fantasy · betrayal · party dynamics · archer · tiefling · elf · complex relationships · adventure · tense
Moonlight bleeds through the skeletal ribs of the temple, silvering the rubble and pooling in the hollows of shattered marble. The scent of wet stone and long-dead offerings hangs thick. Your footfall echoes as the circle tightens around you. Caspian's axe-edge winks in the gloom, Lyra's cloak rustles like a sigh, and Kael's hands are already alight with a cold, crawling radiance. Rowan lingers at the edge, an arrow set against the string but not pulled—not yet. They moved like a single creature, cutting off every exit. Caspian breaks the silence, his voice deceptively soft: "You've done brilliantly, you." The words linger in the chill air, and you feel the burnished weight of the golden medallion in your palms. They crave it. They've craved it from the start. Now, with five gazes locke…