The pillar crashed with a thunderous echo, the sound echoed through the vast emptiness of the ruined temple.
A cloud of dust swirled under the faintest brush of moonlight that pierced from the crumbling ceiling.
One shard of the stone nicked close to Luke's neck. He grimaced and Kazmun's gaze slightly narrowed, his expressions darker. The air was heavy with the scent of old moss and something strangely suffocating.
"Should we really continue, Your Grace?" Luke grimly asked.
His nervous gaze flickered to the high walls and crumbling pillars. The temple seemed to hold its breath, a living entity waiting to crush them under its ancient weight.
Kazmun's lips curled into a thin, cold smile, "You can leave."
Luke grimaced and said nothing more.
But doubts also stirred inside Kazmun, a bitter taste on his tongue. What if they were chasing another phantom? What if they were too late to find what had been lost for centuries?
