She woke up feeling… better. Not whole lot better, not even safe, but rested. And in this place, that felt like a miracle to her.
The strange thing was, she did not meant to sleep. One moment she was sitting, knife in hand, pressed against the wall. The next, her eyes were opening to silence and the soft glow of her pouch faintly lighting the cavern around her.
There were no dreams, no sounds, nor fear. There were just stillness. And in that stillness, something inside her shifted. Not bravery, she wouldn't call it that. Maybe numbness... or acceptance.
So she stood. She checked her marks. She ate a few softened roots she'd cleaned days ago. And then she walked. Back to the arch she walked.
It looked no less ominous now. Its curved form was wide enough to crawl through hunched, the stone smooth from time or weather or hands. She honesty didn't care. The air beyond it held the same invisible pressure, like a held breath waiting to be released.
She touched the edge, fingers brushing the cold stone. There were response. No shadow that's reaching for her. No whispering voice. No beast waiting in the dark. So she stepped through.
The cavern opened wider beyond the arch than she'd expected. Beyond it was not a tunnel, but a vast hollow space, its walls dappled with tiny pinpoints of glowing fungus. The ceiling arched high above, lost in darkness. She could see the edge of a ridge to the right side and to the left was what might be carved steps as it is too uniform to be natural.
This. This wasn’t just a cavern. Someone had been here before. Possibly long before her.
She moved slowly, hugging the wall, every step careful. The shadows still unnerved her, but for once they didn’t feel malicious. She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.
There was a path here. A path outside or a path towards the other side. Who knows.
---
First, she followed the ridge.
It sloped slightly downward. The slope was subtle she might not have noticed if not for the way her steps began to pull at her knees and ankles. The further she went, the more her gut twisted. Goinn down felt wrong.
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She stopped and stared into the deepening shadows ahead. Her breath caught as she imagined them shifting and moving. No. Not that way.
She backtracked carefully, her ears tuned to every drip and shuffle of stone. When she returned to the place where the carved steps began, she felt an odd relief.
The steps weren’t natural. That much was clear. Yet they weren’t precisely made, either. Worn into the stone through repetition were footprints, many of them, over time. Some depressions in the stone bore the subtle imprint of human feet, sunken just slightly.
Whatever this place once was, someone had passed here before. Many times. The steps led upward.
She hesitated, but only briefly. Up was better than down. Up might lead her out. Her hand brushed the edge of the wall as she ascended, keeping close to the cold stone. Her other hand gripped the small glowing pouch tucked tight against her chest.
Each step whispered beneath her soles. Her breath slowed. Her heart steadied. At the top, the air changed.
Not fresher, but… different. Less stale, less damp. She reached the final step and looked up... and there it was.
Another arch. Not unlike the last. Natural, yes, but something about its shape made her hesitate. It felt… intentional. Like a threshold.
Thalia stood there for a long moment, her breath shallow. Then her fingers closed tighter around the pouch. The light was faint, but warm against her palm.
She stepped forward. And entered.
---
The moment she passed through the arch, the air shifted again. It was now cooler yet still. And carrying a faint, earthy scent—moss, damp stone, and something sweeter. It's not rot nor mold. The scent is almost floral, like an old garden left to grow wild in the dark.
The tunnel beyond the arch was narrower than the last, its walls closer, the ceiling lower. Her footsteps echoed differently here. It was muted, softer, as if the stone itself tried to swallow the sound.
She walked slowly, alert to any changes. Her fingers brushed the wall beside her as she moved, grounding herself with each step. Then the tunnel opened.
Not into another vast hollow space but into a smaller, stranger space. A domed chamber, maybe ten feet wide, with walls glimmering faintly with more of the bioluminescent fungus. Not the penicillin kind but a thinner, paler, like drifting threads on the wall kind. At the chamber’s center sat a low stone structure, almost like an altar, though time had worn away any carvings.
There were no bones around nor tools. Only silence, and the strange peacefulness of the room.
Thalia stood at a threshold. She had seen too many strange places in these past few days. Too much death. Too many shadows. But this place… This place felt different.
Her legs, still tired from the climb, moved without her full permission. She approached the altar, looked at it... and touched it.
It was warm. Not warm, exactly. But not as cold as the stone should be.
She closed her eyes, hand resting on its surface, and for a moment, just a flicker, her thoughts grew still. There were no more hunger. No fear. Nor running. Just… rest.
She opened her eyes again and pulled her hand away, slowly. She wasn’t sure what this place was. A sanctuary? A grave? A memorial?
But it was the first place since the surface that didn’t feel like it wanted her gone. So she sat. Just for a little while.
Info Dump #13:
- The temple is a powerful holy organization that spans 3 states. It has been that way for a century.