Stepping through the archway, its massive, weathered stones carved with the faded likenesses of forgotten beasts, my hand remained clasped with Adrix’s. “Are you both alright?” Noctis’s voice sliced through the charged air. Adrix and I exchanged a glance, nodding in unison. Suddenly, Liora surged towards me, her momentum nearly sending me sprawling. My hand instinctively slipped from Adrix’s as I wrapped my arms around her. “I’m so relieved you’re both safe,” she murmured against my shoulder. As I released her, a playful grin touched her lips. “I saw you holding Adrix’s hand,” she teased, her eyes sparkling. My cheeks flushed crimson, anticipating Liora’s inevitable barrage of questions later.

“Is your mana stable?” Liora inquired, her gaze intent on Adrix.

“Yes, for the moment,” he replied, his eyes fixed on the ground.

Noctis, his brow furrowed with concern as he noted the dark circles under Adrix’s eyes, spoke. “It’s best we find Adrix a place to rest while we investigate.” His gaze then settled on me. A sharp sting bloomed across my forearm, drawing my own attention downward. I finally registered the angry red slices that crisscrossed my skin. Adrix’s breath hitched, a wave of regret flooding his eyes as he meticulously studied each wound. 

Gently, Liora placed her hand on my shoulder. Her mana flowed outwards, a soothing warmth knitting the cuts closed. “Thank you,” I murmured, offering a faint smile.

“You’re becoming my star patient, Lyra, and that’s not exactly a title to covet,” she said, her mouth forming a slight frown.

“Well, I’m certainly fortunate to have you to patch me up then,” I replied, giving Liora’s shoulder a light pat.

“Yes, you are quite lucky,” she answered with a small, self-satisfied smile.

We crossed back over the bridge and pushed open the door of the nearest dwelling. It was a pleasant, if dusty, living space, a single, child-sized knitted doll lying forlornly by the cold hearth, as if dropped mid-play. The silence within was broken only by our footsteps. Adrix moved straight to a worn couch and lay down. “I’m just going to rest here for a bit while you all look around,” he murmured, his voice already heavy with fatigue. While he rested, we searched. The curtains were faded, a child’s wooden toy lay abandoned in a corner, but nothing hinted at the ancient power we sought. The next structure, a former smithy by the look of its cold forge, offered only rusted implements and the lingering scent of old ashes. Disheartened, and with Adrix clearly needing more respite than these brief explorations allowed, Noctis suggested, his gaze thoughtful, “Perhaps we should return to the main building. It’s possible we overlooked something.”

We retraced our steps into the massive edifice. Evidence of Adrix’s uncontrolled power was extremely visible in the fresh scorch marks marring the walls and the fractured stone benches. The phantom heat of his untamed magic still seemed to cling to the air, and as I passed the spot where he’d faltered, a disorienting wave of that heat washed over me, a brief, dizzying echo of his panic and pain. I flinched, pushing the lingering sensations aside and focusing my attention outward. “It just looks like a hall to me,” I mused, my eyes methodically scanning the chamber once more. I tried to sense a subtle trace of mana that the others were missing, running my hand gently along the cool stone of each wall, searching, but found nothing.

A sudden, profound stillness enveloped the room. The familiar sounds of our movements had ceased. I turned, curious, to see what had prompted the silence. Finnian was walking slowly back up the steps towards the central pillar, his brow furrowed. He reached it, his fingers brushing over a specific section of the stone, tracing lines only he seemed to perceive. His head tilted, as if listening to something inaudible. Then, he stood motionless, his ancient mana flaring into a visible, shimmering aura that surrounded him. He seemed to be in a trance-like state as he knelt, placing his hand flat against the stone where he had just been tracing. Instantly, the etched writing flared to life, the ancient script throughout the hall shifting to a brilliant, incandescent gold. He then stepped back, and a low, grating sound echoed through the hall as sections of the stone floor began to slide open.

A long, circular staircase spiraled downwards, revealing another level beneath us. Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting that, I thought, a sense of astonishment. Finnian seemed to have returned to his usual demeanor. “So,” he asked, a hint of keen interest in his voice, “who wants to venture down first?”

