Chained Hearts: From Slavery to Sovereignty
Chapter 130: The hidden Temple

Chapter 130: Chapter 130: The hidden Temple

The sound of hooves on stone echoed sharply as the group surged forward, leaving the fortress behind. Trees thickened on either side of the narrow road.

Cassian’s mind, however, refused to settle.

He kept seeing flashes of Dorian’s face—the way his dark eyes gleamed with amusement, the careless smirk that had followed their sparring match in the training yard. It was infuriating. The man had no right to distract him like this, especially now. Not when so much was at stake.

But try as he might, the image wouldn’t leave him.

They have found earlier that the temple is completely hidden at the center of Galdreth,, and there is no way to enter it.Thee only possible route is from the forest that led to the heart of the city. It is alsohidden,n but they have found it by chance.

The deeper they rode into the forest, the heavier the air seemed to grow. The birdsong thinned and faded, replaced by an eerie silence that pressed against Cassian’s senses.

His knights rode closely, weapons sheathed but hands never far from their hilts. Eyes flicked nervously into the shadows.

"Stay alert," Cassian commanded, his voice low. "Something isn’t right here."

A few of the younger knights exchanged uneasy looks, but no one dared question the leader. Not when the land itself seemed to hold its breath.

As the sun climbed higher, strange things began to happen.

Cassian noticedthe animals firsts.

A fox darted across the path, but its movements were jerky and unnatural, as if its limbs were puppeted by unseen strings. A flock of birds took flight overhead, but their cries sounded distorted—almost mechanical. Deeper into the woods, a deer appeared at the edge of a clearing, its eyes too bright, too wide. It stared at them for an unnerving moment before melting silently into the underbrush.

Suddenly Keren nudged his horse forward andwhispered.. "Leader Hayes, these creatures aren’t right. I’ve seen this kind of behavior before — near cursed grounds."

Cassian’s brows furrowed. "Cursed?"

Keren nodded grimly. "Old magic or maybe demon magic. This area carries a heavy weight, one that can twist living things."

Cassian swallowed the knot of unease tightening in his chest.

He wanted to dismiss it as superstition. He wanted to focus on the mission: find the source of the disturbances plaguing Galdreth and put an end to it.

But part of him wondered if Keren’s warningsweres notright;, maybe he misunderstoodtheir behaviorr.

Hours passed in tense silence, the group moving steadily but cautiously. The forest seemed to close in on them, the trees older, their trunks thicker and gnarled with age. The path beneath their horses’ hooves grew uneven, roots threatening to trip the unwary.

The air turned heavy with an almost imperceptible hum, like the vibration of some distant chant just beyond hearing. Cassian’s instincts prickled with warning.

Suddenly, a cold gust swept through the trees, rustling leaves and snuffing out the warmth of the sun.

The horses whinnied nervously.

Cassian reined in, signaling the group to halt.

He dismounted, boots crunching on fallen leaves. The rest followed suit, weapons drawn and senses sharp.

From somewhere in the shadows, a whisper floated through the air—soft, sibilant, almost a caress.

"Turn back..."

Cassian’s jaw clenched. He scanned the darkness, but there was no one.

"Stay close," he ordered. "Keep your wits."

His heart pounded in his chest. This was no ordinary mission anymore. This was something darker, older.

He glanced down the path ahead, where twisted branches formed a natural arch, like a gateway to another world.

A shiver ran down his spine.

That night, as they set camp near a small clearing, the strange atmosphere lingered.

Fires crackled and flickered, casting dancing shadows that seemed to twist into unnatural shapes. The knights sat around, faces drawn and voices low. Even the youngest among them were subdued.

Cassian paced near the fire, unable to rest.

His mind drifted again to the City Lord. Does he know about this forbidden temple? How could he not know about this when he had clearly investigated everything? It is impossible that he does not know about this.

Was he deliberately hiding it from him?

Cassian shook his head, frustrated by the thought. No. Dorian was a nobleman. A man bound by laws and duty.

But still... something about him didn’t fit.

A rustle behind the tents caught Cassian’s attention. He reached for his sword and moved silently toward the sound.

A shadow slipped between the trees—a figure cloaked in black, moving too fast to catch properly.

Cassian’s breath hitched.

He called out, his voice sharp. "Who’s there? Show yourself!"

The figure paused but did not answer. Then, just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished into the darkness.

Cassian returned to camp, unease settling deep in his bones.

