The group moves slowly through the ancient temple, Zora and Pip leading the way.
Pip lights the corridor simply by glowing, a soft golden pulse radiating off his frame, while Zora flicks little spheres of light into the air that bob along silently overhead, illuminating mural after mural along the crumbling walls.
The murals show ancient tribes kneeling before a towering, naked figure, gifts piled at her feet, dancers mid-spin, musicians frozen mid-song. And everywhere around her, green: vines curling up temple columns, rivers cutting through fields, animals grazing in herds. Not a grain of sand in sight, the painted world captured mid-bloom like it never once considered the idea of drying out.
"Hard to believe this was ever anything but an oven," Veena murmurs, running a finger along a crumbling vine carved into the stone.
"I bet the goats were incredible back then," Penelo says, squinting at a particularly detailed mural of livestock. Lula nods in quiet agreement.
