Burning Down the Temple of the Moon

I searched frantically for Nania's figure, my boots crunching softly over the temple’s stone floors as I scanned every shadowed corner—behind the gilded pillars, beneath the velvet-draped altars, even in the dimly lit alcoves where devotional candles once burned bright. But in this sacred Moon Temple, bathed in the silver glow of the full moon streaming through cracked stained-glass windows, I found no one else except me. The silence hung heavy, broken only by the distant hoot of an owl and the rustle of wind through the temple’s ancient oak rafters. The night wind blew gently, carrying the faint scent of jasmine and pine from the forest beyond, and with a heavy heart, I turned back toward the Wolf Temple—its weathered stone walls a stark reminder of the clan’s turbulent history. I stepped carefully over the scattered remnants of shattered candles (their wax hardened into jagged clumps) and shards of porcelain—vestiges of a recent struggle, glinting like shards of ice in the moonlight.