The massive stone doors of the Sunken Temple ground shut behind them with a deep, final boom that shook the very foundations of the island.
The golden light that had illuminated the entrance faded, plunging them into a profound and absolute darkness.
The path behind them was gone, swallowed by the rising black waters of the lake. They were trapped.
Rhys immediately summoned a small, stable ball of his Voidheart Flame. Its black and silver light pushed back the oppressive gloom, casting long, dancing shadows on the walls of the chamber they had entered.
They were in a vast, circular antechamber. The walls, floor, and ceiling were made of a strange, seamless green stone that felt slick and damp to the touch.
The architecture was non-human. There were no sharp corners, no straight lines. The entire chamber was a series of smooth, flowing curves, as if it had been grown rather than built.
The air was thick with the smell of wet stone, algae, and the faint, sweet scent of decay.
