They stood at the threshold of the ruin where fragments of what had once been a towering structure now lay in crumbled heaps, overtaken by wild shrubs and moss. The air was colder here, sharper, as if the ruin itself carried the chill of its ancient past. Lyra instinctively pulled her jacket tighter around her body, trying to fend off the cold that bit through to her bones.
Rhett, standing next to her, seemed unaffected by the wind. At six feet three, he loomed tall against the darkening sky, his broad frame almost motionless despite the gusts. Harrison, looking somewhat impatient as he bounced on the balls of his feet, his hands stuffed into the pockets. He surveyed the wreck excitedly, almost oblivious to the cold breeze that was blowing around. “Where’s the crew?” Lyra’s voice barely carried over the wind. Harrison shrugged, his gaze fixed on the ominous stone structure ahead. “Packed up for the night, probably,” he replied. “Not like they’re expecting company out here anyway.” Rhett exhaled, his breath a cloud in the biting air. “Let’s just make this quick. The wind is getting worse..a storm is coming.” The ruin was standing before them, proud and very old. Deteriorated banners warning danger were flapping back and forth in the strong winds; the writing was faded but still read: DANGER UNSTABLE STRUCTURES KEEP OUT NO TRESPASS. Still, the absence of any guards or even repair workers in the area suggested that the structure had not only been left unattended by people but also devoid of history for a long while. In spite of the danger signs, no one made a move to retreat. Either it was the adventure mongering or maybe their foolishness that made them remain. Once again, the heavens spoke, a low threatening growl of thunder, timorously resounding far away. Lyra stared at the broken archway ahead. Jagged, crumbling stone, like teeth of some long-dead beast, stood as the entry point into the ruin. Further away stood the blackened remnants of what was probably once a spectacular hall or temple. Its walls were in a chaotic tangle of vegetation. The stones were decorated with odd designs and engravings, which have long lost their significance, yet which were no less creepy for that. Harrison was the first one to step through the arch. He was brimming over with excitement, even in the presence of the scary ruins. “Let’s go!” he called, beckoning the rest to come forward. “This is amazing! Look at this place!” Rhett glanced over at Lyra, his usual calm demeanor giving way to a hint of uncertainty. “We can still turn back,” he said softly, his gray eyes scanning the ruin. “This place gives me the creeps.” Lyra nodded. She felt it too, the way the air seemed heavier, as though the ruin itself were alive and waiting for them. “Yeah, me too. This doesn’t feel right.” But Ivy, standing a few paces behind them, was less concerned. Her auburn hair whipped around her face as she secured her flashlight, the beam cutting through the growing darkness. “Are you guys serious? This is what we came for!” She responded by smiling even more and the excitement could be seen in her eyes. “Isn’t it even a bit of fun to be a little terrified of an adventure?” Lyra looked at her quizzically. “Just wait till something moves. I know you will be the first one to scream.” “Come on,” Ivy replied with a chuckle. “What could be worse? It’s just an old ruin.” Rhett’s eyes flicked to the dark clouds gathering above them, the wind pulling at his jacket. “I don’t know… something feels off.” Ignoring the growing tension, Harrison pushed further inside, moving toward the entrance of what appeared to be the central chamber of the ruin. Lyra and Rhett exchanged a glance, and though Rhett’s reluctance mirrored her own, there was something magnetic about the ruin. Lyra felt it too—the pull to explore what lay within. They followed Harrison through the archway, the wind growing louder, howling as it funneled between the ancient stones. Inside, the temperature plummeted even further. The rising and levelled walls, as they stood, after so many years of wear, intricate carvings adorned them. The carvings were swirled and twisted into different shapes that came to life with the light of their torches. Harrison was in his zone marveling at the carvings with the zeal only he could possess. “These markings…” he croaked as he swept the flashlight beam over the bizarre lettering. “I mean, they’re just... insane. I’ve never seen anything like that before.” As usual, Ivy the optimist made her way next to him, and her eyes were sparkling with thrill. “As if we entered another dimension,” she