The jungle of Lethen groaned with humidity and shadows. Vines curled like serpents around trees the size of castles. The air was thick with the scent of damp moss, blooming decay, and something older—an undertone of scorched stone and forgotten rituals.
Kaelin moved silently through the undergrowth, her cloak damp with sweat and her skin prickling with the weight of unseen eyes. The Sunken Temple lay somewhere beneath this ancient overgrowth, buried after the Flood of Ages and whispered about in fragmentary scrolls.
Theron adjusted the weight of his pack beside her, brushing a vine aside as they pushed through a thicket. "This place feels cursed."
"It’s not cursed," Myrra muttered behind them, thumbing through a rolled parchment. "It’s sacred. That’s worse."
Elira walked several paces
