owers of the dead gods. It emitted no sacred sounds or offered loud prayers. It wa
distanced her from the world she knew. There were no whispers or chants, only the scrape of
ng rock, black as the moonless night. The air was charged. Not just with heat or
hall, Asha froze. Not out of
ting, like ash that had settled into letters. Small braziers floated in the air, without rop
oved like shadows. They washed the corridors, polished the ob
re dangerous. The voice was a weapon. And
he Guardians. The voice was hoarse
d, saying
ou sp
wered her eyes and shook he
chuckled faintl
ute. Better
ey assigned her three tasks: to maintain the cleanliness of the Hall, rearrange the ritual po
lently
ected explanations from a mute. Her muteness was like an invisible veil that prot
ut also murmured. When she ran her hand over certain lines, they were activated: f
woman's voice calling her daughter's name. "Asha," she said. The s
was she being called fr
. Each cylinder contained bone dust and sealed memory. Some bore labels wit
tongue-passed her a cylinder and signaled: do not open it. Asha nodded.
. They communicated with movements, glances, and breathing. One of them taught her a hand
, supported by pillars carved with mouthless faces. There, the loose fragments were stored: w
ars to capture the floating essences that still sizzled like ghostly embers. Each fragment was s
se fragments stirred violently as she drew
piercing the mask. It entered through
hen s
thin. Not a person, but
k glass. His shadow multiplied. He didn't s
sten. Remember.
r body trembling. She knew that if she screamed, someone would co
away and returned to her cell. She d
details: symbols that only appeared in certain lights, noises only
ith three lines inside. It was the symbol of the Ancient Bond. The same on
ry," the old man said. A
new when the Keepers of High Fire arrived. She knew which slaves murmured forbidden names in their sl
ould restore the wor
had not been a coincidence. N
simply waiting for the exact moment
e had swa
d also ig
re, waited for h