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Fire erupted over the sky.
A flaming projectile flew over the walls and into the city, exploding with a deafening roar. The blaring of war horns carried over the river's surface.
A siege.
Camelot was under attack.
The temple was eerily silent as we stepped inside. Only the faint echo of our footsteps could be heard as we moved through an immense entry hall, its walls covered with stone reliefs depicting scenes of brutal battle and conquest.
We moved into the central chamber where massive stone pillars reached upwards to support the stone ceiling. The hall was dimly lit with only a few narrow windows high above where moonlight streamed in forming small square patches on the black marble floors.
Our path led to the inner sanctum. But along the way, we encountered no one. No soldiers. No servants. No priests or supplicants.
I remembered what Fenyx had said. How Arthur had planned to use his own child for the ritual.
Where was my brother now? Would we find him inside?
Abruptly, Draven paused. A closed door lay ahead of us, a heavy wooden slab inlaid with gold plating.
A ringing sound was coming from within.
From under the door flooded bright light.
Draven kicked it in.
The door flew open, slamming into the opposite wall with a bang.
Inside the room, the walls were lined with weapons and shields, offerings and tributes to a war-like god.
On the far side of the sanctum stood a colossal statue of the deity. Perun's form was imposing, his features carved with a cruel expression. At his feet lay what I thought at first was a pool of blood. As we stepped closer, I realized it was a pile of roses.
An altar lay in the center of the room. Before the altar stood a man in the dark robes of a priest, his back to us, his arms raised in the air.
Set into the altar in each corner rested small stone bowls. A dark, crimson liquid filled each one.
Upon the altar lay Kaye. His eyes were closed, his chestnut hair tousled. His face was as pale as death, but as I watched, his chest rose and fell–first once, then again.
He was bound to the altar with rough-hewn ropes, each of his limbs fastened to the stone surface.
Above the altar hovered a wooden chalice, spinning endlessly in the air like a child's top that defied the laws of gravity.
I had seen the grail before. But the sight of it here, hovering above Kaye, as if it had been carved from the root of some malevolent tree, filled me with dread.
A brilliant, red light was radiating from the grail, casting a sickly glow across the chamber.
Before Draven and I could more than a few feet past the entryway, droplets began to rise from the four bowls.
Slowly, four crimson lines of blood ascended from the corners of the altar, rising and lengthening as they converged over the wooden chalice and began to drip into the cup.
They were feeding it, I realized with horror. Feeding it with my brother's blood.
Thin, precise cuts marred Kaye's delicate wrists. The gashes were not deep enough to cause fatal harm. Instead, they kept a steady stream of blood flowing into a narrow channel which lined the altar's rim.
As the drops of blood flowed from Kaye's wrists, they fell into the ridges, snaking their way to each corner of the altar and replenishing the stone bowls with crimson offerings.
My heart constricted in my chest.
My brother, bound and helpless, was being used as a sacrifice to feed some dark power.
