The hatch groaned as it opened—not loudly, not in protest, but like an exhale drawn from something ancient and unwilling. The hinges moved without resistance, yet the air that followed was dense, humid with power and something worse: reverence.
Caliste rose from the darkness below like a ghost climbing through the pages of a forgotten legend.
The sanctum greeted him not with silence, but expectation.
The room was vast—oval-shaped, with a vaulted ceiling that disappeared into shadow. The architecture was unlike anything from the Academy or the known kingdoms. Each wall curved gently inward, no hard corners, no division. It was a room meant to contain—not merely in shape, but in philosophy. The very geometry seemed designed to draw one's focus toward the center.