“I will,” Noctis replied, already stepping onto the initial stair. As he descended, elegant, crystalline lights awakened along the polished walls, illuminating intricate carvings that seemed to dance and writhe in the soft glow. A low, resonant hum vibrated through the air, growing stronger with each step he took, as if the very structure resonated with a hidden, potent energy. I watched from the top, Liora and Finnian beside me, as Noctis reached the bottom.

The hum peaked, and then, the wall before him shimmered. The ancient script, the same that Finnian had activated above, blazed with an intense, golden light. With a sound like distant celestial chimes accompanied by the groan of immense stonework, a curved section of the wall split and receded, vanishing smoothly into the surrounding structure.

A new current of air wafted up to us, cool and electric, tinged with the sharp scent of ozone and something indescribably ancient, like dust motes from distant stars. From our vantage point, I could see into a vast, circular chamber. The walls, crafted from dark, polished stone, swept upwards to a high dome, every inch covered in the same luminous, ancient script that pulsed with gentle blues and golds, bathing the space in an ethereal twilight. It was breathtaking.

My gaze, however, was pulled irresistibly to the chamber’s heart. There, on a slender pedestal that seemed carved from solidified moonlight, lay a single book. It wasn’t large in size, yet it commanded the entire space. Its cover, fashioned from a material like polished obsidian yet glinting with captured starlight, was secured by two clasps. As Finnian’s fingers brushed the obsidian-like cover to unlatch them, a faint warmth pulsed against his skin, and the clasps seemed to exhale a silent breath. The very air around it appeared to shimmer, and the glyphs on the chamber walls nearest to it shone with a slightly brighter, more insistent light, as if paying homage. This was no ordinary discovery; it was the reason this hidden place existed. Adrix slowly made his way downstairs and sat on the bottom step, leaning against the wall.

Finnian cleared his throat, his voice hushed. He said, “It’s a journal. Belongs to someone named Xylos.” He paused, his finger tracing the delicate script. “The first entry… ‘Year two hundred and seventeen of K’tthar’s Shadowed Dominion, the fifty-seventh day.'”

Finnian continued, his voice taking on a somber tone as he read Xylos’s words:

“The days have grown suffocatingly darker, not merely in sunlight, but in spirit. The very air feels heavy with unshed tears. To venture beyond the crumbling wards of our hidden enclave, Oakhaven, is to invite a gruesome, unspeakable end. K’tthar’s shadow tightens its noose around the throat of humanity; we are but flickering embers against his all-consuming storm, and I fear the final gust approaches.”

Liora’s hand flew to her mouth, a stifled gasp escaping. Noctis’s jaw tightened, his knuckles white where he gripped the hilt of a dagger I hadn’t realized he’d drawn.

“His legion of horrors, things of nightmare forged from shadow and bone, with eyes like dying stars and a hunger that echoes from some lightless void—scour the lands.” As Finnian spoke these words, the luminous script on the chamber walls seemed to dim for a heartbeat, the ethereal blues and gold flickering as if in fear. “They leave behind only a bone-chilling silence, stripped earth where vibrant forests once stood, and the lingering, acrid stench of unimaginable feasting. They do not merely kill; they unmake, eradicating even the memory of what was.”

Even Adrix, who had seemed lost in his own pain, visibly flinched at the description, his hand reflexively going to his own chest.

“And K’tthar himself… the Despairing Veil, the very aura of his malevolent presence, seeps into the world like a creeping plague.” A sudden chill, deeper than the ancient stone, seemed to emanate from the very floor of the chamber, prickling my skin. “It is a palpable, soul-crushing miasma that chokes hope, turns courage to ash, and freezes the will. Under its oppressive weight, brave warriors forget the feel of a sword hilt, their limbs locking in a paralysis of pure terror as his abominations approach. Their minds are shattered by the sheer, unholy weight of his ancient malevolence long before their bodies are broken. He doesn’t just conquer; he annihilates the spirit, leaving behind husks that yearn for oblivion.

My mentor, Elder Maeve, her own spirit worn thin as ancient parchment by two centuries of this blight, says my time approaches. I am to become an Elder of Oakhaven, a guardian of what little light remains. But what is an Elder without a people? A shepherd with no flock left to guide from the wolves? Every night, I stare into the encroaching darkness beyond our faltering defenses and I am seized by a chilling dread… I fear I am destined to preside only over a silent barrow, a legacy of dust and echoes, leading only ghosts into an already forsaken future.”

