Adrian moved slowly, one hand tracing the stone wall beside him. The Qi here was thin, brittle, like old parchment, but beneath it lingered something older. Not death. Not decay.
Silence.Pure, deliberate silence.
He reached the bottom and paused.
The staircase opened into a vast underground chamber. A dome-shaped hall, its ceiling lost in shadow. Pillars lined the space, each one carved in spiraling patterns reminiscent of celestial paths, moons and stars etched into the stone with painstaking detail. It felt less like a prison and more like a temple.
At the center of the room stood an altar—a low, wide platform surrounded by broken jade tablets and rusted ceremonial instruments. What drew Adrian's attention, however, was not the relics.
It was the statue that loomed behind the altar.
A figure, seated cross-legged, carved from obsidian. Unnaturally smooth. Unnaturally tall. Its face was obscured by a hood, but a single hand rested atop its knee—palm upward. Waiting.
