Immediately Rowan could feel that this version of the shrine was different than the one where Wren went to torture himself.
On the surface, everything was identical, from the drab stone of the walls and bare altar to the forgotten candle on the floor in the corner. The same grey drizzle fell outside, and the same damp chill filled the air.
But the poison from the creature Wren had destroyed and pain of the memories that wove through the fabric of his private illusion space were absent here. This was merely a replica of that place, one that was less personal, yet no less oppressive in its emptiness and neglect.
Wren had cast his illusion around them so Yamm stood alone in the center of the room, while Rowan stood almost flush against Wren's side.
He was certain the god could have resisted being brought here if he really wanted to, but Yamm wore an uncharacteristic air of patience as his son's magic settled around them.