couldn’t help but say. “I can’t believe we are actually in this place.” Lyra walked behind them; every nerve inside her bayed for her to retreat. The air inside the ruin felt wrong, thick with something she couldn’t name. Each step forward felt like pushing against a force she could not see, a resistance that only she seemed to sense. The wind outside had become ferocious now, rattling the broken stones, but it wasn’t the storm that unsettled her. It was the ruin itself. The deeper they went, the more oppressive the atmosphere became, as if the place were alive and watching them. Rhett kept close to Lyra, warily scanning their surroundings. "I don't like this," he muttered lowly. "Something's not right here.” Lyra nodded the whole time. She couldn't shake off the feeling that they were being watched, that they were stepping onto something antique and perilous. "I know," she whispered back. "We need to be careful." Too caught up in their excitement, Harrison and Ivy barely noticed the tension growing between Rhett and Lyra as they pressed deeper into the ruin, their flashlights illuminating past broken pillars and crumbling walls to more carvings–even more unsettling in nature. The symbols became increasingly complex the further they went, twisting and spiraling in ways that made Lyra's skin crawl. Then, as if on cue, a low sound echoed through the chamber—a whisper, soft and indistinct, but unmistakable. Lyra froze; her heart pounded in her chest. She turned sharply, but there was nothing behind them, just the wind howling through the ruins.Every step seemed an intrusion, as if they were treading a sacred floor that had not seen living souls in centuries. Lyra's boots crunched over the gravel-strewn floor, every sound sharp, far too loud against the eerie stillness of the ancient ruin. She stuck close to Ivy and Rhett, taking comfort in the nearness of the others, yet the weight of the ruin bore down upon her. It was as though the air had thickened with the history of the place, clinging to her skin and seeping into her lungs with every breath.Harrison led the way, practically buzzing with excitement. He moved with a reckless energy, the same kind that had gotten them into countless risky situations before. His flashlight beam cut through the darkness ahead, momentarily distracting Lyra from the oppressive weight of the place. But only for a moment.“Anything yet?” she asked, her voice cutting through the silence that had settled over the group like a suffocating fog.Harrison turned, his grin flashing in the dim light
An unbearable iciness stood heavy in the atmosphere around the group who were petrified in front of the monumental figure of Zarekth, shrouded in all directions. The sculpture remained dilapidated but there was a strong feeling, a force, which made the very ground and the rocks they stood and walked in vibrate with the ancient eldritch energy that had long been erased from time. Lyra found it rather hard to ignore how it was working its way towards her epicenter, an irksome oscillation that brought all kinds of creeps to the back of her neck.Harrison shone his flashlight on the inscription carved into the pedestal of the statue. He wore a frown as if concentrating hard on something. His fingers ran over the other symbols as if trying to make sense of the hundreds of years that lay in the past. The first mechanism in his breath spoke about hope inside which a strange excitement girth had wrapped around it. Generally, it looked like that of a person who became an area in which people
Rain lashed down in relentless waves, drenching them all as they fought their way through the ruins. Lyra's clothes were slick on her; her skin prickled with the cold as the storm strengthened. Each raindrop seemed to be a needle, sharp and unyielding, piercing her skin. The wind whipped through the crumbling stone structures, howling between the ancient columns and shattered walls. The noise was something that resonated not just in the ethers, but the very ground, sending vibrations down to the rocks around them, as if something underground was moving back and forth uneasily, waiting. Rhett was leading the way, water dripping from his hair which was sticking to his forehead, and was narrowing his eyes against the rain. “I can't see a damn thing!” he voiced out, annoyance beginning to show in his tone. He turned back to look at Lyra and shook his head. "This is insane! I never signed up for this."Lyra found herself struggling to keep up, her boots sinking into the mud on every st
