Ignoring the thrumming allure,
Faramos tightened his grip on his staff and took a steadying breath. There was no trust in his heart for any dark altar, nor for beings—or magic—that hungered for blood. So, he crouched low, extending his staff until its tip brushed against one of the broad lotus petals. Slowly, he tugged it closer, the flower drifting across the water’s surface toward him in eerie silence.
When the lotus reached the edge of the pool, he carefully pulled his knife from his belt, positioning it against the stem just below the blossom. With one quick motion, he severed the stem and lifted the lotus free of the water, letting it rest on the cool stone beside him.
But just as he got the flower, a soft splash echoed through the chamber, followed by a quiet ripple across the pool’s surface.
Nindia had stepped into the water, her movements bold. She moved steadily toward the altar, dagger in hand. Without hesitation, she raised her hand and pressed the blade lightly to her finger. A sharp prick, and two beads of blood welled up before dripping into the dark liquid within the ceremonial bowl.
The moment her blood touched the viscous substance, the pool trembled, sending ripples like an earthquake. The air in the chamber thickened, pulsing with a faint, ominous energy. The statue seemed to shift, its lidless eyes glinting with a strange vitality, as though the spirit trapped within it had awoken to savor her offering.
Faramos cursed under his breath, torn between wanting to grab Nindia and haul her back and not wanting to risk touching the water himself. But his decision was made for him—the liquid in the bowl began to swirl, as if stirred by an invisible hand. The dark purple vapor curling from its surface intensified, filling the room with the heady, ancient smell of moss and decay.
The voice in both their minds grew louder, no longer a whisper but a command:
"
Blood is given, life is the price. Take the power, embrace the darkness, Nindia."
Nindia’s hand trembled slightly as the vapors coiled around her fingers, seeping into her skin with a faint, tingling warmth. A strange energy pulsed through her veins, cold and exhilarating all at once, as if the essence of the forbidden place was now part of her. Her vision blurred, then sharpened, her senses heightened and alive to every detail around her. The statue’s eyes seemed to follow her, and for a fleeting moment, she felt something like kinship with the grotesque figure—a strange connection to this ancient power.
Faramos, however, remained silent, watching with a wary eye, his fingers brushing against his staff instinctively. He gritted his teeth, set his jaw and shook his head. There was no wisdom in bargaining with forces that demanded blood.
Finally, Nindia's fingers tingled from the strange energy the statue had left in her, the faint warmth lingering beneath her skin, but for now, that was all. Whatever change she’d invited with her blood offering remained dormant, a distant hum in her veins, neither welcome nor fully understood.
