The walls trembled with a quiet inevitability I had just come to know. The story wasn't just a story, but a sealed truth awaiting those with greedy hearts.
Shadows circled around where no light could reach, and the air carried whispers that no one else could hear.
Long before the first footsteps traced the seemingly abandoned ruins, the story had begun again. We hadn't stumbled upon it, it summoned us– knowing the temptation was too great to resist.
Figures traced patterns in dust centuries old. Symbols forgotten, yet alive, shifted beneath unseen hands. The earth itself remembered what was and what is to be. A quiet hunger that begs to be satiated. A sacrifice, needed to absolve the world of its payment past due.
Those who would stumble upon it would think it an accident– a ruin, a relic, a myth reborn. They would not know they were walking the story as it unfolded, step by step, once again.
The scroll waited, fragile and unassuming, its words anticipating to be read. And the story waited with it.
In fact, It was already happening.