And then chaos erupted.
The humanoids surged forward, trying to push the beastfolk back. Spells exploded. Weapons clashed. Screams echoed through the chamber as magic turned the very air volatile. Glowing runes lit up on the walls, ancient defenses trying to contain the madness—but they were too old, too faded.
The barrier shattered in a thunderclap of energy. Beastmen surged forward, roaring in fury. Blades flashed. Spells collided. One centaur impaled a mage through the chest before getting his own head blasted clean off.
Blood sprayed across marble.
Fire danced across the ceiling. The screams were everywhere—some human, some not. A bat-winged priestess was torn in half by a massive lizardfolk. An elf tried to conjure a barrier and was ripped open from shoulder to hip.
And then Frank saw her.
Athena moved like death in human form. Her face was cold, eyes glowing like molten gold. With a flick of her hand, a wall of blue flame exploded from her fingers, engulfing a group of beastmen who charged at the throne. They didn't even scream—they just disintegrated.
Frank watched, frozen.
Athena's blade, a curved weapon of light, sliced through three beastfolk in one motion—heads rolling like kicked stones, blood arcing like crimson paint across the throne steps.
She wasn't fighting to protect anyone.
She was slaughtering.
Philip yanked Frank backward as a bolt of black lightning shattered a statue nearby.
"We have to go!" he hissed.
They sprinted through the chaos, weaving between dying bodies and crumbling stone. Through one corridor, then another—until they stumbled into a small chamber at the edge of the temple.
Philip and Frank ducked as a burst of fire scorched a statue overhead. "We have to get out of here!" Frank shouted.
They ran.
They didn't know where the halls led—only that they had to move. The walls narrowed into a winding corridor. Carvings lined the stone like forgotten memories: dragons spiraling around planets, winged figures holding burning scrolls, and in the very last alcove—
—a wooden crown.
It sat on a small pedestal beneath a fresco of an old red dragon breathing life into a tree.
Unlike the crystal crown, this one looked hand-carved, worn, humble. A single red gem was embedded in the center, glowing faintly, as if waiting.
Philip paused, drawn to it. "It feels like it's been here longer than anything else."
Frank glanced back down the hall—Athena was still fighting. And from the way she was going, nothing was going to stop her.
Frank frowned. "Forget it, we have to—" "Don't touch it," Frank said.
But Philip had already picked it up.
As his fingers touched the wood, he felt something shift inside him—like a door creaking open somewhere deep in his mind.
Nothing dramatic happened.
No lightning. No surge of wind. No voice.
But something was different.
He looked at Frank, eyes glowing faintly for a second—then the light vanished.
Philip took the crown off and tucked it beneath his jacket.
They retraced their steps, dodging debris and spells as they made their way back to the surface. Somehow, instinctively, they found the corridor that led them back to the gazebo. The moment they stepped inside, it was like falling again—
Light. Water. Silence.
Then they were back.
Standing under the moonlight in Abuja, beneath the still-swaying vines of the gazebo. The house was quiet. The party was gone.
The roar of the temple, the screams, the blood, the fire—gone.
No torches. No beastfolk. No pyramid.
Just the night, and two young men standing on marble, breathing hard.
They stared at each other for a moment. Neither spoke.
Frank dropped to the ground, gasping. "She was… she was killing them like insects. Like they didn't matter."
Philip stood silent, the wooden crown now hidden beneath his jacket.
"She's not who you thought she was," he said quietly.
Frank stared into the night. His hands were shaking.
Philip turned to leave.
"We don't tell anyone," he said. "Especially not her."
They parted in silence. Philip vanished into the shadows of the compound, the wooden crown heavy beneath his coat. Frank remained a while longer, staring back at the gazebo.