The ancient doors of the Temple of Nyx groaned as they swung open, revealing a yawning darkness that seemed to swallow the light of the Aetherblade whole. Elara, Morgana, and Elias stood at the threshold, each feeling the weight of the centuries-old malevolence that seeped from within. The cold air that rushed out was thick with the stench of decay and something far more sinister, something that gnawed at their very souls.
"This is it," Elara whispered, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to steady it. The temple's oppressive presence felt like a vice tightening around her heart. She glanced at Morgana and Elias, seeing her own fear reflected in their eyes. But there was no turning back now; they had come too far.
Elias nodded, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. "Stay close," he urged, his voice a low rumble that barely reached over the eerie silence of the temple. "Whatever happens, we face it together."