The sanctuary was bathed in a gentle starlight, filtering down softly through an intricate weave of roots high above. Mikhailis stepped forward carefully, his breath catching as he took in the subtle beauty around him. Silver-blue moss crawled up the walls, illuminating them softly and casting the room into an otherworldly glow. The air was thick with the fragrance of burning incense, a strange combination of damp earth, ancient scrolls, and a metallic tang he couldn't quite place.
It almost smells like old blood-magic—sealed and forgotten. Intriguing.
He let out that breath in a slow hiss, the sound swallowed by the hush that pressed on his eardrums. Every heartbeat felt amplified, each exhale oddly loud in a place where even dust motes seemed reluctant to stir. It wasn't fear, exactly—more a reverent tension, as though one wrong move might crack the floor of this sacred silence.
