...The ruins of the temple had been abandoned for three seasons, and the spores had been thorough. Moander's priests moved through the darkness as though they could see through it, and perhaps they could. The god's blessing was not vision but clarity about what mattered. The old statues would crumble. The marble floors would fracture. The sacred texts would rot to nothing. And in that decay, new seeds would take root, fed by the rich soil of what had been. The priest at the center of the chamber breathed deeply, drawing the spores into his lungs. The Old Moldy One was calling, and to answer was to surrender to something far larger than individual will.

When the transformation came, it would come gently, and it would not stop until there was nothing left but the foundations, and even those would buckle and settle, returning at last to the patient earth...