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Forged anew

The seven circles dominated the heart of the chamber, intricate webs of runes branching outward like the tendrils of some ancient arachnid, creeping into the stone with eerie precision. The lines of glyphs spread in every direction, merging and diverging like veins, their faint luminescence pulsing like a dying heartbeat. Orion followed the long, sinuous rows of markings with his gaze, his mind already deciphering their purpose, though he wished he hadn't.

His path led him to a labyrinth of towering glass vessels, each filled with viscous, crimson liquid. He had seen these before—containers brimming with blood, suspended in eerie stillness, their surfaces etched with ominous sigils that shimmered with latent energy. The chamber was a grotesque altar to something far beyond mortal comprehension.

But it was not the runes, nor the lifeblood entombed within the glass, that sent a shiver down Orion's spine.

It was the fog.