Draemir grasped the cold handles of the stone doors and pulled, half-expecting to strain against their weight. To his surprise, the doors swung open with ease, gliding smoothly on their hinges. It was as if the massive slabs of stone were perfectly balanced, their weight somehow countered by an unseen mechanism. He took a steadying breath and stepped through the threshold, his eyes adjusting to the dim light beyond.

What he saw inside made him stop in his tracks.

“Wow,” he whispered, the word escaping him before he could think. He’d expected a grand interior, sure—something to match the impressive exterior of the structure. But the sheer scale of what lay before him left him breathless.

The temple’s interior stretched far longer than he had imagined, its vast corridor extending deep into the shadows, disappearing into a distant gloom. He realized he hadn’t gotten a proper look at the building’s size from outside—too blinded by rain and exhaustion to take in the full scope. But now, as he stood just inside the entrance, he could see that the temple’s interior seemed to stretch on endlessly, the walls receding into darkness.

Small fire lamps lined the walls, glowing with a steady amber light that cast long shadows across the stone. Each flame sat in an iron sconce, running in a neat row down the corridor, illuminating a path that led deeper into the temple. The lights were spaced evenly, each one casting its glow just far enough to overlap with the next, forming a line of flickering warmth against the cold, stone floor.

It was like the temple had awakened at his arrival, the lamps lighting up in sequence as if they had been waiting for him. The sight was both eerie and mesmerizing. At the far end of the hall, a second set of heavy double doors stood, with a length of deep purple fabric—almost like a ceremonial runner—stretching down the center of the corridor. It was frayed with age, but the richness of the color still stood out in the dim light.

But that wasn’t all that caught his attention. The floor of the entrance hall was littered with bones.

Draemir froze, his heart leaping into his throat as he took in the scene. Skeletal remains lay scattered across the stone floor, some clad in rusted armor that had long since fallen to pieces, others dressed in the remnants of light fabric that had decayed to brittle threads. He took a cautious step closer, his breath misting in the cool air, and crouched beside one of the skeletons. Dust coated everything, the bones themselves coated in a fine gray powder, as if nothing had disturbed this place in decades—maybe even longer.

The scene spoke of an ancient tragedy. Bodies that had been left where they fell, armor and fabric blending into the layers of dirt that had settled over them like a shroud. The air was thick with the scent of age, of long-forgotten battles and the slow decay of time. He brushed his fingers over the dusty floor, and the grime clung to his skin, cold and gritty.

Yet, despite the silence, the presence of those lit lamps unsettled him more than the bones ever could. They lit on their own? Draemir thought, his skin crawling. He glanced warily at the flames, half expecting them to wink out at his gaze, but they continued to burn steadily, casting their warm glow over the scene. That’s… unsettling.

He didn’t know which would have been worse—venturing into a pitch-black temple, armed only with his own uncertainty, or entering a place that seemed to respond to him, as if it recognized his presence. He didn’t know if he liked the idea that the light might be welcoming him, or if it was merely revealing him, announcing his arrival to whatever else might lurk in the shadows.

The whole place felt… creepy, to put it lightly. The bones scattered across the floor certainly didn’t help, their empty eye sockets staring up at the vaulted ceiling as if frozen in their final moments. He felt a shudder crawl down his spine, a sense of intrusion, as if he was trespassing in a place that had been meant for others—long before his time.

But he told himself he had nothing to fear from these remains. Whatever had killed these people, whatever had left them here to rot, was surely long gone. The dust on their bones, the undisturbed layers of grime, all pointed to the same conclusion. The danger, whatever it had been, had died with them.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the threshold and into the temple proper. His footsteps echoed faintly off the stone walls as he crossed the threshold, making his way deeper into the corridor. He kept his eyes on the purple runner that stretched ahead, letting it guide him toward the distant set of doors, and he tried to ignore the unsettling sense of being watched.

But just a few steps in, he stopped abruptly, a sudden chill racing down his spine.

It wasn’t the cold of the storm that gripped him now. It was a deeper, more primal sensation, a feeling like a weight in his mind—a brief, chilling sense of something vast and ancient turning its gaze upon him. He stood there, frozen in fear on the spot, the breath catching in his throat, his heart stuttering as he tried to make sense of the sensation. It was as if, for just a moment, the air itself had grown thick with judgment, as though the very walls of the temple had eyes and they were looking at him.

‘What is this place?’ The thought came unbidden, a surge of panic swelling in his chest, but just as quickly as it had come, the feeling faded. The pressure vanished, leaving him alone in the dusty silence of the hall.

He exhaled shakily, rubbing at his arms to ward off the lingering unease. His breaths came out ragged, fogging the cool air, but he forced himself to focus. Whatever that feeling was, it was gone now. Just another trick of his exhausted mind, he told himself. Nothing more.

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He squared his shoulders and started forward again, his eyes darting over the walls and the shadows that clung to them. The second set of doors loomed at the end of the hallway, and beyond them, perhaps, the answers to whatever the objective of this trial is.

Draemir moved toward the inner doors, his hands pressing against the cold, stone surface as he pushed them open. They swung inward with a low creak, revealing an expansive chamber that took his breath away.

