Catherine and Ivarr decided to backtrack. As always, before moving ahead, Ivarr drained the lizard of whatever energy he could.

  When they reached the sealed door again, they noticed a shallow recess at its center, shaped to receive the shard they had just retrieved. However, the shard in Catherine’s hand was only a semicircle, while the recess was a full circle.

  That left them with only one option. They turned away from the door and headed for the left corridor.

  Much to their relief, this stretch of the temple was quiet. No skittering. No breathing in the dark. Just their footsteps, and the faint, constant sound of water somewhere behind the stone.

  The corridor led to a right turn, and after following it, the pair found themselves in another room, larger this time, and lined with statues. Catherine and Ivarr stepped inside. With no monsters around, Barrel followed them in, sniffing the air.

  They scanned the room for hidden doors, panels, and anything lurking in the corners, but found nothing. Catherine asked Ivarr to check his book for instructions. As expected, it said nothing. With a quiet sigh, Catherine lifted her wrist.

  “Thalia,” she murmured. “Any ideas?”

  “Do you see anything out of place?” the moody bracelet asked.

  Catherine and Ivarr said they’d looked everywhere. Every corner, wall, and ceiling. Even the statues. Nothing.

  “Have you checked the floor?” Thalia asked.

  Catherine and Ivarr exchanged a glance, then did. They knelt and examined the stone, and before long Catherine noticed six shapes carved into the floor: shallow recesses worn smooth with age. Looking closer, they realized the statues had differently shaped bases.

  “The statues go on the matching recesses,” Catherine said.

  “And the fact that I’m just a bracelet,” Thalia muttered.

  Ignoring her attitude, Catherine and Ivarr began moving the statues. Some were light enough to shift with a grunt and a shove. Others required them to brace their shoulders and push together, stone scraping against stone as they slid each one into place. Barrel, meanwhile, stood in one corner of the room, eyes fixed on the wall.

  The moment they set the final statue onto its matching recess, something clicked. A low rumble answered, and a portion of the wall at the far end of the room slid open. Inside, cradled in a shallow niche, rested another semicircular shard.

  Catherine grabbed it, then called for Barrel to follow.

  He didn’t. Instead, he turned and started barking at her.

  Ivarr followed, curious.

  Catherine tilted her head. She understood he was trying to call her. “What is it, boy?”

  Barrel barked again and began scraping at the wall he was staring at.

  Catherine approached and studied the section of stone. Then she noticed it. Worn down, but still visible.

  Patterns.

  She narrowed her eyes, trying to make out what they were, when Barrel began nudging at her bracelet.

  “I think he’s asking you to lift your hand and touch the wall,” Thalia said.

  “Is that what you’re trying to say?” Catherine asked Barrel.

  The dog barked once.

  Catherine lifted her hand and pressed her palm to the cold stone. The pattern glowed, then dimmed, and a section of the wall extended outward. It was a hollowed block, and inside was a chest.

  Catherine’s eyes lit. “Is this… a treasure chest?!”

  Barrel sat beside her, tail wagging.

  Ivarr was left stunned.

  Catherine opened it and found a golden necklace inside. Her hands drifted to it slowly as she lifted it up to eye level. Then her lips curved into a grin. She jumped in joy and threw her arms around Barrel.

  “How did you figure that out?!” she whispered fiercely.

  “He’s seen enough weirdness in this place that he can sniff it out,” Thalia muttered.

  Ivarr, standing beside them, smiled. “Glad you’re starting to collect your part of the deal.”

  Catherine smiled back at him. Then she stood, patted Barrel on the head, and they headed back out.

  They walked back to the sealed door, and Catherine placed the second shard into the recess, completing the circle. But the door did not open. Instead, the wall itself shifted. They stepped back as the stone began to rumble.

  With a slow grind, the stone in front of them parted, revealing a wide hall beyond.

