The Silent Temple

It took at least four hours of relentless walking before Elara found herself at the edge of a steep canyon. On the other side, dug into the very brown stone of the canyon’s wall, was what Elara recognized as the temple of Lumis. It was just like the old drawings depicted. Only a lot more washed down and tattered. The light was still flickering, it came from one of the windows of the octagonal tower, the tallest tower of the temple.

There must be a mirror on the opposite wall from the windows, Elara thought, and the light I see is the reflection of the light beating against mirror.

The light disappeared again for almost a minute before reappearing again.

Someone is moving in the room, she was now certain of it, The light disappears every time they pass in front of the mirror.

Elara wasn’t sure how to take this information. It should be good, it meant people were still alive. How they could survive the harsh desert without any at the Castrum knowing about them was a question for another moment.

But there was no other movement. The whole temple stood utterly still. Still and deadly silent. And that could not be good. Even the smallest temple had some novice going up and down the stone yard, collecting firewood, busy on their daily chores. Moreover, at that time of day, the prior should not be in her room. She should be in the temple praying, teaching, or reading to the foundlings, or doing anything but resting in her quarters.

Maybe they just do things differently here, she considered, Or maybe the prior went up momentarily to search for something.

Maybe, she murmured to herself, by no means convinced. The Prior would not have left her important duties on the mere need of something, not when there were tenths of novices she could order around to perform those trivial tasks for her. But that wasn’t the real reason for the increase sense of anxiety she was feeling. She stared at the light. So intensely that her eyes started to ache. She looked and looked. Something was not right. She could sense it, but she could not name it. There was something in the erratic way the light was flicking that made her uneasy. An eagerness, a crassness that no Prior should — or even could — have.

She pointed the staff down and with a circle movement created a semi-transparent platform of amber sparks that she jumped over and then slowly lowered herself inside the canyon.

She whispered a mournful chant and a gust of wind rose from the dusty road, not too wild but strong enough to keep the dirt up in the air and therefore conceal the Cleric’s approaching. Elara's heart sank as she drew nearer — She had expected the sight of the grand wooden doors standing tall and firm, a symbol of strength for those who sought the Light of Dalida. Instead, they hung crooked, one door broken from its hinges, the other barely held in place. A shiver ran down her spine as she crossed the threshold, her staff pointed forward at the ready. She could already smell the sour residue of the dark magic used to blast the door.

«Sorcerers», a hiss of hate slithered through her pointy teeth as she slid through the threshold with caution.

The air inside was thick with the stench of death.

She moved cautiously, each step echoing off the stone walls. The main hall stretched before her, its sandstone floors now stained with blood. Elara's breath caught in her throat as her eyes fell upon the bodies of her comrades. They lay scattered, twisted in unnatural positions, their robes torn and their weapons discarded. The sight was overwhelming—clerics and warriors alike, once so full of life, now motionless and cold.

Elara knelt beside the first body she saw. It was Brother Cedric, his youthful face now pale and ashen. She closed her eyes and whispered a prayer, her voice trembling:

«Dalida may guide you to Her Light, my brother». She placed a hand on his chest, feeling the faint remnants of warmth leave his body.

Rising, she pressed on. The corridors that once bustled with life were now eerily quiet, save for the occasional creak of wood or distant flutter of something unseen. The silence was oppressive, almost unbearable, and her mind raced as she passed more fallen clerics. What had happened here? The message the new Prior received spoke of an attack, but she didn’t imagine such devastation.

Her footsteps brought her to the Grand Chapel, a perfect copy of the one at the Castrum where she had often prayed alongside her fellow warriors. Except that the temple’s chapel was in ruins. Statues of Dalida were toppled, the altars desecrated with dark symbols she barely recognized.

This devastation is old, she considered, Maybe even from the time the Temple first fell to ruin.

Yet her hand still clenched around the staff, her thin lips contracted in a wince of both pain and outrage.

She spotted a familiar figure crumpled near the front of the chapel:

«Sister Galen», she whispered, rushing to her side. The seasoned warrior, a girl she had trained for years, lay still, her armor dented and broken, her sword fallen from his grasp. Elara knelt beside the fallen warrior, her hand shaking as she touched her arm. Her face was frozen in a grimace, her final moments clearly spent in battle.

Elara's throat tightened:

I have failed you, a lonely tear slowly tracing its way through Elara’s bloodless cheek.

She knelt down near each body, checking them in the vain hope of finding someone alive, knowing too well she arrived too late. If I only took my task more seriously, if I only didn’t wonder too much in the desert, too concerned about the new Prior, if only..

She took the time to whisper a prayer for their souls but there was no time to mourn, not yet. There would be a time where she’d face her mistake in judgement, a time when she’d have to admit that the new Prior had been right in sending Elara in search of the missing scouts instead of some random rescue team. There’d be a proper time for sober and humbling reflection.

But that time is not now, she shushed herself, Now is for action. Focus!

So she stood, her gaze sweeping the room, a vain attempt to gain any clue. But, apart from the corpses scattered on the ground, everything was still and silent as the day the temple was abandoned more than two millennia before.

Her attention shifted to the spiral staircase at the far end of the hall. The prior’s tower loomed above, and Elara’s heart sank with the realization. Those erratic movements in the Tower, she finally realized what was so off putting. They weren’t simply erratic, they were careless, messy, disorganized. Sorcerer-like. Sorcerers attacked the temple, but they didn’t leave yet. Sorcerers were still there, in the tower, rummaging through Cleric’s stuff, looking for something. And there was only one thing they could be wanting from a Cleric Temple. And only one Sorcerer that had the ability to follow an entire scout team unnoticed.

Could it really be found? That at least would explain why the new Prior sent her in search of the missing scouts. Why not telling me, though?

A faint noise echoed down from the tower — movement, faint but unmistakable. Someone was indeed still there.

Elara’s body tensed as she made her way to the staircase.

Her hand tightened around the wood of her staff as she ascended the narrow, spiraling steps. The air grew colder as she reached the top, the heavy wooden door to the prior's chamber hanging ajar, broken like the others. The faint light of dusk filtered through the shattered windows, casting long shadows across the room.

Elara pushed the door open further, her senses on high alert. The chamber was in disarray, parchments strewn across the floor, shelves toppled over. The scent of ancient incense mingled with the acrid smell of blood. And in the center of the room, where the prior’s desk had once stood, a large section of the floor had been ripped apart, revealing the barren base below. Not even the wooden panels on the walls had been spared, and holes of different shapes and sizes showed the naked stones and dirt of the canyon. A shiver ran through Elara’s spine:

Did they find what they were looking for?

She took a cautious step forward, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the room. It was then that she heard it—the faint sound of metal scraping against stone. Her gaze snapped toward the far corner, where a figure knelt, his back to her, rifling through the remaining debris.

Elara’s heart skipped a beat as she recognized the insignia on his cloak. It was unmistakable — a golden sun on a blood red cloak — the dark emblem of Malachar. She bit back the urge to charge forward. Instead, she took a slow breath, her voice cold and clear as she spoke:

«Step away from there, coward, dog of Malachar»

The man froze.