The tip of a dead branch poked through a tiny crack beside the window frame, like an inconspicuous piece of mold.
Through the branch's senses, Yu Xing took in everything inside the attic.
Perhaps it was a matter of perspective, but the room seemed even larger than it had when he'd perceived it as a human. Still, the ceiling was low, and the sloping roof pressed in on the space, making the three-tiered altar of obsidian and bones at its center seem especially cramped.
The cultist runes on the altar had been painted in dark red pigment, resembling dried blood in the dim light.
A foul stench of decay permeated the air, and the materials piled around the room were enough to turn anyone's stomach.
Just as Yu Xing finished surveying the room, a noise came from the ladder.
Aiven climbed up first, moving somewhat hurriedly. Dust had clung to his hair as he climbed. Once he was steady on his feet, he immediately looked around to make sure no one else was in the attic. Only then did he relax and turn to nod toward the ladder.
Lingren followed, much more composed.
After climbing into the attic, he habitually straightened his coat before lifting his eyes to leisurely survey the heart of the ritual.
"Look at that. They've certainly made it look the part." Lingren spoke, his voice echoing slightly in the enclosed space.
Aiven didn't respond. He strode over to the altar and began inspecting the ritual materials.
His movements were meticulous. He held his fingers an inch above each object, closed his eyes to sense it, and murmured short incantations for detection.
Yu Xing's attention followed Aiven's inspection.
The pile of severed human limbs in the southeast corner quickly caught Aiven's attention. His hand stopped over it,