The air within the *Temple of Whispers* was thick with the weight of ancient promises, broken by time yet somehow alive, weaving through the very stone of the temple walls. Shadows moved in ways that defied the flickering torchlight, almost as if they held secrets they dared not reveal.
Amara stood at the threshold, her breath catching in her throat as she stared into the darkened corridor ahead. Behind her, the warriors of her retinue stood tense, their hands gripping their weapons, but none dared step forward. Not yet.
"This place... it feels like it's alive," Joran muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning the seemingly empty hall for any sign of danger. His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, the steel catching the dull light. "What kind of temple is this, truly?"
