Drip… drip…

The sound echoed faintly through the stone chamber.

Oliver's torch crackled weakly, casting flickering light over the huge circular room they had entered. Moss-glow lined the ceiling like a false night sky. Pale blue runes ran along the walls — older than any castle, older than any kingdom.

Elisha tightened Oliver's cloak around her soaked clothes, still shivering slightly.

Oliver scanned the room. "Looks like some sort of ritual hall."

A stone platform stood at the center, carved with intersecting circles and runic inscriptions... except half of them were eroded. Broken pillars leaned against the walls, shattered tiles scattered across the floor.

Elisha stepped forward, brushing her fingers over a nearby rune. "These markings… they're not elven or dwarven. They match the fragments from the royal archives."

"Your ancestor's expedition?" Oliver asked.

She nodded faintly. "The markings indicate this was as far as any known record reached."

Before Oliver could respond—

Thud.

A heavy sound. Wet. Slow.

Then another.

Thud.

From the far side of the chamber, where the darkness was thickest… something moved.

Oliver drew his sword instantly. Mana traced along its runes in a faint glimmer.

Elisha raised her staff, whispering a barrier spell.

Then — it stepped into the light.

****

It stood three meters tall.

A knight.

Or rather — something wearing a knight's remains.

Its armor was ancient, rusted, covered in moss and dried black stains. Where flesh should've been, roots and tendrils slithered between gaps in the armor. One arm was missing — in its place, a mass of twisted vines wrapped around a broken halberd. From the helmet's hollow visor seeped a pale blue light.

Elisha whispered, "A… Gravebound."

Oliver frowned. "The hell is that?"

"A corpse soldier," she said, voice tight. "Left behind by ancient mages. It moves until its duty is fulfilled… or its body falls apart."

The Gravebound raised its weapon.

With a shriek of metal dragging against stone, it charged.

"Move!" Oliver shouted.

He grabbed Elisha's arm and rolled aside just as the halberd cleaved into the stone floor, splitting it open like paper.

Sparks flew. Dust burst.

Elisha stood up behind him, chanting quickly.

""Barrier – Prism Shield"!"

A translucent wall of light formed just in time — the halberd slammed into it, cracks spiderwebbing instantly.

Oliver rushed forward, sword glowing faintly.

He slashed.

CLANG!

The blade scraped against rusty armor. No damage.

The Gravebound swung its halberd horizontally. Oliver ducked.

Stone pillars cracked where it struck.

Elisha finished a second spell.

""Lumina Lance"!"

A spear of light shot from her staff, piercing the monster's shoulder — blowing off a chunk of moss-covered armor.

The creature staggered.

But. Did. Not. Fall.

Instead — roots writhed over the wound, sealing it.

Oliver grimaced. "It can regenerate?"

Elisha nodded. "As long as the rune core inside its chest remains intact."

"Then I'll just break it."

Oliver exhaled, gripping his sword tighter.

Mana surged.

He dashed forward, faster than a normal human — the runes on his blade ignited.

Elisha stood still, calming her breathing, her staff glowing again. "I'll distract it — three seconds!"

Oliver didn't look back. "I only need two."

The Gravebound roared, halberd sweeping toward Elisha.

She stepped back, slammed her staff down — "Gravity Bind"!

A heavy force pinned the monster's feet to the ground; cracks spread beneath its boots as if the stone itself groaned.

It struggled.

Oliver leapt.

Mid-air — he twisted his grip.

The runes along his blade flared — the Wind Edge enchantment activating.

FWOOOSH—!!

His sword plunged right into the monster's chest.

Metal screamed.

Sparks burst.

A blue heart-like crystal was visible through the crack.

SHATTER.

The rune core broke.

The Gravebound's glowing eyes faded.

Its body collapsed — armor crashing to the floor in a heap of vines and bones.

Silence.

Elisha exhaled, finally lowering her staff. "You're reckless."

Oliver smirked, wiping his sword. "And alive."

Her lips twitched slightly. "…Thank you."

*****

They barely had a moment to breathe when Oliver noticed something.

A faint light.

Glowing from a doorway behind the fallen Gravebound.

Elisha followed his gaze.

A stone archway, carved with unfamiliar runes, slowly opening — as if the guardian's death had unlocked it.

Oliver glanced at her. "Ready?"

Elisha nodded once, gathering her courage.

They stepped inside.

Leaving behind the ruined hall…

And heading deeper into the unknown.

*******

The passage beyond the broken Guardian was narrow—walls carved from dark stone, veins of pale blue light pulsing faintly through it like the veins of a sleeping beast. Oliver and Elisha walked cautiously, their footsteps echoing softly.

The air was colder here.

Quieter.

Only the distant hum of ancient magic stirred.

