The ruined doorway yawned before them, dark and cold, swallowing the weak sunlight that tried to pierce the crumbling arch. Lira's footsteps echoed softly against fractured stone as they stepped into the temple's interior. Dust hung thick in the air, stirred with every movement, carrying the mingled scents of aged stone, sea spray, and the faint tang of ozone left by lingering currents.
The interior, though battered by time, retained an air of quiet majesty. High walls, scarred by centuries, rose above them, decorated with faint carvings of swirling patterns of vortices, spirals, and winged figures that shimmered whenever Lira tilted her head. The broken roof allowed thin beams of sunlight to slice across the uneven floor, casting moving patterns that shifted as the wind pushed them through the cracks.
