The wind howled softly through the cracks of the ancient chapel, carrying with it a strange, metallic scent that clung to Lucian's senses. The book in his hands pulsed faintly, as though alive, its leather cover warm against his skin. The room around him, once cold and foreboding, now radiated an otherworldly warmth. Shadows danced on the crumbling walls, shaped by the steady, flickering glow of a solitary candle.
Lucian's breath came slow and deep as he took in the sight of the sigils beneath his feet. The faded carvings glimmered faintly in the shifting light, their shapes familiar and foreign all at once. He knelt beside one of them, fingertips tracing the ancient symbols that seemed to hum at his touch. The energy in the room responded, a subtle but undeniable force wrapping itself around his body like an invisible cloak.
Though doubt had once gnawed at his heart, Lucian now felt a strange sense of belonging. This place, forgotten by time, knew him in a way no living soul ever had. The forest beyond the chapel, no longer merely trees and earth, had begun to feel alive, as though each root and branch watched and waited. The night's stillness had changed too, not silent, but filled with murmurs just beyond understanding.
The book's pages shifted under his hand, as though moved by an unseen force. Lucian didn't flinch. Instead, a calm resolve anchored him to the moment.
He had crossed a line.
And there would be no turning back.