Earth Temple

Deep beneath a forest poisoned by centuries of ash, the Earth Temple began to breathe again. Its stone lungs dragged roots, bones, and rusted machines deeper into the soil, feeding an altar older than mankind. Black sap poured through carvings worn smooth by forgotten worshippers, while colossal pillars shifted like buried limbs. Those who entered seeking salvation returned fused with bark and iron, their mouths packed with sacred soil, their bodies serving as vessels for the awakening below. With every subterranean pulse, the dead forest bowed closer to the ground. The temple was never built to honor the Earth. It was constructed to imprison the thing growing inside it—and the final seal had just cracked.