The Tribunal of Four Ashes

The cavern opens into a perfect ring of worked basalt, warm as a forge and lit by a slow furnace glow that seems to come from the stone itself. Four iron niches stare from the wall like hungry mouths, and each breath of the chamber carries sulfur, hot dust, and the bitter scent of quenched metal. Carved legal sigils spiral around the floor in a language of contracts and condemnations, while thin red seams in the masonry pulse whenever someone lifts one of the offerings. A wrong placement makes the ceiling vents hiss and the ring underfoot toll once, but the chamber never fully locks down, as if the puzzle is meant to be tested, not merely feared.