Disarray and Fear
The temple, once a stronghold of control, had devolved into chaos. Cultists scrambled through the flickering corridors, their once-precise movements laced with hesitation.
Aden crouched in the shadows, watching them. His handiwork had done its job. Sigils burned out. Pathways darkened. Their precious system was failing them, and now?
Now they were afraid.
> Good.
He heard rushed whispers, sharp commands—orders from a voice that was trying to hold the cultists together.
> "The intruder is still here. Find him. Now."
> "What about the ritual? The Overseer—"
> "The Overseer will not tolerate failure. Secure the sanctum first!"
Aden's lips curled into a smirk. They were more focused on containing him than securing whatever ritual they were planning. That meant he had time.
But not much.
He moved swiftly, weaving through the stone passageways, following the architecture rather than their patrols. He had studied the way the temple was built—the way old structures often had forgotten maintenance paths, overlooked by those who relied on sigils and magic.
That's how he found it.
A narrow gap between two pillars, leading downward. The edges were worn smooth, meaning it had been used before—but not frequently.
> A secondary passage.
Aden slipped through without hesitation. The path spiraled downward, the air turning colder. Faint markings lined the walls—older than the sigils upstairs, etched in deep grooves rather than painted.
This was a place the cultists hadn't touched.
A place they feared.
The Forsaken Chamber
The passage opened into a small, circular chamber, lined with old stone coffins. The air was thick, the silence absolute.
At the center stood a pedestal. And on it—
A mask.
It was simple. Black. Smooth. No distinct features, no embellishments. Just a plain, faceless mask.
Yet, the moment Aden stepped closer, a whisper crawled into his mind.
> You are not the first.
A flash of images—figures moving in the dark, striking from the shadows. Blood dripping onto stone. The cult, hunted. Again and again.
> This place was never theirs to begin with.
Aden reached out, fingers brushing the mask
And the alarms above roared to life again.
The Overseer Moves
In the depths of the temple, a figure stirred.
Unlike the frantic cultists, the Overseer did not move with panic. They simply stood. Listened.
> "He is deeper than expected."
A pause.
> "Interesting."
Their hand rested against the ancient sigil, and for the first time in decades—perhaps centuries—something awakened beneath the temple.
Something that should have stayed buried.
> "Let's see how far the marked one can go."
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