As Adrian left the Room of Mirrors and entered the next passage, a faint glow appeared on the wall behind him, catching Adrian's attention.

Adrian paused, his eyes narrowing as he watched the torch flare to life. Another torch ignited beside him, further down the corridor, then another, and another, until a path of blood-red flames illuminated the way forward.

Adrian's gaze followed the trail of torches leading to a door at the chamber's far end. The door was large and imposing, etched with ancient symbols that seemed to pulse with a faint, eerie light.

He knew without a doubt that whatever lay beyond that door would be the next step in his journey—another trial, another challenge.

His hand unconsciously tightened around the hilt of his sword as he approached the door. The anticipation gnawed at him, his mind racing about what he might face on the other side.

The Minotaur had been a formidable foe, and the Room of Mirrors had tested his very soul. What would this next trial demand of him?

As he approached the next entrance, he noticed the intricate carvings that lined the door—depictions of ancient rituals and arcane symbols that seemed to pulse with a life of their own.

His hand reached out, brushing against the cold stone as he searched for a mechanism to open the door. He found it—a small, recessed panel that shifted under his touch, triggering a series of clicks and the grinding of stone against stone.

The door groaned as it slowly opened, revealing the chamber beyond.

Adrian stepped back as the door swung wide, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight before him. He had reached the goddess' tomb.

The chamber was vast, and the ceiling was lost in shadows high above. The air was thick with the scent of incense and myrrh, heavy and intoxicating. Faint, ghostly light filtered in from unseen sources, casting the room in an ethereal glow that flickered with every shift of the air.

At the center of the chamber lay a grand sarcophagus carved from dark marble veined with crimson. Its surface was covered in ancient runes and symbols, pulsing faintly with the remnants of powerful magic.

The sarcophagus was surrounded by a series of magical wards—barriers of light and shadow that shimmered in the air like a protective veil.

Adrian approached cautiously, his eyes scanning the room for traps or guardians. He had expected some sort of challenge or sentinel, but the tomb seemed eerily quiet. The only sound was the soft crackling of the wards surrounding the sarcophagus.

The silence made him uneasy.

He circled the sarcophagus, studying the wards with a critical eye. These were no simple barriers—they were ancient, powerful, and designed to keep even the most determined intruder at bay.

But Adrian had encountered such magic before, or at least he had an image, a memory in his head… courtesy of Lilith. He knew what he had to do.

Drawing on the knowledge and Lilith's energy flowing in him, Adrian began to unravel the wards. His hands moved precisely, tracing the symbols in the air as he muttered the incantations needed to dispel the magic.

The wards resisted at first, flaring their light as if in protest, but gradually, they began to weaken, their glow dimming as Adrian's power overrode them.

One by one, the wards dissipated, their protective veil falling away until only the sarcophagus remained. Adrian stepped forward, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel the presence within, the dark, powerful energy that had been sealed away for centuries.

With a final, deep breath, Adrian placed his hands on the sarcophagus lid. An ancient and rusted chain wrapped around the stone as if to prevent the lid from ever being opened.

He summoned his fiery chains, the red-hot metal glowing with heat as it lashed out, breaking the chain in one swift motion.

The lid was heavy, but Adrian pushed with all his strength, the stone grinding as it shifted aside. The scent of myrrh grew stronger, mingling with the musty air of the tomb. The lid finally slid away, revealing the figure within.

There, lying within the sarcophagus, was Medea.

Her body was pale, almost translucent as if carved from marble. Her long, dark hair spilled around her, contrasting sharply with her alabaster skin.

She was naked, her form perfect and unblemished, her beauty otherworldly. Adrian recognised her instantly—this goddess had offered him mastery over dark magic.

The memory of her words echoed in his mind: "I offer you mastery over dark magic, the ability to manipulate shadows and bend reality to your whims."

Adrian stood over her, his eyes tracing the contours of her body—her curvy boobs stood firm, her tummy flat with a slender waist that led down to nice hips. Adrian could almost imagine how his hands would feel on her.

She was breathtaking, a vision of divine beauty, yet there was a coldness to her that unsettled him. He could feel the power radiating from her, even in her slumber.

Adrian's gaze remained fixed on Medea's serene, lifeless form, lying cold and still within the sarcophagus. As he studied her, a wave of unexpected emotion washed over him—anger, deep and primal.

It surged up from within him, burning through his veins, as a series of questions swirled in his mind.

Who could have done this to her? Who had sealed away such power, such beauty, locking it away for centuries in a dark, forgotten tomb?

The thought enraged him, fuelling the fire that had already begun to consume his soul. It was an injustice that he couldn't bear.

Medea had offered him power—true power—and yet, here she lay, entombed and forgotten by the world. The more he thought about it, the more his anger simmered, his fists clenching at his sides.

"Who would dare do this to you?" Adrian muttered under his breath.

The image of her locked away for who knows how long ignited something deep within him—a need to right this wrong, to awaken her, and to restore her to the world where she belonged.

But how was he to awaken her?

He hesitated, his mind racing with possibilities. Should he speak to her, call her name? Should he use a spell, or was there another way to rouse her from her eternal sleep?

As he pondered, his hand moved of its own accord, reaching out to touch her face.

The moment his fingers brushed her skin, her eyes flew open, blazing red with an anger that took him by surprise. Adrian barely had time to react before Medea sat up with lightning speed.

Her hand shot out, grabbing him by the throat with a terrifyingly strong grip. With a flick of her wrist, she flung him across the chamber as if he were a mere ragdoll.

Adrian crashed into the stone wall with a force that knocked the wind out of him. He groaned in pain, struggling to regain his footing as Medea rose from the sarcophagus. She stood tall, her eyes locked onto him with a fury that sent a shiver down his spine.

"Pós tolmás na me angíxeis, thnitó?"

Translated from Greek: "How dare you touch me, mortal?"

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