The air around the altar was suffocating. Even standing several paces away, I could feel the oppressive weight of its presence pressing down on my chest, thick and palpable. The obsidian stone, carved with strange glowing runes, pulsed faintly, sending ripples of dark energy through the ground. There was something deeply wrong about this place.
Anastasia knelt beside the base of the altar, her sharp eyes scanning the intricate symbols carved into its surface. She traced her fingers lightly over the etchings, her brows furrowing as she deciphered the ancient language. Her calm demeanor never wavered, but I could see the tension in her shoulders.
She is a foreign variable.
A person that I didn't know of, but somehow despite of her eccentricity, I could find myself to trust her.
And if there is a word that could describe her, especially those eyes.
It would be 'Intelligent'.