Oliver kept his sword drawn, its faint runic glow casting shadows along the walls. Beside him, Elisha walked silently, one hand clutching the spare cloak around her shoulders, the other lightly holding her staff.

She broke the silence first.

"…Thank you. For earlier."

Oliver didn't turn. "You'd do the same."

She hesitated, then gave a soft, almost embarrassed laugh. "Actually… no. I'd probably run."

He chuckled. "Honest answer. I'll take it."

They kept walking.

Soon, the passage widened into a circular chamber—dusty, old, and silent as a tomb. Broken camp tools lay scattered—rusted lanterns, shattered crates, scraps of cloth long turned to dust.

Elisha stepped forward, crouching near a fractured wooden box. "These belonged to that expedition… this insignia—this was the royal seal from a hundred years ago."

Oliver knelt and brushed dust from a rusted plaque bolted to the wall.

Ancient runes.

Not quite human. Not quite elven.

But Oliver could read them.

His eyes narrowed.

"Elisha… it says—'Only those of the Bloodline may pass. Others will be judged.' "

She swallowed. "…Bloodline. That means—"

Before she could finish—

KRRRRRRK…

A low rumble echoed from beneath the stone.

The circular platform at the center shifted—dust rising as lines of light awakened across the floor, forming a symbol—spiraling outward like a sun with twelve rays.

Oliver stepped back. "Did we trigger something?"

Elisha's pulse quickened. "No—this is a test."

The runes on the ground glowed brighter.

A voice—not spoken aloud, but resonating inside their minds—whispered:

"Legacy of the First Flame…

Blood of the Sun—step forward."

Elisha's breath caught. That title… only members of the Hestia royal line carried the crest of the First Flame.

The platform pulsed gently.

Oliver glanced at her. "It wants you."

She didn't move.

Her hands trembled.

"…And if I fail?" she whispered.

Oliver stepped beside her—quietly, calmly.

"Then I'll break it."

She blinked, startled—

—and then smiled, just faintly.

"…Alright."

She stepped forward.

Her palm touched the rune-etched stone.

Light spiraled outward beneath her feet.

The chamber shifted—walls sliding, old mechanisms grinding to life.

From the far end, an altar emerged.

Upon it—a dusty, rune-covered stone tablet. And beneath it… a sealed staircase descending deeper.

Elisha exhaled. "This… this is it. The archive of the expedition."

Oliver approached the stone tablet—

And froze.

Because carved into its surface…

…was a name.

A language older than kingdoms.

But completely readable to him.

He whispered it aloud.

"Elion Hestia."

Elisha's eyes widened. "…That was my ancestor's name."

"And something else is written."

Oliver traced the letters with his fingertip.

"We did not perish.

The forest is alive.

It listens.

It waits.

And it remembers our sins."

A cold wind swept through the chamber.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Elisha's voice was quiet. "…So they weren't just lost. They were hiding something."

Oliver turned toward the dark stairway ahead.

"Then I guess we find out what."

*****

The stone floor rumbled once more, then settled… quiet, still, as if holding its breath.

Elisha stood beside the newly revealed stairway, clutching her staff. The faint glow of runes along the walls pulsed like a heartbeat — slow and ancient.

Oliver glanced at the staircase, then at her.

"You're shaking."

"I'm not," she muttered — though her clenched hands betrayed her.

He offered a small, lopsided grin. "Want to wait here until Isolde and the others catch up?"

She hesitated.

Her fingers tightened around the spare cloak Isolde had wrapped around her earlier. The warmth hadn't left it yet.

"No," she said finally. "If this really is my ancestor's legacy… I should be the first to see it."

Oliver nodded once. "Then I'm coming with you."

******

The stairway spiraled downward — walls narrowing, air growing colder. Strange moth-like creatures clung to the ceiling, wings glowing faintly, casting ghostly light.

Oliver walked slightly ahead, sword drawn, runes along the blade pulsing softly in readiness.

Elisha followed, whispering small light spells to illuminate the steps.

For a while, neither spoke.

Then Elisha quietly said, "Oliver."

"Yeah?"

"You didn't have to come."

"Yeah, well," he exhaled lightly, "you scream louder than goblins. I figured someone should be here to save you if that happens."

Her cheeks puffed in embarrassment. "…I do not scream."

He smirked. "That's what you're taking from that?"

Despite herself, she let out a soft laugh.

The tension eased — if only a little.

The stairs ended in an underground hall — circular, cavernous, pillars cracked and choked by tree roots pressing through stone.

In the center stood a massive stone door — sealed shut, covered in layered runic inscriptions and foreign glyphs.

A broken campsite lay nearby — extinguished charcoal, rusted armor, rotted bedrolls.

"Another expedition site?" Oliver muttered.

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