Lyra groggily awoke, her voice muffled by a crushing weight compressing her chest. Eyelids flailed open against the encroaching shadows, pierced by thin slivers of light. All was a blur—a diffused haze of shapeless something and indistinct shadows that seemed to twist about her vision. She blinked, fighting for clarity, and yet her body felt impossibly heavy, as if iron weights had been tied to her limbs.She took a sudden, sharp breath in, clenching her teeth, and heaved herself upright. Pain exploded through her muscles like fire, sharp stabs radiating from every inch of her body. She winced, bit back a curse, forcing herself to sit. Her breathing came in shallow, ragged gasps, and she glanced around, disoriented. One question plagued her mind, insistent, chilling.Where am I?It struck her like a thousand-pound weight, expelling the breath from her chest.Her friends were gone. Panic clawed up her throat as she yelled hoarsely and desperately, "Ivy? Rhett? Harrison?"The greeting s
There was a striking attraction that pulled her towards the tomb, and it was similar to how a moth would be drawn to a flame. Every single one of Lyra's instincts screamed at her to back away, but she turned her mind off and her feet began to move, taking her into the dark. The closer she got to the stone structure, the more she could feel something like a current vibrating in her body, as if it were beating in time with her heart. It was getting heavier, the dark of the night settling in, yet something in her gut—something old and primal—pushed her on.The tomb loomed before her, its presence overwhelming. Its massive stone surface seemed to breathe with life. The carvings etched into it appeared to move in the dim light, as though frozen in time, waiting for someone like her to release their secrets. Lyra hesitated, her fingers trembling as they brushed against the worn stone. The rough surface felt ancient, pulsating beneath her fingertips, as if it held a life of its own.What lay
The moment Zarekth returned to the world, it became immediately clear that this was no ordinary event. He wasn’t just any being—he was a god, stirring from a sleep of a thousand years. Laying eyes on him for the first time was a shock to Lyra’s system. Towering at six feet eight inches, he made her feel minuscule, insignificant even, at her five-foot-seven frame. Standing next to him was akin to standing beside a force of nature, rather than flesh and blood. The darkness seemed to churn around him, enhancing his imposing presence, a reminder that she was now in the presence of a god.Muscles adorned every single part of him, and he emanated strength from his core. His silver hair fell over his hefty shoulders, framing a face that was stunning yet frightening simultaneously. His lobes were pierced and he sported ear-rings. Thick, dark brows shadowed sharp, sculpted features that seemed almost too perfect, as though the gods themselves had chiseled him from marble. Even in the dim lig
Zarekth’s gaze was unwavering, cold and detached as Lyra’s words hung in the air. The weight of his skepticism pressed down on her, making her feel as though the very concept of friendship was somehow trivial, unworthy of his understanding. His expression remained impassive, and for a brief moment, Lyra felt the sting of his indifference.“Your friends?” he echoed, his voice laced with disdain, as if the idea was beneath him.Lyra’s frustration surged. She stood straighter, trying to push back against the god’s towering presence. “Yes, my friends,” she repeated, sharper now, anger flaring in her chest. “We were exploring some ancient ruins for a history project. None of us were trying to summon gods or meddle with forces we didn’t understand. We were just—” She hesitated as the memory of the storm returned to her mind ever so vividly. "A storm occurred," she managed to say, although the peg of her voice quivered as that image played out in her mind.“The ruins started collapsing. D
Lyra sat against the cold stone wall, knees pulled to her chest, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the dusty floor. Time felt meaningless here, distorted like everything else in this forsaken place. Had it been a day? Two? Maybe more. There was no sun, no sky—anything to tell her what time it was. Just the relentless darkness, the heavy cold that seeped into her bones, and the whispers—faint, yet steady, as voices from the forgotten.Opposite her, Zarekth paced, his tall, imposing figure moving in the restless energy of a caged beast. The sound of his sandals hitting the stone echoed in the cavernous space, a monotonous rhythm now beginning to grate on her nerves. He hadn't said much since they found themselves trapped here—wherever this place was—and his silence was as unsettling as his pacing.“How long are you going to pace for?” Lyra finally asked, her voice cutting through the stillness.Zarekth stopped mid-stride, his silver eyes narrowing as he regarded her. He did
