Percy stared at the strange man, feeling a small knot of dread. These were the top players in the Whitemoon organisation. Thalos dropped him, and he walked back, surveying the room.
It was a simple square space at the top of the temple, red walls and floors decorated with purple carpets and paintings of priests long past.
This was the profane center of a religious power so great yet strangely forgotten. A single window in the room hung over the altar; the rest of the place was illuminated by candles hung on the walls. The dark, hot atmosphere felt too confined for the fight that was about to unfold.
He was still moving his feet, which made the green eyed man laugh.
"Rest well, Perseus, Diane's curse doesn't reach up here. This is the sacred place of a god; none dare bring their malice up here."
He stared at the strange man for a long time. He wore brown robes with a shoulder clip that resembled a golden head of wheat.
"And who the hell are you?" Percy asked.
"Sebas Basker."
