[ POV Change ]
As I walked down the dimly lit hallway of Master Viracocha's temple, the sound of our footsteps echoed softly against the worn stone walls. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and the weight of centuries. Beside me, Nayara's white hair flowed gracefully behind her, contrasting against her dark attire as she carried one of the giant glass gourds filled with the mysterious blood-red liquid.
The dust and cobwebs that clung to every corner and the subtle creaking of the temple's wooden supports made me wonder aloud, "Doesn't anyone take care of this place?"
Nayara glanced at me, her eyes reflecting the flickering light from the torches lining the walls.
"Master Viracocha's home has long been abandoned by him, he prefers to cultivate alone in nature," she replied, her voice a soft whisper, as if speaking too loudly would disturb the spirits that lingered in the shadows.
