AS Kallixto descended the stone steps into the temple basement alongside the priest Tyran, a heavy, menacing presence pressed in on him. His grip tightened around the sword as his senses sharpened. From the mouth of the corridor below, a foul stench crept into the air. It was not the familiar rot of garbage, nor the decay of animal corpses; this smell was something else entirely. It clung to the throat, thick and nauseating, as though it carried a corruption of its own. Anyone with a weak stomach would have retched at the first breath, overwhelmed by the sheer wrongness of it.
At the final step of the stairway, the passage split into two opposing paths. The basement corridors were dimly illuminated by wall lamps mounted at regular intervals, their flames casting long, wavering shadows alo