  They stepped through carefully. The space was empty, eerily so. No monsters, only stale air and the faint echo of their boots. At the far end stood a lone door. Beside it, set into the wall, was a panel carved with six names and six symbols, arranged with deliberate symmetry.

  Ivarr stared at it for a moment, then frowned. “What is that?”

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  He stepped closer to inspect it. The panel held six symbols, and Ivarr, having spent years reading about them, knew exactly what they were. The symbols of the Six Primal Gods. Since this was Elyndra’s temple, he didn’t hesitate. He asked Catherine to place her palm over the one representing the goddess’s domain—ocean.

  Catherine did as he said, and the door finally opened.

  Before they stepped inside, Ivarr offered to replenish some of her energy first. He explained that he could share the life energy he had gathered, and that they had a better chance of surviving if Catherine’s ether was restored.

  She agreed.

  Still looking a little bashful, Ivarr asked if they could hold hands.

  Without a second thought, Catherine extended hers, and their hands clasped. Red motes of light began to seep from Ivarr’s skin, drifting like embers. They flowed toward Catherine, sliding up her arm in thin threads, sinking into her like heat returning to cold flesh.

  It only took a few minutes. When it was done, Catherine exhaled slowly, her chest lighter, her limbs less heavy. She could feel her ether partially restored.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  Ivarr nodded, avoiding her eyes. “Like I said,” he murmured, repeating his earlier point, “it increases our chances.”

  Catherine raised a hand, two fingers pointed down—Barrel’s signal.

  “Stay,” she whispered.

  Barrel obeyed at once, backing up behind the stone lip of the doorway. He lowered himself into a crouch, tail still, eyes fixed ahead. Somehow, he understood that bravery could become a mistake in a room like this.

  Catherine and Ivarr stepped through.

  The chamber opened wide, larger than the corridors behind them. At the far end stood an altar, and resting atop it was a chest. Even from this distance, it was unmistakable, lit by the strange silver glow it emanated.

  They had only taken a few careful steps forward when Catherine noticed a faint glow above.

  High in the cavern ceiling, an oval crystal hung like a suspended heart, embedded in the rock. The light was subtle at first, a cold blue shimmer, but as Catherine stared, more of the ceiling revealed itself. Vine-like tendrils ran through the stone in branching lines, webbing outward from the crystal, thick as roots and slick as living growth.

  Then the blue light began to pulse.

  It moved along the tendrils in steady surges, traveling toward the crystal in waves, as if the entire ceiling were feeding it. Each pulse made the glow deepen and brighten, until the air itself seemed to hum.

  Ivarr’s grip tightened on his axe. “That can’t be good.”

  The crystal began to crack. The sound was sharp and unnatural in the cavern’s silence. A spiderweb of fractures spreading across the oval surface. The pulses came faster. The cracks widened. For a heartbeat, the crystal held, trembling in its cradle of stone and vines.

  Then it burst.

  Shards exploded outward, glittering in the blue light. A rush of liquid poured down, thick and shimmering as it fell, splattering across the floor in a cold spray, and something dropped with it.

  The monster landed in front of them with a heavy impact, claws biting into stone. Water and glowing residue scattered around its feet. It rose slowly, unfolding to its full size, and the crackling blue light along its body lit the chamber like stormfire. Catherine froze for a single breath, polearm lifting by instinct.

  The creature was a massive storm-drake, built low and powerful like an oversized lizard, its ash-blue scales slick. Jagged plates and fin-like spines ran along its back and shoulders, some crusted and ridged like coral armor. Its head was narrow and predatory, framed by sharp frills, and a pair of bright, icy-blue eyes fixed on them. As it inhaled, the air around its jaws crackled faintly, and its long tail coiled behind it, poised to sweep the slick stone in a single brutal motion.

  It was the artefact’s guardian.

  Catherine didn’t wait for it to roar.

  The moment the storm-drake rose to its full height, she shifted her stance and lifted her polearm, the hammerhead angled forward. Ivarr stayed half a step behind her, axe ready, ring pulsing faintly against his finger. The creature’s eye locked onto them, bright and unblinking, and its tail slid across the wet stone with a slow, deliberate drag.

