The shadows around them deepened as they descended the worn stone steps. Apollo hung back, letting the others press ahead into the underground chamber that opened before them like a wound in the earth.
The air grew thick with incense and the press of too many bodies, the ceiling low enough that Thorin had to stoop slightly as they found places along the back wall.
Hundreds of cloaked figures crowded the space, their collective breath creating a fog that hung in the torchlight. At the center of the chamber stood a raised dais, upon which rested a wide stone vessel filled with water that reflected the torches with unnatural brightness.
Apollo leaned against the cool stone wall, watching the proceedings with detached interest. The gold in his veins remained quiet, neither warming nor responding to the ritual unfolding before them.
This wasn't the first ceremony he'd witnessed in his long existence, nor would it be the last, though the others didn't know that.
