You make your offerings

The chamber is silent, save for the soft hum of the runes pulsing on the statues. You steady your breathing, the glow of your crystal flickers in your trembling hand. Dust hangs thick in the air, almost glittering around you.

You glance around the circle of figures - guardians of the ruin - and feel the weight of the unseen voice's command again:

"If you seek what was buried, give what was taken."

The first to receive an offering is the obsidian statue: The One Who Guarded. You approach it slowly, raising your glowing crystal overhead. It's been your light, your only source of comfort since entering the ruins, but now its brightness feels borrowed somehow - something meant to be returned. You set the crystal gently into the statue's open, waiting, palms.

The obsidian surface drinks in the glow like water into parch soil. For a heartbeat, the entire statue radiates a deep, golden warmth. When the light fades, a faint whisper curls its way into your ear - soft, wordless, protective.

Next, the glass-like statue: The One Who Remembered. Its body is translucent, smooth, catching what remains of the dim light and fracturing it into rainbows across the floor. You search your pack and withdraw a small hand mirror - scratched, tarnished, but well-loved. You hold it up, briefly catching your own reflection: a dirt-streaked face, tired eyes, and trembling resolve. You place the mirror carefully into the statue's open hands.

The mirror fuses seamlessly into the statues palms, as though it were absorbed. The hum deepens. For a moment, you feel a rush of memories not your own - faces, laughter, tears, centuries collapsing into an instant. Before the vision fades, a single tear-like crack runs down the statue's cheek.

The basalt statue waits next: The One Who Judged. Rough, ancient, solid. You hesitate only a moment before stripping off your shirt and folding it neatly. The air is cold against your bare skin as you place the cloth into its hands. The basalt drinks in the fabric, hardening it into stone. Then its chest glows faintly red - like smoldering coal - and the air smells of smoke and earth. You feel the weight of unseen eyes - assessing you. Acknowledging you.

The marble statue: The One Who Followed. Its white stone gleams faintly under the layers of dust. From your belt, you remove your coin pouch - small, leather, and much lighter than you'd have liked. You set it into the marble hands. Instantly, the sound of clinking coins echo throughout the chamber, reverberating long after the pouch solidifies into more marble. The statue's head bows ever so slightly. Silent acceptance.

Finally, the bronze statue: The One Who Spoke. You withdraw a handful of rations - dried fruit and hardened bread - and place them into the waiting hands. The bronze begins to hum, a low metallic vibration that seems almost like a voice. The offering crumbles, but the sound deepens, reshaping itself into a single word: "Worthy."

Then the chamber shifts.

The mirrored walls flare into life, runes spiraling outward from the dais in lines of blue and gold. The statues rotate slowly to face inward, their faceless heads bowing. The chest on the platform groans, the seal cracking open. The air in the chamber grows warm - alive with expectation.

From deep below, the earth trembles as if something vast and sleeping stirs. The stream of water that once flowed uphill now reverses, surging downward into the dais. The glow intensifies, filling the room with blinding light. 

When the light finally fades, you find the chest is fully open. Peeking inside, you see a faintly glowing shape, wrapped in a cloth that shimmers like silver smoke. 

The statues cease glowing, cease bowing, cease watching. Their task is complete.