The air in the chamber was heavy with the smell of old paper and dust. I could hear my own breath, a small sound against the deep silence. At the center of the room sat the figure, hidden in a ragged hood. Its skeletal hands, surprisingly strong, turned the pages of a massive, chained book. Before it, a skull rested on the paper, an silent partner in its work. ​Red candles burned low, their flames dancing and casting jumping shadows that seemed alive. They smelled of wax and something metal. The only clear light came from a single candle in front of the book, making the gold symbols shine. Two large black crows sat still on the stone throne behind the figure, their eyes sharp in the darkness. The whole scene felt older than memory, like I had stepped into another time. I stood watching, a strange chill running down my spine, waiting for something to happen. The silent power in that room was almost overwhelming.