  Then it moved.

  The tail whipped low and fast, aimed for their shins, meant to take their legs out on the slick floor and turn the fight into panic. Catherine reacted on instinct. She planted the butt of her polearm and hopped back, but the stone betrayed her. Her boot skidded, and the tail clipped her calf hard enough to sting and numb.

  Ivarr yelped and jumped, barely clearing it. His landing was worse. His foot slid, and his shoulder slammed lightly into the wall. Not enough to injure him, but enough to rattle him, enough to remind them how thin their margin was.

  The drake didn’t give them time to reset. It lunged with its head low, jaws opening wider than they should have, teeth gleaming like broken glass. Catherine stepped in instead of away, forcing herself to stop retreating, and swung the four-pronged hammer into its snout.

  The impact rang through the chamber.

  The drake’s head snapped sideways, but it did not stagger. It answered immediately, snapping at the weapon again, trying to catch it and drag her close. Catherine twisted away just in time to evade it.

  Ivarr darted to the side to strike the creature’s flank. His axe scraped across its scales with a harsh screech, barely drawing anything more than a shallow line. The drake’s plates were dense, wet, and layered like armor built for war.

  Ivarr’s eyes widened. “That did nothing!”

  “Then don’t waste swings!” Catherine barked, keeping her polearm raised. “Use your ring!”

  Ivarr nodded, raised his palm, and fired ice at its foreleg. Frost crawled across the joint, whitening the scales and stiffening the limb. The drake’s stride faltered for half a heartbeat, and Catherine lunged, driving the rear beak down into the softened seam near its shoulder.

  The beak caught between plates. A small burst of dark blood welled. The drake hissed, a low vibration that made the air feel charged. Its back spines flared a fraction, and blue light pulsed along them like a warning. Catherine felt the hairs on her arms rise.

  “Don’t touch it,” Thalia muttered from her wrist, voice tight. “It’s—”

  Too late.

  Catherine’s next strike brought the hammerhead down on the drake’s shoulder plate, and the moment metal met scale, a thin arc of electricity snapped outward. It wasn’t a clean bolt, just a sharp lash that crawled along the weapon and bit into Catherine’s hands.

  Pain flashed up her forearms. Her grip loosened involuntarily.

  She stumbled back, teeth clenched, shaking feeling into her fingers. The drake seized the opening. It surged forward, shoving, using its mass like a battering ram. Catherine threw her weight into her polearm to brace, but the wet floor stole traction. She slid, boots screeching, and the drake’s jaws snapped inches from her torso before she twisted away.

  Ivarr rushed in from the side, swinging his axe at its ribs again, trying to pull its attention away from her. The blow landed with a dull thud, and the drake barely acknowledged it. It flicked its tail again, not the full sweep this time, just a tight, fast whip meant to punish him for coming close.

  The tail struck Ivarr’s thigh and sent him stumbling. He caught himself before he fell, but his face paled, breath hitching.

  Catherine forced herself upright, shoulders tight with anger and pain. She lifted her polearm again, but this time she kept her distance, using the length of it to probe rather than commit, short strikes, quick pulls, no lingering contact.

  The drake watched her adjust. It didn’t charge wildly. It circled, claws scraping stone, head lowering and rising, measuring her reach. Blue light pulsed faintly along its spines again.

  Ivarr’s breathing steadied, but he didn’t look excited anymore. He flexed his fingers around his axe, then glanced at Catherine, voice low. “We can’t trade hits with it.”

  Catherine’s eyes stayed on the creature’s glowing eye. “No,” she said, voice flat with focus. “We can’t get sloppy, either.”

  The storm-drake stepped forward, tail coiling, and Catherine shifted to meet it, careful now, aware of every slick patch of stone, every shallow ripple of water.

  They had survived the first rush. Now they had to figure out how to hurt it without letting it turn their own weapons against them.