He stepped inside, and his first thought was that it looked like a ballroom. The high, vaulted ceiling soared above him, and the space was vast, stretching out in all directions, with a strange elegance that contrasted sharply with the emptiness and decay he’d seen so far. It was darkly regal, with a sort of haunting beauty that filled him with equal parts awe and unease.

At the center of the room stood a fountain, its water crystal clear, flowing gently over carved stone tiers. It was startling to see something so pristine, so… alive, in this forgotten, dust-laden place. The fountain’s soft murmur filled the silence, a strangely comforting sound after hours of relentless storm and thunder. The sight of clean, fresh water was mesmerizing, and Draemir felt an intense thirst rise in him, a reminder of how parched he’d become since the journey began.

At the far end of the ballroom, a throne loomed on a raised platform. It was carved from the same dark stone as the rest of the structure, its high back rising up with an imposing grace. Two large, dark purple banners flanked the throne, hanging from the ceiling and tapering down the walls on either side. Each banner bore the symbol of the half-closed eye, embroidered in silver thread, giving it an eerie gleam in the dim light. The fabric seemed untouched by time, no dust or decay marring its surface. It was as if these banners had been carefully maintained while the rest of the room—no, the rest of the temple—had been left to gather dust.

The throne and the banners made the space feel almost like a royal audience chamber, a place where someone of power once sat, watching over those who entered. Yet now, it was empty. Silent. Abandoned.

Draemir’s gaze drifted back to the bones in the hallway behind him. The people who had died here hadn’t even made it halfway through the entrance hall before they met their end. But everything beyond that point—the ballroom, the fountain, the throne—was untouched, preserved in an eerie stillness. It was like a line had been drawn; whatever had killed those people had not stepped beyond it. The ballroom felt like a sanctuary, a place removed from whatever horrors had taken their lives.

He didn’t know what to make of it. This room, this strange, immaculate space—it felt out of place, as if it had been preserved for a purpose he couldn’t understand.

He scanned the room, his instincts kicking in, checking for any hidden threats or signs of danger. But there was nothing here. Just the soft trickling of water, the empty throne, and the quiet grandeur of the space. He felt a faint sense of relief. Whatever had happened here, it seemed he was alone.

He made his way toward the fountain, the sight of the clear water pulling him forward like a magnet. As he approached, he peered into the flowing liquid, the surface shimmering faintly in the dim light. It was… just water. Pure and clear, untainted by dirt or debris, almost impossibly pristine for a place like this.

Draemir swallowed, the dryness in his throat suddenly unbearable. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until now, but his parched mouth and cracked lips reminded him. The rain outside had been relentless, but he hadn’t been able to do more than catch a few drops here and there, tilting his head back to let the icy water fall into his mouth. The idea of drinking from this fountain—of taking a proper, clean drink—felt like a luxury he hadn’t dared to hope for.

He reached out, cupping his hands beneath the flowing water, and brought them to his mouth. The cool liquid hit his tongue, and he nearly sighed with relief. It was the sweetest water he’d ever tasted, refreshing in a way that felt almost miraculous. He drank deeply, letting the coldness wash through him, bringing a faint warmth back to his body, as if it were reinvigorating him from the inside out.

As he drank, he became aware of his clothes clinging damply to his skin. The air inside the temple was just as moist as it was outside, but here, under shelter, the rain wasn’t constantly drenching him. His clothes had started to dry, though the process was slow and uncomfortable. The fabric was stiff, caked with mud in places, and he had no doubt that much of it was ruined beyond repair. He looked down at himself, assessing the damage.

His boots, for instance, were soaked through and hopelessly caked with mud. He could feel the squelching of water with every step, and he knew they’d probably never recover. The leather was stiff, cracked, and he suspected that even if he managed to dry them out, they wouldn’t hold up much longer. They were as exhausted as he was, worn down by the unending rain and mud. A pang of worry flickered through him—what would he do when they fell apart? Walking barefoot through a place like this wasn’t exactly an appealing thought.

But for now, he had other things to focus on. His thirst quenched, Draemir straightened and looked around the ballroom again. His eyes drifted back to the throne at the far end, framed by those dark banners and their strange half-closed eye symbols.

‘What is this place?’ he wondered, a strange mixture of curiosity and unease settling in his chest. The temple seemed like a place of reverence, yet here it was, filled with the bones of the dead and shadows of the past. The eye symbol, staring down from the banners above the throne, gave him an odd feeling, like it was watching him, assessing him.

He shook off the thought and took a few steps closer to the throne, his movements careful and measured. The silence in the room was heavy, almost oppressive, each step he took echoing faintly against the high ceiling. The chill of the air pressed against him, but it wasn’t the same biting cold as the storm outside. It was… different. The kind of cold that belonged to places forgotten by time.

Standing just a few paces away from the throne, Draemir looked up, his gaze lingering on the half-closed eye symbols.

‘What does it mean?’ he wondered again. ‘A god? A forgotten deity?’

The only symbols he’d ever known were of the cross, the remnants of the faith that still clung to life in the inner city. But this place… it felt like it belonged to something older, something that had been here long before the world he knew had crumbled.

He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself as he stood there, uncertain. This temple had been empty for years, maybe centuries, judging by the dust and the bones outside. And yet… it didn’t feel empty.

For now, though, there was nothing else he could do but explore. Taking a deep breath, Draemir turned back toward the ballroom, ready to search for any other clues this strange place might hold.