The gold in Apollo's veins warmed suddenly, pulsing in time with the ritual. Something in the dark was answering, not to the priest or his amateur flames, but to the older, deeper power that still flowed through Apollo's diminished form.
He glanced at his companions, finding them all watching the ritual with varying degrees of unease. Nik's earlier fascination had given way to something more cautious. Lyra's hand hadn't moved from her knife. Thorin's scowl had deepened, and Renna looked ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.
Even Cale, usually so composed, had tensed, his eyes darting between the priest and the exits.
In that moment of shared disquiet, a silent understanding passed between them. They had assumed the city would be a refuge, a place to rest and resupply before continuing their journey. Instead, they had stumbled into something older and more dangerous than mere walls and guards.
