The tunnel opened into a vast, circular chamber that defied the laws of nature.
It was enormous—easily the size of a cathedral—its domed ceiling lost in the darkness above. The walls were carved from the living rock, covered in thousands of glowing blue runes that pulsed like veins of frozen lightning. The light cast long, dancing shadows across the floor, revealing the remnants of an ancient civilization.
At the center of the chamber stood a single structure.
A black obsidian altar, six feet tall and nine feet wide, carved in the image of a woman. Her face was hidden by a veil of stone, her arms outstretched in a gesture of infinite sorrow. But her hands—her hands were bound to the altar by chains of solid silver, inscribed with runes that gleamed with a golden, holy light.
The Dark M
