You walk among your brothers . The bitter wind sweeps now your faces, after the hot sand have burned your skin. The fall of millions of grains along the slopes resonates the void, the rumbling of the earth, last suffuring of a dying God ? The maze entrance… Torches flicker. They know the way. It’s the enlightened path to the divine anteroom. Altars are waiting. Offerings ? The same since thousands of years. But maybe they forgot them. Three litanies are carved : On the first : is awaited what grows and dies to let others live (a seed, for fertility). On the second: is awaited what gives birth and what makes all disappear, it who keeps the balance (a fire) . On the last: is awaited the ephemeral link between the sky and the earth (thunder, primordial attribute) After the braziers consumed the gifts, the gates open. On each brick of the ziggurat, a story : a friend, a mentor, a brother in arms, a hierophant. Or a legend, a lost alchemical formula, a monstrous description, a feat of arms, a forbidden spell.... What is engraved on yours ? They go further, tireless. Wait ! The consecrated statue is broken ! suggesting the hollow interior. What can they see ?
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