The twin doors loomed above us, each one carved with scenes that seemed to move in the corner of my eye, battles, betrayals, ascensions, only to freeze into static stone the moment I looked directly at them.
Evelina stepped closer to the left door, running her fingers along one of the carvings. A figure reaching toward a floating crown. A serpent eating its own tail. A tree with roots that grew into the sky and branches that burrowed into the earth.
"This isn't just architecture," she said, amused. "It's a statement."
"What kind of statement?"
"That the person who built this place thought they were a god."
I couldn't argue with that.
Between the doors, a pedestal waited. Small, unassuming, carved from the same polished marble as everything else. Resting on top was a single brass bell, no bigger than my fist, with a clapper that looked like a coiled serpent.
No inscriptions. No warnings. No instructions.
Just a bell.
"Know what to do here?" Evelina asked.
