Chapter: Nefaria, 20th of Kaelos, 542 ER (Continuation)

  Janeth stepped cautiously into the temple, the lingering silence pressing around her like a shroud. No danger made itself known — no traps, no spirits, no hidden blades — so she allowed herself to relax just enough to move forward.

  The sanctum opened before her like a dream. She took it in slowly, wandering the edge, her fingers trailing along the carved pillars and stonework as if touching memory itself. Two rows of pews ran down the center — darkwood, polished to a deep gleam, with carvings so fine she paused to admire the work. Whoever carved them had a steady hand and years of skill.

  She walked beside the first row, boots clicking softly against the stone floor. Halfway down, she stopped, sat briefly, then crossed the aisle and continued toward the far side. Her steps echoed faintly. The whole temple felt frozen in time.

  The tiles beneath her feet shimmered — polished silver, or something like it — reflecting her outline like water. She moved slowly, letting her gaze wander. The ceiling above was a simple arch of stone, unadorned. She noticed that only because there wasn’t much else above — and because her eye was trained to catch the odd thing out.

  Something tugged her attention to the wall. A recess, barely noticeable at first. She adjusted her path, drawing near the dark niche. A doorway? No, just a hollow — black, still, waiting.

  She rummaged through her satchel, pulling out a rough old torch. It took a few strikes against the stone, but eventually, flame caught. Shadows jumped, then steadied. The space lit up in a soft orange glow — walls painted in a dark, unsettling hue. At the far end, resting on a low platform, lay a figure: crimson skin, curled black tail, a demoness carved or sculpted — no, she was real. Alive? She didn’t move.

  The sight unnerved her, though she wouldn’t admit it aloud. With a long breath, Janeth stepped back, torch still raised, and returned to the open chamber.

  Her steps quickened as she passed the pews again, making her way toward the far dais. Four stone steps led up to it. Two grand seats sat at the top — regal, commanding — flanked by three smaller ones. A throne room, maybe? Or a council chamber.

  She was about to climb when something whistled through the air — fast, sharp, deadly. Instinct screamed. She threw herself into a somersault, landing low and sideways just in time to avoid the massive spear that embedded itself into the stairway where she’d just been standing. The impact cracked the stone. She cursed under her breath.

  Then paused.

  The spear... it was a beautiful thing. The shaft was red, like bloodied steel, and the black iron tip gleamed. It was as much art as weapon. She couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship, even as her pulse still pounded from nearly being skewered.

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  A soft rattle of chains.

  Janeth turned — and spotted her.

  A girl, not more than eighteen, stood at the far end of the hall. Pale gown, white veil edged in silver, delicate and priestlike — but that spear belonged to her. And she wasn’t finished.

  She retrieved it easily, the long black chain attached to the base dragging lightly across the stone floor. Janeth’s eyes narrowed. The girl was slight — but she handled the spear like she was born with it in her hands. The way she spun it, fluid and precise, left no doubt.

  This wasn’t just ceremony. She knew how to kill.

  Without a word, the girl launched the spear again, chain unfurling like a serpent. Janeth dodged — barely — flipping backward as the weapon slammed into the floor behind her.

  She didn’t wait. During the flip, she’d already drawn two daggers, hiding them between her legs, blades downward, ready. As her feet hit the ground, she flung both.

  Caught off guard, the spear-maiden couldn’t react in time.

  One dagger clipped the veil, slicing the cord. The delicate cloth fluttered to the ground, revealing a young, sharp-featured face — now twisted in pain as the second dagger scored a bloody line across her cheek.

  The girl snarled. With surprising fury, she whipped the chain, yanking the spear back toward Janeth. No graceful spin this time — just raw aggression. Janeth saw it coming and grinned.

  She sidestepped, then launched into a tight flip, springing off the spear itself and hurling another dagger the moment she landed.

  The girl — Alisha, she’d later learn — reacted fast. Too fast. She dropped her main weapon, reached behind her back, and drew another, smaller spear. Janeth blinked. A second weapon? In that gown?

  The smaller spear struck Janeth’s thrown dagger midair, deflecting it with a metallic clang. Janeth’s eyes widened. She hadn’t expected that.

  They locked eyes. Alisha hurled the smaller spear.

  Janeth jumped sideways, landing atop a pew like a cat. The spear flew past, hitting stone. Janeth leapt again, using the height to gain momentum, and crashed down with a closed fist — straight into the girl’s injured cheek.

  Alisha reeled, the earlier cut now gushing, skin swelling fast. She stumbled, losing her grip on the chain. Janeth saw her reach up, fumbling for a pendant around her neck.

  A trigger? An alarm?

  Not today.

  Janeth lunged forward, grabbing the girl by the waist and hurling her over one shoulder in a clean slung — the kind only practiced fighters could manage. The girl hit the floor hard and didn’t rise.

  Panting, Janeth backed away, keeping her eyes on the unconscious form. Her right hand throbbed — dislocated again. Damn.

  She flexed it, testing the shoulder’s range. Still out of place, but not as painful as it should’ve been. Maybe adrenaline was dulling it.

  With a soft grunt, she let her arm hang, blowing out a shaky breath. The torch flickered beside her. For now, the silence returned.

  She bent down, scooped up a small medic coffer that had rolled free in the scuffle, stuffed it into her satchel, and buckled the flap. Locked it. Slid the key into her pocket. Every movement a bit slower now. The pain was catching up.

  She straightened — barely — and turned back toward the temple. Then paused.

  The war hammer.

  It sat near the steps, dented slightly. Her old companion.

  She stared at it for a long moment. Her fingers itched to retrieve it, but her arm wouldn’t let her. Even if it could, she knew — that chapter was closed.

  With a soft sigh, she gave the hammer a nod. A silent goodbye.

  Then she turned again and walked deeper into the temple, footsteps soft against ancient stone. Every carved archway, every relic on display, whispered old secrets. Dust clung to everything, but still, the place hummed with unseen power.

  Janeth moved slowly, eyes scanning every shadow, every groove in the wall, every faint shimmer of magic. She wasn’t done yet — not by a long shot.