HOOR

CHAPTER 18: GAYATRI

The path to the temple was a narrow stone staircase, half-covered in moss, winding up the steep hill. I could hear the faint sound of chanting, the air thick with incense as we ascended. It was clear that someone had been here recently, but there were no signs of life as we reached the top. The temple loomed ahead, hidden in the shadows of the trees, its stone walls weathered and worn with age.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched, though I saw no one. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise, the pulse in my throat quicken. There was something in the air—a strange energy, something almost alive, as though the stones themselves were whispering.

I glanced at the General. His face, usually so composed, was tense now. His eyes were alert, scanning the temple and the surrounding area. He had not said much since we began the climb, and I knew he, too, could sense the weight of it all. Whatever we were walking into, it was more than just the mystery of the prophecy. It was something darker, something deeper.

As we reached the top, we found the entrance to the temple—a pair of massive wooden doors, intricately carved with symbols I didn’t recognize. The door was slightly ajar, as though it had been waiting for us.

I hesitated, glancing back at the General, my throat tight with unspoken questions. He gave a curt nod, the unspoken command clear in his eyes. He was waiting for me to lead, but the thought of stepping into that dark, quiet place made me feel as though I was walking into a trap.

We stepped through the door.

The inside of the temple was dim, the air thick with the smell of incense. The walls were lined with ancient carvings, and the flickering light from the torches barely illuminated the vast space. The room was empty, save for a stone altar at the far end, where faint traces of blood stained the surface.

I swallowed hard, stepping forward, but the General’s hand on my arm stopped me.

“Wait,” he murmured, his voice low. His touch was firm, yet there was a softness in the way his fingers brushed against my skin, an unexpected tenderness that sent a shiver down my spine.

I looked up at him, his face barely visible in the low light, but I could see the intensity in his eyes. “What is it?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper, as though speaking any louder would disturb the air itself.

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze shifting between the altar and the shadows that clung to the far corners of the room. His hand remained on my arm, not pulling me back, but holding me there, as though giving me a moment to breathe, to prepare.

For a second, I didn’t know what to say. I was suddenly aware of how close we were—too close. The air between us felt charged, like the distance between us was shrinking with each passing second.

“We’re not alone,” he finally said, his voice strained.

I glanced around, my heart racing. But there was nothing there. No movement, no sound. Only the deep shadows that seemed to stretch forever.

I exhaled slowly, trying to steady myself. “Are you sure?” I asked, though the question sounded hollow even to me. I knew he had a sixth sense about these things.

He didn’t respond, just nodded toward the altar. There, nestled in the corner, was a small object—a golden pendant, half-buried in the dust.

I stared at it, feeling something stir within me. The pendant was unmistakable—its intricate design, the way it seemed to pulse with energy. I had seen it before. In the prophecy.

It was the same pendant that had been mentioned in the old priest’s curse.

“This is it,” I murmured, taking a step closer to the altar.