Each rune shimmered with different hues, crimson for fire, obsidian for death, deep azure for time, emerald for nature, and silver for space. They drifted lazily like celestial bodies orbiting a divine sun, humming with energy so dense Damien could feel it vibrate in his bones.
To the sides of the hall, the marble floor gave way to smooth black stone inscribed with flowing lines of ancient script. The inscriptions glowed faintly beneath their feet, guiding them without words.
Above, there was no roof, only a swirling dome of stars, as if the entire structure floated somewhere between realms. A sky of eternity stretched above them, silent and watching.
Before the altar, arranged in perfect rows, were 97 cushions.
No more, no less.
Each one was equidistant from the other, a clear reminder that no matter how many allies stood with you outside, the comprehension of the Dao was a solitary path.
