The Breathing Temple

Jin Yue POV

The temple was never meant to feel hollow. It had always been a place of light, where golden braziers burned through the night, where the murmurs of prayer wove through the halls like an eternal hymn. But now, silence devoured everything.

Jin Yue stepped carefully, his boots whispering against the cracked stone floor. The lanterns flickered in their sconces, their glow failing to push back the shadows stretching between the temple pillars. Incense had burned down to mere traces of myrrh and sandalwood, yet the air felt heavy, thick with something unseen.

He had been here countless times before, had knelt before the altar in devotion, had once believed the gods resided in these sacred walls. But tonight, the temple felt...wrong.

A slow, steady pulse thrummed beneath hi feet.

Jin Yue froze.

His fingers curled around the hilt of his dagger as he knelt, pressing his palm against the cold floor. At first, he thought it was a trick of the wind, a distant echo. But no—this was different. It was deep, rhythmic. The temple was breathing.

A chill spread through his veins.

It whispered a quiet invocation, a habit from the past, but the words felt hollow. No divine presence stirred in response. Instead, a whisper slithered through the chamber. Not the voice of a priest or even the murmurs of wind through the rafters. No, this was something else. A sound too low, too ancient.

Jin Yue's grip tightened on his blade. The whispers coiled around him, words half-formed, spoken in a language he dn't know but somehow understood.

"Child of blood and ash..."

His breath hitched. He spun, eyes scanning the empty temple. Nothing. But he felt it. A presence, just beyond the lanternlight, watching. Waiting.

He moved toward the altar. The stone slab was ancient, worn by centuries of prayer and offering. The sacred glyphs carved into its surface were meant to glow softly, a sign of divine favor. But now they pulsed erratically, their golden light flickering between life and decay.

Jin Yue hesitated, then reached out.

The moment her fingers grazed the stone, a shock jolted through her arm. He gasped and yanked his hand back. The glyphs flared—once, twice—then went dark. A deep rumble vibrated through the chamber, shaking the pillars, sending dust spilling from the ceiling.

And then he heard it.

A second heartbeat.

Not his.

Not human.

It was beneath the temple.

Something vast. Something waking.

Jin Yue staggered back, his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. The whispering grew louder, the air turning thick as ink. He barely noticed his fingers tightening around the pendant at his neck—an old habit, a useless comfort.

The stone floor cracked beneath his feet. A sound like splitting bone echoed through the chamber. A shadow coiled at the edges of his vision, a shape forming in the darkness beyond the altar.

And then, a voice. Low, resonant, filled with something ancient and knowing.

"I see you, child of the storm."

Jin Yue's blood turned to ice.

Something had woken beneath the temple.

And it knew his name.