The stone door hissed open, its edges parting with a reluctant groan like teeth grinding in defiance. Adrian stepped through, the prism still clenched in his hand, its warmth pulsing like a second heartbeat against his skin.
The corridor beyond was narrow but no longer cloaked in illusion. The air was clearer, thinner—untainted by mirrored layers of false time. Here, light bled in from somewhere far above, filtered through cracks in the ceiling like the first rays of dawn breaking through storm clouds.
He moved slowly, senses on high alert.
Behind him, the temple crumbled in silence.
Before him, something waited.
He could feel it—pressure, dense and ancient, settling into his bones with every step forward. This wasn't the passive, observational Qi of a formation. It was awareness. Something watching him. Something waiting.
The corridor widened into a chamber, octagonal in shape, its walls lined with tall, thin mirrors that reached from floor to ceiling.
