The ancient granite architecture of the sanctuary gate groaned under the intense physical vibrations of a hundred synchronized high-velocity projectile impacts. Zeven stood firmly on the fractured stone threshold, his broad shoulders serving as a biological shield against the relentless gempuran peluru musuh pouring from the outer perimeter. The freezing night air carried the overpowering odor of burning gunpowder, acrid ozone, and the distinct, raw scent of his own blood hitting the damp ground. Inside his internal sensory matrix, a faint but clear energetic signature resonated, confirming that Lyra was actively closing the distance through the long-forgotten underground passage beneath the temple. His massive fingers dug into the cracked stone walls, his tattered cloak blowing backward i
