The chamber was alive.
Every surface trembled as though the Rotten Sanctum itself felt dread. The pit boiled, black water splashing against the cracked stone as something vast pushed from beneath. The air was too thick to breathe, heavy with the taste of iron and rot. Even the walls seemed to quiver, runes flickering in sickly silver as if they too fought to contain what was about to rise.
The boy stood at the edge, his bare toes dipping into the fetid water, eyes half-lidded as whispers slid from his mouth. “It waits. It listens. It hungers.”
Kael stepped closer, ignoring the stench, ignoring the fear that weighed on the air like a funeral shroud. His aura burned hotter, crimson veins crawling across the cracked floor, pushing back the creeping dark. The shard beneath his cloak throbbe