Before dawn, Cassian awoke abruptly, heart hammering.

Outside, the forest was quiet as usual.

The forest felt different this morning.

The mist had thickened, curling low across the ground like it wanted to hide the way forward. Trees stood tall and silent, their twisted branches reaching like fingers overhead. Cassian walked ahead without a word.

No one spoke.

Even the birds had gone quiet.

They had been riding since sunrise, following the faint trail that only revealed itself in bits—a pile of worn stones here, an old carving half-buried in the roots there. It was easy to miss. And maybe that was the point.

The temple didn’t want to be found.

Alistair rode up beside Cassian and lowered his voice. "We’ve been circling for hours."

"I know," Cassian said, eyes scanning the thick trees. "But we’re close."

He didn’t know how he was so sure. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was the way the air had changed—thicker, colder, as if something ahead was holding its breath.

Suddenly, Keren reined in her horse and pointed.

"There," she said.

Everyone turned.

Behind a curtain of vines, half-hidden in the side of a moss-covered hill, was a crack in the stone. It wasn’t wide. Just enough for a person to slip through sideways. The opening looked natural, like part of a cave, but Cassian knew better.

"Dismount," he ordered.

They tied the horses nearby, leaving only knights behind. The rest followed Cassian through the vines. It was necessary; what if they don’t come out? Someone should be outside to help them.

Inside, it was dark and narrow. Damp walls pressed close, and the sound of their breathing echoed faintly. Cassian ran his fingers along the stone. It was too smooth, too shaped to be natural.

"This isn’t a cave," he said quietly. "It’s a passage."

"A back door?" Alistair asked.

"Looks like it."

They kept moving, squeezing through the narrow tunnel until the space slowly widened. The light from the entrance faded behind them, and shadows took its place.

Finally, the path opened into a small chamber.

The air was still and cold. Old stone lined the walls, cracked and covered in dirt, but faint carvings remained—symbols and lines that looked like part of an old map. At the center stood a single round pedestal.

Cassian stepped forward.

Dust coated the surface, but when he wiped it clean, he saw something strange. A shallow handprint carved into the stone. No runes. No glowing lights. Just a shape.

He didn’t move.

"What is it?" Keren asked.

"It wants something," he said. "Not blood. Not power. Just... a touch."

Cassian placed his hand inside the carved space.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then a low click echoed through the chamber.

The wall behind them rumbled. Dust fell from the ceiling as something shifted—a stone door slowly sliding open. Behind it was a wide corridor lit faintly from above, where thin shafts of sunlight filtered through cracks in the stone.

Cassian turned, eyes wide.

They had found it.

The temple.

But not the grand gate told in old tales. This was the back entrance. Hidden. Quiet and Forgotten.

And it made him wonder—why was the real entrance sealed so tightly, yet this path still remained?

He looked at the others. "Stay close. We move together."

The group stepped inside, weapons ready, eyes sharp.

The hallway stretched deep into the earth, with stairs descending and the light fading fast. The walls were smooth, carved by hands long gone. No traps, no bloodstains, no bones.

Just silence.

Halfway down, they found an old wooden torch on the wall. It lit with a single spark from Alistair’s flint. The flame flickered, casting long shadows ahead.

They passed empty rooms. Long-abandoned shelves. Cracked pots. Faded banners. It felt like a place that had once been full of life but had been sealed in time.

"Someone used to live here," Keren said, his voice a whisper.

"No," Cassian said, his voice low. "Not someone. Many."

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, they found another door. Not stone this time. Wood. Old but sturdy.

Cassian pushed it open.

Beyond it was a grand chamber.

Massive pillars rose into the darkness above, and at the far end stood a broken statue—its face gone, arms missing. The walls were covered in old murals, so faded it was hard to tell what they once showed. But there was one thing they all saw.

A single figure stood in the center of every painting.

Faded with time but still visible in the flickering torchlight, the figure was tall, cloaked in something that looked like armor but flowed like robes. In every painting, the figure held a sword—always the same sword—pointed downward, the tip resting on the ground.

The blade itself was unlike any Cassian had ever seen. Its shape was slender but sharp, its hilt simple. No jewels. No fancy design. Just a weapon.

Cassian stared at it, something tightening in his chest.

"I’ve seen that before," he whispered.

Alistair looked at him. "Where?"

Cassian didn’t answer.

He just stepped forward, eyes locked on the faded image.

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