In the Shadow of What If's

Chapter Thirty-Two: The Heart of the Hollow

They were sealed in.

The dust still hung in the air like the ghost of fire. Motes danced in the slanted beams of golden light that filtered through the cracks above—shallow fingers of sun, not nearly enough to offer comfort. The silence was louder now, pressing in like a heartbeat.

Thomas swallowed and stepped back from the fallen ceiling, his voice tight.

"I don't think they can hear us from up there."

"They have to notice we're missing," Hal said, pacing in a tight, anxious circle. "Someone has to—Harrison, or Maximus, or Alessia—or Euphemia. She counts us. Obsessively."

"They'll come," Thomas said.

"I hope so," Hal muttered, trying to tamp down the rising panic in his chest.

Walburga stood utterly still. She had not shouted or cried, not even once. But her knuckles were white where she clutched the edge of the old altar stone.

"Panic won't get us out faster," she said at last. "But information might."

Thomas and Hal turned toward her, dust streaking their cheeks.

"What do you mean?" Thomas asked.

"This isn't just a hole in the ground," Walburga said. "It's preserved. Hidden. It's old magic—protective stasis. Someone didn't want this place found. But it was meant to be remembered. Look at the murals. The basin. The symbols. It's ritual space. Sealed for safekeeping."

Thomas looked around slowly. Now that she said it, he saw it too. It wasn't just a ruin. It was a vault.

"What do you want to do?" he asked cautiously.

"Explore it."

Hal groaned. "Of course you do."

"It might help us find a way out," Walburga said simply.

Thomas hesitated.

Then nodded.

Hal muttered something impolite under his breath, but followed when the other two started moving deeper into the hollow.

The chamber twisted. At first glance, it had seemed like a single space. But the further they walked, the more it became clear that the temple's collapse had revealed something beneath—a deeper level of stone and ash, likely untouched for centuries.

They passed ancient pillars that leaned like weary sentinels, each carved with faces whose eyes had long since eroded into hollows. There were faded carvings of serpents and stars, suns and scrolls, runes so old even Walburga only recognized fragments.

Then they saw it.

A shallow alcove, half-sunken into the wall.

Inside, resting on a pedestal of marble smoothed with time, was a single egg.

It was massive. Nearly the size of a pumpkin. Its surface shimmered slightly, as though covered in a fine frost, but the moment they stepped closer, the frost receded, revealing a sleek, smooth shell the color of old jade veined with gold.

Thomas stared. "Is it... alive?"

"It's in stasis," Walburga whispered. "Preserved."

Hal took a nervous step back. "Should we be here? I mean, what if it's cursed? Or meant for some ancient ritual sacrifice? What if it hatches and it's got too many legs?"