I was welcomed to the ruins with an awe-inspiring sight. Primeval buttress roots entwined around ancient stone arches, their snaking tendrils hungrily devouring every available crack in the architecture, greedily devouring each niche. Little light could breach the canopy of the formidable gymnosperms and other assorted botany, and the result was a somewhat haunting darkness, as if the scenery had been positioned in some monstrous cavern, like a ship in a bottle. Most unnervingly, however, this created an intense feeling of claustrophobia within me, the icy claws of fear burrowing deep into my mind.

As I paced closer towards the ruins, I became aware of yet another worry. The deep forest was silent. Utterly silent. I had failed to notice this at first, as the sounds of the local fauna had only gradually faded, the only sounds the sharp crack of twigs and deeper crunch of dead pine needles underfoot. But I was in no doubt that I was the only sentient life form for miles around. The ruins appeared to have a profound effect on the local wildlife, as I had not heard the calls of forest fauna for the last few miles of my journey. They refused to enter the perimeter of the archaic relics. They feared the ruins. Perhaps I should too.

Regardless, I walked closer, more cautiouslynow, desperate to make as little sound as possible, out of reverence for the majesty of the place, and out of the irrational fear of awakening some slavering beast from its ancient haunt. Finally reaching the first stone arch, I traced my fingers over beautiful masonry. Such architecture defied the feeble bounds of human creativity, the swirling carvings almost appearing to ripple across the ancient stone. No human hands could have birthed such exquisite beauty.

I walked through the arch, stooping under hanging vines that seemed to actively desire to cling on to me, desperate to hold me back from the apparent horror of the ruin complex. Regardless, I battled my way through, and forced my way into a clearing. I was surprised to find that the ground now put up considerably more resistance to my feet, as if there was something hard beneath the leaf litter. Kneeling down, I brushed pine mulch aside, confirming my suspicions. I was standing in an overgrown courtyard, and the rockwork below was a curious granite plaza. Curious, because into each individual slab of stone was carved a single, recurring symbol. An eye.