The trees of the Greatwood Forest loomed high overhead, casting long shadows over the narrow path. Duran led his small company of soldiers through the underbrush, the forest dense with the sounds of rustling leaves, chirping insects, and the occasional distant animal call. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he scanned the terrain ahead. They were only a day into their journey, but the forest had already proven to be more treacherous than expected.
Behind him marched 10 Swordsmen, 10 Spearmen, and 5 Archers, each soldier alert and ready for whatever dangers might emerge from the trees. The forest felt alive in a way that made Duran's instincts sharpen. He had been on plenty of missions, fought in more than his fair share of battles, but this—this was different. The air itself seemed charged with something ancient, something hidden beneath the surface.
The mission was simple in theory: find the Heart of Oryn, an ancient relic said to unlock hero units—powerful individuals with unique abilities who could turn the tide of battle. The legends spoke of warriors and leaders from long ago, men and women of great renown, who were able to tap into the relic's power and wield incredible strength, speed, or magical prowess. Duran wasn't one for legends, but if the stories were true, the Heart of Oryn could give Kayl's forces the edge they needed.
Kayl had chosen Duran for this mission, and the captain of the guard wasn't going to let him down. The relic could change everything for them. Not just another defensive structure or an addition to their military forces—this could mean summoning extraordinary warriors, each with skills beyond what ordinary troops could hope to achieve.
"We'll stop when we reach the foothills," Duran called over his shoulder. "That should give us enough time to set up camp before nightfall."
Signs of the Ruin
The foothills lay not far beyond the forest's edge, but the deeper they went, the thicker the trees became. Duran noticed subtle changes in the environment—strange stone markers jutting out of the ground, covered in moss and weathered with age. They were scattered at irregular intervals, half-buried in the earth, but they were unmistakably man-made.
"Looks like we're heading in the right direction," Duran muttered, his eyes scanning one of the markers.
One of the Swordsmen, a young man named Kellan, stepped forward to get a closer look. "You think these were part of the ruins?"
"Could be," Duran replied, crouching next to the stone. The markers were old, ancient even, and the markings carved into the surface were faint, worn away by time. "Whatever they were, they've been here for a long time."
The discovery of the markers brought a quiet sense of urgency to the group. They were getting closer.
Duran motioned for them to continue. As they moved deeper into the forest, the markers became more frequent, almost forming a path of sorts. It felt as though the forest itself was leading them toward something—toward the ancient ruin where the Heart of Oryn was said to be hidden.
The First Challenge
As the sun began to sink lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the forest floor, Duran spotted the foothills in the distance. They were jagged and rocky, the terrain rising sharply from the flat forest floor. It would be a hard climb, especially for the soldiers carrying heavy weapons and armor.
"We'll camp here for the night," Duran said, stopping at a small clearing near the base of the foothills. "Get the perimeter set up. I want archers on watch at all times."
The soldiers moved quickly, setting up a basic camp with tents and a small fire. The air was cooler here, the scent of pine filling their nostrils as they prepared for the night. Duran ordered the men to take shifts on watch while he sat near the fire, his eyes fixed on the distant silhouette of the foothills.
He knew that whatever waited for them in the ruins wasn't going to be easy. Legends of powerful relics always came with stories of deadly traps and ancient guardians. And there was something else gnawing at the back of his mind—a report from one of Kayl's scouts about a Varnorian scouting party heading in the same direction.
He clenched his fists, his jaw tight. The Varnorians were ruthless, and if they were after the Heart of Oryn, Duran and his men might have to face more than just the dangers of the ruin.
The crackle of the fire broke his thoughts, and Duran looked up to see Kellan approaching.
"Everything's quiet so far," Kellan reported, his voice low. "But there's something strange about this place. The men feel it too."
Duran nodded. "There's something old about these woods. Keep your guard up."
Kellan lingered for a moment before nodding and moving back to his post.
A Restless Night
That night, Duran barely slept. The air felt heavy, as if the forest itself was watching them. His hand never left the hilt of his sword, and every small noise made his senses flare. The soldiers were equally tense, their eyes scanning the treeline, their movements rigid.
The fire crackled quietly in the center of the camp, casting flickering shadows across the trees. The night was unnaturally still, the usual forest sounds muted. Even the wind seemed to avoid this place.
Duran sat up, his instincts telling him something was wrong.
"Everyone on alert," he hissed, standing and signaling to the archers in the trees. The soldiers immediately rose, their hands going to their weapons.
The forest felt different—quieter, darker. The light from the fire flickered strangely, as if something was distorting the air around them. And then, out of the silence, came a faint sound—a low, rhythmic hum that seemed to echo from deep within the foothills.
Duran's heart raced. Magic.
"What is that?" one of the Spearmen whispered, his voice tight with fear.
Duran didn't answer. His eyes were locked on the foothills, where the sound seemed to be coming from. He had heard tales of ancient ruins protected by long-forgotten magic, and this—this felt like one of those tales come to life.
"We'll investigate in the morning," Duran said finally, his voice steady despite the unease creeping up his spine. "Whatever that sound is, we're not going in blind."
The soldiers nodded, though the tension in the air was thick. The hum persisted, low and barely audible, like a distant chant carried on the wind. Whatever was out there, it was ancient—and it was waiting for them.
Morning Preparations
By dawn, the tension in the camp hadn't eased, but Duran was ready to move. They broke camp quickly, the soldiers quiet as they prepared for the climb into the foothills. Duran led the way, his senses sharp, as they began their ascent toward the ruins.
The path became steeper as they moved into the hills, the ground uneven and rocky. The stone markers continued, though now they were larger, more ornate, with strange symbols carved into their surfaces. