Chapter 25: The Cult
The temple breathed dust and bones. Its ancient stone walls, once adorned with stained glass of sun and fertility, were now covered with soot-stained tapestries, hand-painted with the symbol of the new dogma: a flaming eye, bound by fractured chains.
There were no windows.
Only still air, black candles burning bone oil, and the constant presence of what they called "the Truth."
In the central crypt—a runic circle of corroded bronze and dried blood—twelve figures knelt. Paladins in light armor, hooded, their faces obscured by the shadow of torches.
In the center, on a cracked marble pedestal, rested an opaque glass sphere, surrounded by golden chains and ancient inscriptions forcibly erased. The artifact trembled, almost imperceptibly.
One of the paladins stepped forward. His voice was low, but the echoes of the deformed columns multiplied each word as if they were profaned prayers:
"The name was confirmed in three distinct testimonies. A woman, a hunter, and a town scribe. They all spoke of the same face. The same gaze."
Another paladin added:
"They said he defeated Vildren effortlessly. That he brought beasts with him... and did not speak to them. Just... controlled."
Silence.
The sphere vibrated again. Slightly, but enough for the chains to clink softly.
The great double door, once sealed with mortar and forgotten crests, opened with a deep groan.