The sun dipped low over Valestra, its light painting the towering spires of the city in soft shades of gold. In the heart of the City of Scholars, Lyra found herself trailing behind Tharion and Viana as they navigated the winding pathways of the lower archives. This particular area of Valestra lacked the formality of grand halls or ancient tomes. Instead, it was alive with chatter and the hum of day-to-day life.Tharion, ever the enthusiastic guide, gestured toward every sight that caught his eye. “And here, we have the Oracles’ Alcove! Some say the first scribes of Nerathia etched their prophecies right into the walls.” He paused, then grinned at Lyra. “It’s been said those who stand here long enough might glimpse their own futures.”Lyra raised an eyebrow. “Right. Because that’s exactly what I need—another headache to go with the whole ‘trapped in the past’ situation.”Viana chuckled softly, her arms folded as she watched Tharion practically buzz with excitement. “Maybe it’ll
Zarekth’s aimless wandering led him to a sudden discovery: an underground passage. It was cold and silent, lit only by the flickering glow of dimly placed candles along the damp stone walls. He moved with caution, his sandals scraping faintly against the ancient floor. This place reeked of secrets, and it annoyed him. He preferred open battlefields to these suffocating halls, but this journey had taken him to yet another place where answers supposedly hid.Ahead loomed a door, its surface carved with intricate runes that hummed faintly with latent power. The door creaked as it pulled open on its own, the sound echoing ominously. He hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside, his sharp gaze sweeping the chamber.The room was expansive, yet felt crowded by the weight of history. Artifacts lined the walls, each glowing faintly as if holding fragments of forgotten truths. A stone bust caught his eye. He recognized the face instantly—Aureon. His father. The god of light and j
Tharion carefully placed a weathered tome on the table, its aged leather cover showing cracks, accompanied by scrolls that exuded an equally ancient air. A solitary lantern illuminated the room, casting elongated shadows on the stone walls. Lyra and Viana, consumed by curiosity, leaned in closer, their eyes gleaming with interest. “Alright,” Tharion commenced in a scholarly yet eager manner, “let's delve into the fundamentals—how Nerathia came into existence.”Lyra, feigning composure despite the myriad of questions bubbling within her, rested her chin on her hand. The sense of anticipation surged through her, though she strived not to disrupt the narrative unfolding before her.Turning the fragile, yellowed pages of the book, Tharion's lips curled into a faint smile as his fingers delicately traced the text. It seemed as though he had traversed the tale countless times, yet still found marvel in its words.“An era preceding mortals, cities, or even the notion of time, Nerathia lay
Tharion guided Lyra and Viana through the winding corridors of Valestra, the soft echo of their footsteps reverberating against the ancient stone walls. The flickering glow of enchanted lanterns bathed their path in a pale, ethereal light. The day’s events had left Lyra’s muscles sore, but the faint smell of parchment and ink in the air brought a strange comfort, reminiscent of the library back home. They entered a modest chamber with three neatly arranged beds and a table cluttered with scrolls and ink pots. Tharion paused, gesturing around with a bright smile. “You’ll rest here. Not bad, eh? Well, as much as one can expect while journeying with a god of chaos.” He glanced around as if expecting Zarekth to appear from the shadows. When he didn’t, Tharion shook his head. “Where is he? Wandering off, I suppose. Typical gods, always mysterious.” He looked back at Lyra and Viana, his face alight with excitement. “Still, I can’t believe it. You’re traveling with Zarekth. Do
