ㅤ
﹙𓇼﹚. . . ࣪ ִֶָ For a moment, she let herself believe it was enough.
Then she exhaled slowly, eyes tracing the first stars. "Rest up," she murmured, half to herself, half to her quiet circle of friends. "Tomorrow's going to hit hard. Again."
ㅤ
ㅤ
﹙𓇼﹚. . . ࣪ ִֶָ The effect was immediate. Light bled through the cracks of the carving, tracing every feather of the vulture's wings. The ground trembled as the markings on the wall came alive, filling the chamber with a low, resonant hum.
ㅤ