Back in the chamber, the light of the crystal dimmed slowly, painting the walls in soft amber hues. The silence was thick, almost sacred. Every heartbeat of the room seemed magnified, echoing against the stone. Meera’s fingers lingered on the crystal, as if she could hold onto the last pulse of its memory. Aarav stood a step behind her, his jaw tight, eyes fixed on the monk who had been silent for too long.

The monk stepped forward. His robe, simple and worn, brushed the stone floor with a faint whisper. His face lined with age was now painted with sorrow and centuries of regret. The air felt heavy as he raised his gaze to meet theirs.