The descent was slow, each step echoing as the squad moved in tight formation down the spiral stairwell. Torches embedded in serpent-mouthed sconces hissed with cold green flame, casting eerie shadows against the carved stone walls. There were no murals—just deep scratches, like claw marks made in panic.
"Keep your eyes open," Inigo murmured. "No mistakes."
The stairwell ended in a wide stone landing that opened into a cavernous chamber—far larger than any above. It was the temple's true sanctum. The air here was thin, dry, and cold as bone. A circular dais stood at the center, ringed by shallow trenches filled with black water.
Atop it loomed the High Priestess.
She was coiled in regal stillness, her body wrapped around an obsidian throne fused with the rock. Half-woman, half-snake, her upper body bore the markings of ancient nobility—gold rings, layered necklaces, scales like polished onyx. Her eyes were shut.
Sleeping?
Praying?
No one dared speak.
Then—her eyes opened.
