It took time for everything Maelyn had said to settle.
Too much time, maybe.
The words didn't hit all at once. They arrived in layers, some immediately, others creeping in slowly, surfacing when no one was ready for them. Gods. Sacrifices. Extinction. Trials that devoured souls and turned men into stone. The ruined city outside the temple suddenly felt heavier, as if the truth itself had weight.
They sat with it.
Not speaking at first.
Victor leaned against a cracked pillar, gaze unfocused, as if the ruin itself had emptied his thoughts. His breathing was slow now, controlled, though his shoulders were still tense. Raul crouched nearby, methodically checking his daggers for chips and fractures, muscle memory taking over while his mind worked through the implications. Arin sat on the steps leading to the altar, elbows resting on his knees, gaze unfocused as he replayed Maelyn's words again and again, fitting them together like jagged pieces of a broken blade.
And Maelyn—
Maelyn did not stop talking.
Not for a second.
"…and you know, the Glassborn used to build their cities upside down, literally! Well, not literally upside down, but conceptually—oh! And the Myrren were really rude, no offense, they were always so grumpy—oh! Did I mention the trials sometimes—"
Victor slowly turned his head toward her. "Do you ever shut up?"
Maelyn gasped. "That's so rude!"
Raul snorted quietly.
Arin rubbed his face. "Ignore him. Please. Continue. Just… slower."
Maelyn huffed but complied, slightly. She floated in lazy circles above the altar, glow dimmer now, like a lantern turned down low.
Eventually, Raul broke the lull.
"So," he said, voice calm, measured. "What are the trials actually like?"
Maelyn froze midair.
"…I don't know."
All three stared at her.
"It's not like I don't want to tell you!" she added quickly. "I literally can't. The temple blocks it. Big ancient magic. Very annoying."
She folded her tiny arms. "What I can say is this: everyone faces a different trial. Something only they can overcome. No help. No interference."
Victor grimaced. "That sounds bad."
"It usually is!" Maelyn chirped.
Great.
"Okay," Victor said after a moment. "Then, when do we need to start?"
Maelyn perked up. "Anytime within twenty-four hours of entering the temple."
Arin lifted his head. "Then we sleep."
Both Raul and Victor looked at him.
"We're exhausted," Arin continued. "Physically and mentally. Whatever the trials are, they're sure to drain us. We go in tired, we fail. And failure isn't an option."
Raul nodded once. Victor sighed. "Yeah… yeah, okay."
They didn't argue further.
Sleep came fast.
Not gentle, not peaceful, just deep. The kind that dragged them under, whether they wanted it or not. Dreams flickered and vanished. Faces blurred. Sounds echoed and then dissolved into nothing.
When Arin opened his eyes again, light had found its way inside the temple.
Soft, pale sunlight spilled through shattered windows high above, cutting through the gloom in slanted beams. Dust drifted lazily in the air, glowing gold where the light touched it. The oppressive hum of magic had receded, not gone, but quieter, like a beast watching from afar.
The statues stood frozen.
Every one of them, locked mid-motion where they had last been standing. A knight planted low, shield cracked, sword forgotten at his side. A mage recoiling, fingers scorched where magic had backfired. A swordsman pivoting mid-step, balance already lost. In daylight, they looked less monstrous… and somehow worse. More human.
Outside, the ruined city lay bathed in morning light. Cracked streets glistened faintly with dew. Moss crept along collapsed walls. Birds, actual birds, perched on broken rooftops, chirping softly, unaware or uncaring of the horror carved into stone below.
Victor sat up with a groan. "I hate that I slept."
Raul stretched, joints popping quietly. "You needed it."
Arin rose slowly, rolling his shoulders. The weight in his head felt lighter. Not gone, but manageable.
Maelyn hovered nearby, humming to herself.
Victor broke the silence. "If I actually survive this," he said suddenly, staring up at the broken ceiling, "I'm proposing to Emily again."
Raul blinked. "The herbalist?"
"Yeah."
"You're still thinking about her?" Raul asked dryly. "Loverboy."
Victor shrugged. "I don't usually chase the same person twice. Feels creepy. But this?" He gestured vaguely at the temple. "This feels like a resolution kind of moment. Who knows. Might keep me alive."
He laughed, a little forced, but real.
Arin chuckled. "That's stupid."
Victor grinned. "Hey, whatever works."
Arin tilted his head thoughtfully. "Fine. Then, after we survive… how about we conquer all the human empires?"
Raul and Victor both stared at him.
Deadpan.
"…Tell me you're joking," Raul said.
"I am joking," Arin replied immediately. "Relax."
Victor snorted. "You sounded way too serious."
They laughed then. Quietly at first, then louder. It felt good. Normal. Almost like the world wasn't ending.
They prepared without ceremony.
Cracked leather armour was cinched close. Blades were tested, edges thumbed, grips adjusted. Small rituals each of them followed without thinking. Raul adjusted his grip, tested his footing. Victor rested his forehead against his shield for a moment, breathing slowly. Arin stood at the edge of the altar, eyes fixed on its jagged surface.
"Maelyn," Arin said. "How do we start?"
She brightened. "Oh! You're ready already?"
"Yes."
"Just step into the altar," she said lightly. "I'll handle the rest."
Victor exhaled. "Of course it's that simple."
Raul stepped forward. "I'm going first."
Victor frowned. "You don't have to—"
"I know," Raul said. "I want to."
Victor nodded. "Then I'm second."
Arin met their gazes. "Then I'm last then."
They stood there for a moment, facing one another.
"Remember," Arin said quietly. "Failure isn't an option. We all survive. We all get out of here. Alive."
Raul smirked faintly. "Yes, my lord."
Victor laughed. "Don't start."
One by one, they stepped onto the altar.
Maelyn moved, chalking sigils into the grooves of the stone. Her voice was low, measured. Each word settled into the altar like a key turning somewhere deep below.
The runes answered.
Light bled along the carvings, slow at first, then steady. The air above the altar warped, folding inward, until space itself thinned and tore. A vertical seam opened, dark at its center, rimmed with dull light. A doorway.
Raul went first. He didn't hesitate, just a nod, then a step forward. The moment he crossed the threshold, the portal swallowed him without a sound.
Victor followed. He paused only long enough to square his shoulders, then stepped onto the altar. The same pull, the same quiet erasure as he passed through.
Arin was last.
He felt the altar watching, not judging, not welcoming, simply acknowledging his presence. When he stepped forward, the pressure closed around him, and the world narrowed to a single point of dark.
Then he was gone.
The portal sealed itself with a soft collapse, light folding back into stone. The runes dimmed. The altar went inert.
Silence returned.
It spread through the temple, settled into the pillars, the dust, the air itself. No echo remained. No trace of movement.
The temple waited—
as it had for centuries,
and would again,
until another foot stepped onto the Temple.