There was a striking attraction that pulled her towards the tomb, and it was similar to how a moth would be drawn to a flame. Every single one of Lyra's instincts screamed at her to back away, but she turned her mind off and her feet began to move, taking her into the dark. The closer she got to the stone structure, the more she could feel something like a current vibrating in her body, as if it were beating in time with her heart. It was getting heavier, the dark of the night settling in, yet something in her gut—something old and primal—pushed her on.The tomb loomed before her, its presence overwhelming. Its massive stone surface seemed to breathe with life. The carvings etched into it appeared to move in the dim light, as though frozen in time, waiting for someone like her to release their secrets. Lyra hesitated, her fingers trembling as they brushed against the worn stone. The rough surface felt ancient, pulsating beneath her fingertips, as if it held a life of its own.What lay

Zarekth’s gaze was unwavering, cold and detached as Lyra’s words hung in the air. The weight of his skepticism pressed down on her, making her feel as though the very concept of friendship was somehow trivial, unworthy of his understanding. His expression remained impassive, and for a brief moment, Lyra felt the sting of his indifference.“Your friends?” he echoed, his voice laced with disdain, as if the idea was beneath him.Lyra’s frustration surged. She stood straighter, trying to push back against the god’s towering presence. “Yes, my friends,” she repeated, sharper now, anger flaring in her chest. “We were exploring some ancient ruins for a history project. None of us were trying to summon gods or meddle with forces we didn’t understand. We were just—” She hesitated as the memory of the storm returned to her mind ever so vividly. "A storm occurred," she managed to say, although the peg of her voice quivered as that image played out in her mind.“The ruins started collapsing.