The towering gates of Valestra, the City of Scholars, loomed before them, their intricate carvings glinting faintly under the soft glow of enchanted lanterns. The gates were vast, an imposing wall of engraved knowledge and symbols of wisdom, as though every inch carried the weight of history. Beyond them, faint murmurs of life could be heard—footsteps, low voices, and the hum of magic weaving through the air.Zarekth, Lyra, and Viana approached cautiously, their journey weary yet purposeful. Two magicians, clad in flowing robes lined with silver runes, emerged from their posts near the gate, their staff glowing faintly with defensive magic. Their expressions were stern, their gazes sharp as they surveyed the strangers before them.“Halt!” One of them commanded, his voice as crisp as the cold night air. “Who seeks entry into Valestra? Strangers are not welcome without cause.”Lyra tensed, clutching her bow instinctively. Viana stepped closer to her, though her own knives were sh
The ruins stood like a forgotten monument, its jagged stones and crumbled walls offering shelter from the night’s chill. The distant wind whispered through the ruins, carrying the last remnants of the battle they had just escaped. Lyra’s breath came in shallow gasps, her body tired but her mind racing from the encounter. She had barely noticed the minor scratches that lined her arms and face, too preoccupied with the danger that had almost claimed them.Viana, ever the healer, moved swiftly to her side. “You’re lucky, Lyra. Nothing too serious here,” she murmured as her hands glowed with healing light, closing the shallow cuts with a practiced touch.Lyra nodded, grateful for the comfort, but her eyes drifted toward Zarekth. The god’s face was strained, his jaw clenched as he stood, trying to ignore the pain radiating from his side. The slash was deep, the blood oozing from the wound in thick golden rivulets. Lyra’s heart skipped at the sight—gods didn’t bleed red, as mortals di
The dwindling fire barely illuminated the camp, casting subtle, flickering shadows. The night remained tranquil, disturbed only by the occasional leaf rustling in the breeze and the soft crackling of the embers. Lyra and Viana rested on their bedrolls, swathed in their cloaks, the fire's warmth easing them into a profound slumber.Zarekth, ever vigilant, had drifted into a restless slumber, though his mind never fully left the surrounding woods. Even in sleep, his senses remained sharp, attuned to any threat that may arise.And something was coming.The unfolding events began with a mere whisper, a faint and fragmented murmur that hovered on the fringes of consciousness. Subsequently, the ambient temperature plunged, shrouding the camp in a chilling embrace, while shadows seemed to lengthen ominously. An array of peculiar sounds permeated the atmosphere: soft skittering, faint rustling, and indistinct murmurs, suggestive of a veiled observer, a silent presence lingering nearby. As
The forest was alive with the murmurs of dusk—leaves rustling in the breeze, branches creaking under the weight of night-dwelling creatures, and distant howls echoing in the cool air. Lyra crouched low behind a jagged stone, her fingers tightening around the smooth wooden shaft of a borrowed bow. Viana knelt beside her, whispering instructions that only half-registered in Lyra’s buzzing mind.“Steady your hands, keep your eyes on the target,” Viana murmured, pointing toward their prey—a deer grazing in a moonlit clearing not far ahead. Its ears twitched as if sensing danger, though it continued its meal, oblivious to the two figures hidden among the shadows.Lyra exhaled deeply, feeling her heartbeat resonate loudly as she pulled the string back. Her muscles quivered under the unfamiliar strain, yet her anticipation overshadowed any physical discomfort. Peering intensely along the arrow's path, she observed her breath forming mist in the crisp air. Her focus narrowed to a singular
The air reeked of sulfur and decay. Shadows swayed unpredictably on the uneven walls, driven by a restless, simmering fire casting erratic flickers in the heart of the chamber. Within the vast expanse, skeletal remains, devoid of flesh, stood in rows, their empty sockets giving an impression of a perpetual, haunting gaze.The oppressive heat of the place made even the darkness feel alive, writhing with malicious intent.From the depths of the gloom came laughter—low and guttural at first, then rising into a cacophony of voices, each more twisted and deranged than the last.“Awake. Awake!” one voice hissed, its tone dripping with mockery. “The son of Aureon lives again. Can you believe it?”Laughter rippled through the chamber, sharp and biting, like claws scraping against stone.“Foolish,” another voice sneered. This one was deeper, a slow rumble that seemed to shake the very ground beneath. “He should have remained buried, forgotten. Who dared disturb the seal?”A third voice join