The air inside the isolated basement of the old church was thick with the scent of damp stone, ancient dust, and melting wax. Shadows stretched across the massive granite pillars that supported the low, vaulted ceiling, shifting every time the small flames flickered. Several white candles stood atop the cold stone altar, their pale light barely reaching the dark corners of the subterranean room. Zeven walked heavily down the stone steps, his large frame carrying the completely limp, exhausted body of his brother. He carefully laid Rey down onto a flat wooden bench near the altar, adjusting the tattered cloth beneath his head to provide some comfort. The rhythmic sound of heavy water drops falling from the damp ceiling echoed through the silence, marking the slow passage of time. Lyra follo
