Two Eyes Cenote A Winged Insect to Your Funeral Pyre

The man felt a swell of gratitude wash over him at Eset's acceptance of his change in topic. A soft smile painted his lips, and with a graceful movement, he elegantly tucked a forepaw to his chest in a half-bow. Of course, he murmured.

The journey back to his quarters was an arduous one, navigating through labyrinthine tunnels that twisted and turned until they reached the fellahin quarter, culminating in the furthest chamber beyond even those.

Machi pushed aside the hung pelt that marked his doorway, holding it aside for Eset to pass through before following her in. A small sigh of relief escaped him as he realized that Legend's scent had more or less dissipated from the room after their time away at the beach—conversation on that subject was best avoided for now.

The compartment had not changed much since he had first taken up residence: The gentle glow of fungi still illuminated the room, casting ethereal shadows upon the walls, the glittering stone reflecting their aquatic hues like scattered jewels. In the back corner, the simple bed lay dormant, its surface coated in a thin layer of dust from a month of unuse.

Here we are, my dear Hebsut, the man smiled. Please make yourself comfortable, this will take me but a moment. He passed the woman, turning to the rock that adorned his wall—a familiar obstacle that required a near Herculean effort to move.

With painstaking effort, Machi exerted every sinew of his slender being, muscles flexing as he pushed and pulled with relentless determination. He adjusted his stance, shifting his weight as he grappled with the stubborn stone, his breath coming in measured puffs as he strained against its weight.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the pale man succeeded in moving the rock, albeit only slightly. His muscles quivered with exertion as he paused to catch his breath, a triumphant gleam in his opaline eyes as he surveyed his handiwork. The man had managed to drag one end far enough away from the wall so that the pair could squeeze past, although squeeze they must. This revealed a very small, very narrow tunnel leading deeper into the palace's depths.

I hope you're not claustrophobic, though I daresay you might fare better than I, Machiavelli remarked playfully through labored breath, casting a teasing glance at Eset's petite frame. I would offer the honor of going first, but that wouldn't quite be gentlemanly of me, now would it? With a lighthearted chuckle, he lowered himself onto his stomach and began to slither into the darkness of the tunnel, his form disappearing into the inky void.

As he pushed forward, the air grew thick and oppressive, heavy with the musty scent of ancient rock, seeming to press down against him like a weighted blanket.

The silence that enveloped them was broken only by the sound of their labored breathing and the occasional scuffle of paws against the wet stone. Time seemed to warp in the darkness, stretching out endlessly as they forged ahead, the tunnel winding its way deeper into the bowels of Muat-Riya.

Occasionally, their path would lead them past a patch of softly glowing fungi, offering a brief respite from the oppressive darkness. But these moments were fleeting, and soon they were plunged back into the blackness, relying on instinct and touch to guide their way forward.

As they pressed on, the air grew colder, the walls closing in tighter still until it felt as though they were being swallowed whole by the earth itself. Yet, Machiavelli pressed forward, seemingly confident in his direction.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a faint glow appeared in the distance, growing steadily brighter as they drew nearer. With a final push, they emerged from the tunnel into a cavern bathed in the soft light of the moon filtering from between cracks in the rocky ceiling above, their journey through the darkness at an end.

The room was large and airy, a stream bubbling from one wall and flowing through to form a large pool in the middle. Plots of dirt and sand with colorful flowers dotted the chamber at odd intervals, their bright petals shining silver in the moonlight. Tortoiseshell bowls were lined against the wall, each filled with varying levels of water, crushed petals steeped in the mixture, casting a fragrant aroma upon the air.