Finnian flipped to the next entry, his brow furrowed in concentration. Adrix, drawn by the gravity in Finnian’s voice, had quietly crept closer.

“Another entry,” Finnian announced, his voice lower now. “Year two hundred and seventeen of K’tthar’s Shadowed Dominion, the seventy-ninth day.” He read:

“The weight of it settles upon me. Today, Elder Maeve, her light nearly extinguished by the unending twilight of K’tthar’s reign, formally passed the burdens of Oakhaven to my shoulders. I now bear the title of Elder. With trembling hands, I received the Ancestral Staff, the very wood humming against my palms, alive with the echoes of generations.” Adrix shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flicking to his own hands, then quickly away, as if remembering the searing, uncontrolled energy that had recently burst from him. “Its ancient power surges, amplifying my own meagre abilities, yet it feels like a brand, searing me with responsibility. Around me, the faces of our people are etched with a despair so profound it steals the breath. Hope is a guttering candle flame. I must find a path through this suffocating gloom. I cannot – will not – fail Oakhaven.”

Finnian’s gaze flicked up, meeting ours for a fleeting moment before returning to the journal. “He sounds… resolute. There’s more.”

“Year two hundred and seventeen of K’tthar’s Shadowed Dominion, the one hundred and twenty-third day.”

“A breakthrough! After countless nights spent poring over forbidden texts, my fingers stained with ink and my mind stretched to its limits, a shard of hope has pierced the oppressive darkness! I believe I have unearthed a way – a desperate, perilous gambit, but a way nonetheless – to not just save our people, but perhaps the world itself. I have rallied Oakhaven’s finest – what few warriors and mages still possess the strength to stand. The key lies in a ritual of sealing, an ancient rite that can bind even a power as devastating as K’tthar’s. My staff, it transpires, is more than a symbol or a focus; it is the very conduit, the linchpin for the entire enchantment. But the ritual demands a terrible price and unwavering focus. Our brave souls will form a living shield, a bulwark of courage to protect me as I channel the energies required to imprison that abomination. This is our final, defiant roar against the encroaching silence. If I falter, if we falter, humanity will be utterly and irrevocably erased from existence.”

A heavy silence hung in the air before Finnian located the next, and seemingly final, marked passage. His voice was now a mere whisper.

“Year one, fifth day of the Age of Light.”

“We prevailed. K’tthar is bound. The cost was grievous. So many lights extinguished in that final, cataclysmic confrontation. Their faces will haunt my dreams, but their sacrifice purchased this new dawn. Oakhaven still stands, and with it, a chance to rebuild, to reconnect with any other shattered remnants of our world, to step out from the shadows of seclusion. This will be my final inscription, a message across the gulf of time. To you, my descendant, the blood of my blood, who now reads these words…” My breath caught. I glanced at Finnian, then at Noctis and Liora. The unspoken question hung heavy between us. “…the cycle has, as our Seeker foretold in her last, agonizing vision, turned. K’tthar’s prison weakens. That ancient, unyielding darkness stirs once more. By the time this journal finds your hand, the shadows will be lengthening across your lands, hope will be a fading memory, and nowhere will be truly safe. You are now the inheritor of this terrible duty. You must succeed where we could only postpone. There is no other path, no other champion. Find my staff – it is the key, not only to the sealing but to the accumulated wisdom and memories of every Elder who bore it. Grasp it, and you will understand the entirety of the burden, and the method. You will know what must be done. Do not let our sacrifice, and the hope of this new Age of Light, be in vain.”

Finnian slowly closed the journal, the ancient leather creaking in the profound stillness that had fallen. The weight of Xylos’s final words pressed down on us, heavier than the stone walls of the chamber. I saw my own shock mirrored in Liora’s wide eyes, and the grim set of Noctis’s jaw. Adrix looked as though he’d been physically struck; his gaze was fixed on the spot where the journal mentioned the staff, a mixture of fear and a dawning, desperate understanding in his eyes. The darkness is upon you… You are the key… You must succeed. The words echoed in my mind, a terrifying, undeniable summons.

A new clarity, cold and sharp as ice, seemed to settle over me. Xylos’s final plea echoed: Find the staff… it is the key. The path was terrifyingly clear. We had our purpose, however fraught with peril. We had to find Xylos’s staff.