The wind over the Himalayas howled like a wounded beast as the Dutchman’s army finally reached the ancient temple ruins. It was a structure built long before memory — its pillars half-buried in snow, its carved gods worn smooth by centuries of ice. No modern map showed this place, and no living soul outside a few forgotten monks could have guessed what lay beyond.
The mercenaries gathered in tight formation, their black uniforms and rifles forming jagged lines against the white landscape. Horses snorted steam into the cold air as they dragged cannon wheels into position. Even these hardened men shifted uneasily; something about this place felt wrong.A strange fog had begun to crawl from the temple’s base — not the light mist of high mountains, but a thick, slow tide that curled and coiled
