Leading downwards

With idle moments at hand, Adrian inspected his soul sea, and what unfolded truly caught him off guard.

There, he beheld a round ball within his soul sea, suspended as though an eternal resident. Adrian, gazing at it, found himself speechless.

A core in his soul sea? Did such a notion hold any semblance of sense?

Contemplating these mysteries, Adrian willed his soul to stir, and with it, the core shifted in tandem.

'It is real.'

'How is it possible?'

'Is this Her doing as well? How powerful is She to actually give me a core?'

'But wait, why is it… bigger than normal cores?'

Unaware of Adrian's startling reflections, the core continued to drift serenely in the sea of his soul, unruffled by any concerns.

Baffled by the surreal sight before him, Adrian grappled with disbelief, uncertain of how to confront this perplexing situation. He had been without a core for as long as his memory stretched.

His family had made attempts to find a remedy for his condition, but the stark reality remained—there seemed to be no solution to his unique case.

The specifics of his condition eluded him, but one certainty held firm—he could never possess a core.

Now, beholding within his soul's expanse, a core gracefully navigating the currents. It possessed a transparency unusual in the realm of cores, which typically bore hues reflecting the power lineage of an individual.

A shadow manifestor's core might be tinged with black, while a devout sun believer's would radiate a warm yellow glow.

The abominations, however, bore cores of discord. Their essence held amalgamated hues, forming what could be described as impure or mismatched cores.

Should a core bearer's cores become entangled, departing from their initial hues, the consequence was profound—the risk of losing one's very soul. Such was the potent nature of being a core bearer.

In this context, lineages held an advantage, as they were less susceptible to the complications of mixed cores being born with a core.

'I don't have anything better to do. Might as well check out what's happening within me.' 

Rising from his seat, Adrian scanned his surroundings before closing his eyes. The enigma of his recent encounter in the shadows still eluded complete understanding.

'Kicked out by that fog or whatever it may be. Is entry to the shadows forbidden to me?'

Contemplating, Adrian once again embraced the shadows enveloping him. The sensation mirrored a warm greeting, as though they had reunited with a long-lost kin, akin to a joyous meeting with a motherly figure.

With this emerging sensation, Adrian realized he embodied Her shadow, and by all appearances, she wielded an inexplicable ownership over the very essence of shadows.

Abruptly, Adrian plunged through the floor, descending directly from where he stood. Upon entering the shadows, an immediate sense of affinity enveloped him, as if this was a place he was destined to occupy.

Surveying his surroundings within the shadows, Adrian discerned little change, except for the world assuming an inverted semblance, a surreal and shadow-laden reality.

Uncertain of his newfound capabilities, Adrian cautiously maneuvered through the shadows. It felt akin to soaring, with an absence of resistance, as if the shadows embraced his movements effortlessly.

'This elucidates why shadow manifestors possess such incredible speed.'

After a brief exploration and discovering no discernible abilities within, Adrian retraced his steps, returning to the location near the altar.

Observing the altar from within the shadows, Adrian discerned a detail previously overlooked. The shadows surrounding the altar seemed peculiar—pressed, as if under a force distinct from the other shadows.

The moment Adrian, still enveloped in shadows, made contact with the shadowy surroundings, he sensed a shift unfolding in the space around him.

Surveying his surroundings without detecting any apparent changes, Adrian experienced a sense of peculiarity, a subtle feeling of the unusual settling upon him.

'Are my senses toying with perception, or was the alteration simply too subtle to discern?'

In the midst of contemplation, the mist reappeared—the very fog that had expelled him from the shadows previously. As Adrian observed its approach, he promptly exited the shadows of his own volition.

Returning to the tangible confines of the temple in his original form, Adrian cast his gaze once more upon the altar. This time, it appeared as if it had been shifted from its initial position.

Spotting the altar's apparent mobility, Adrian proceeded to push it away from its original spot, leveraging the discovery made during his earlier interaction.

Despite the challenge, Adrian persevered and succeeded in shifting the altar. His efforts unveiled a hidden passage below, exposing a set of stairs leading downward.

Gazing at the descending stairs shrouded in darkness, Adrian couldn't shake the memory of confronting the red door and the mysterious lantern.

'It can't be something similar. I'm just overthinking stuff.'

As Adrian descended the stairs, his eyes couldn't ignore the marks etched on the walls, as though someone had scratched them with an inscrutable purpose.

Examining the marks closely, Adrian discerned they were made by human nails. Though not deeply gouged, their strength was sufficient to imprint a lasting presence on the walls.

Adrian continued his descent and soon reached what appeared to be a sizable basement. Upon surveying his surroundings, an involuntary gasp escaped his lips.

In a dimly lit chamber, twenty-seven people knelt in reverent formation before a stone statue that dominated the space.

The statue, a lady with an air of indifference, cradled her chin in her hand, her expression eternally frozen in a state of boredom. Carved from unyielding stone, she presided over the room like a disinterested deity.

The worshippers, clad in tattered and worn garments, knelt with a peculiar devotion. Their attire seemed frozen in time, reminiscent of an era long forgotten. Ripped and disheveled, the clothing clung to emaciated forms, revealing skeletal figures beneath. 

The fabric barely clung to their bodies, and the pallor of their skin resembled parchment, as if life itself had been drained from their very beings.

Each worshipper mirrored the statue's indifference, their eyes vacant and hollow, as if the monotony of their prayers had drained them of all vitality.

Their kneeling forms, arranged in a symmetrical pattern, cast long shadows on the cold stone floor. The atmosphere in the chamber hung heavy with a sense of ritualistic ennui.

In this eerie tableau, the worshippers and the stone lady coexisted in a realm where time stood still, frozen in perpetual boredom and the haunting beauty of skeletal devotion.

The scene was a macabre tapestry, a living depiction that appeared to reverberate with the echoes of an ageless ritual, forever bound to the indifferent gaze of the stone lady.

'This is not in accordance with what I was told about this temple.'