Smoke crawled along the stone ceiling like something alive. Nicolas came to on his back, lungs burning, ears ringing. The air stank of ash and wet earth. For a moment he thought he was still in the ritual hall until the silence hit him. No chanting. No footsteps. Only the slow drip of water somewhere in the dark.

He pushed himself up. Every muscle screamed. His hands found rubble where the altar had stood. The sigils etched into the marble were split, glowing faintly before fading to ...