Sunder, pt. 3
Sunder
Under cover of the approaching storm, two cloaked figures slipped past the weary Kirassi city-watch, silent as the fog that clung to the waterways. The grand expanse of the Keshari Temple loomed before them, its massive painted stone walls bearing the weight of centuries. To the untrained eye, it might appear as any other temple or ceremonial hall, but the two figures knew its secrets well enough.
Their footfalls echoed faintly, swallowed by the yawning silence that filled the cavernous space. Though they made careful measure of their surroundings, their hearts beat in time with the relentless, unspoken dread between them- each breath weighed, each movement deliberate.
The first figure, taller and broader in the shoulders, finally broke the silence with a voice as sharp as broken glass.
"Sir, the-"
"Yes, I know," came the immediate reply, tense and clipped, as if any more words might crack under their own weight.
"But we-"
"I said I KNOW..." The second figure’s tone cut the air like a dagger, soft but unmistakably edged. His gloved hand tightened on the hilt of the blade hidden beneath his cloak, the leather creaking under the pressure. He stood rigid, a coiled tension in his stance, the dim light catching the gleam of his eyes beneath his hood.
"There’s no time to debate this," he continued, barely above a whisper. "They’ve already made their move." His words carried the chill of inevitability, as though the events set in motion could no longer be stopped, only survived.
A brief silence lingered between them, thick and heavy as the night air outside. The distant howl of the wind rattled against the ancient walls, sending a tremor through the building, as though even the stone itself quivered in response.
The first figure hesitated, his breath shallow. He dropped his voice further, so low it was almost swallowed by the dark. "Do you think... do you think they know we're here?"
A soft, humorless chuckle escaped the second man, colder than the night itself. "If they did," he said, voice laced with bitter certainty, "we’d be dead already."
The words hung between them, but neither flinched.
With a final glance at the darkened corridors ahead, the two pressed forward, disappearing deeper into the bowels of the temple, each step drawing them further into the labyrinthine depths. The murals on the walls seemed to watch them, the painted eyes of forgotten heroes and spirits trailing their passage like silent sentinels. Somewhere in the distance, a faint sound - a drip, or perhaps a footfall - echoed, but neither man paused.
They moved with purpose, but the building's ancient corridors, so familiar and yet so treacherous, seemed to twist and turn on them, as though the structure itself sought to slow their progress. Every corner they turned led them further from the pale light of the outside world, further into a place of shadows and secrets.
At last, they reached a doorway, its edges worn and cracked with age, but the symbols etched into the stone remained intact - a reminder of some old power. The second figure’s hand hovered over the door's surface, hesitating just a moment before tracing the lines of the carvings with practiced familiarity. His companion watched in silence, the tension in his frame still unbroken, waiting for the final barrier to fall.
"Do you think it will work?" the first man whispered, though he already knew the answer. His hand hovered near the blade at his side, ready for whatever came next.
The second figure exhaled, a sound of resignation, and then pressed his palm against the door. "It has to."