing hollowly against the cold, stagnant air of the sepulcher. He let his heavy frame lean against a stone pillar, the dampness of the tomb seeping through his tunic.
"Keep your mouth shut. Stop blabbering and wasting the air we have left," another hissed. He gestured sharply to a third man, who was fumbling with a flint and a steel-tipped rod. With a sharp, rhythmic clack-clack, a spark finally caught. The torch bloomed into a violent, orange flower, its light clawing back the darkness to reveal the edges of the holy place they were meant to desecrate.
The flickering radiance danced over vaulted arches and weeping stone, casting long, distorted shadows that looked like specters retreating into the corners.
