Page 176 of The Last Guardian

Curses and vomiting echoed through the ruins, the side effect of Eirlys’ portal on our bodies. My stomach clenched as I took a deep, steady breath to calm the nausea.

My eyes looked up at the ruined temple—the crumbling stone walls, the ancient stairs leading to a dark, gray sky. No roof to protect us.

This place felt like another world where the sun didn’t exist, where no light guided our way, just darkness. Chills ran through me at these thoughts.

“Seven freaking Hells,” Dorian muttered, looking up at the sky as I did.

Dax turned to him; his usual cheerful and playful mood replaced by a dark and grim look.

The general’s jaw tightened as he met the gaze of Zaid. Dax spoke in a calm, direct voice. “We must keep moving. The longer we stay here, the riskier it becomes.”

Stepping next to Arthur, I watched Lyra secure daggers to her hips. Her red hair was tugged into a ponytail, swaying with her movements like a wildfire. “Protect her,” I said.

Arthur tensed beside me, his chin high. “I would give my life for her.”

His eyes darkened. One hand curled around his sword’s pommel—gold carved with lilies—knuckles whitened as he leaned in. “Trust no one, sister,” he whispered.

I opened my mouth to answer, but he was already gone, folding himself into his group behind Dax and Lyra as they moved west.

Trust no one.

A heavy silence stretched inside the temple as I watched my siblings and friends walk away.

With a deep breath, I joined Zaid, and we walked in the direction of a long corridor.

Our steps thrummed against the floor as we passed ancient statues, ruined by time. Their eyes looked almost real, their skins patterned with veins.

Their frozen expressions—their fear perfectly captured.

It was terror. Despair. Some statues had their mouths agape—ready to scream, the frozen motion of their body in action—but stopped before the cry sounded, throat motionless, as if the scream was trapped in their lungs.

They blinked.

Seven Hells.

They were real people.

Chills ran down my back. And the smell—the smell was horrible.

Rot. Decay. Death.

People trapped in the stone of their prisons—their bodies decaying over time. The sudden urge to run far away from this place spread through me.

“Are you all right?” Zaid asked in a low voice.

I looked at him. He was already watching me closely.

“It’s just—” My voice came out in a murmur. “Something seems off here.”

The air felt colder than it should have, as if chaos had drained it. I hugged myself, fingers digging into my sleeves. The cold settled deeper, crawling under my skin.

Scraping noises from his boots echoed on the ground—stones sliding across them. Zaid was on alert, ready to attack anyone who approached us in a second.

He glanced at me a few times, as if he wanted to ask something but didn’t dare. When I saw him do it for the fifth time, I finally asked, “What is it? Is something bothering you?” My voice faded away in a trail of echoes.

Zaid tensed. His eyebrows met. “It’s just…” He stopped, breathing loudly, and added, “How did you end up with the scar below your breast?”

I winced.