The chamber does not feel hostile.
It feels burdened.
That difference becomes clear the longer I stand at the central nexus and allow my breathing to slow, because the distortion beneath the platform does not press upward in blind aggression but in restrained force that has been contained for so long that its presence has warped the stone around it.
Axel and Atticus remain several paces behind me while Simon and two red bloodline wolves guard the tunnel entrance, and Layla stands steady within me, not recoiling and not bristling, but listening.
The carvings along the circular wall catch my attention first, because they are older than the temple reliefs above ground and far older than the version of history we were taught, and when I run my fingers along the etched stone I feel not chao
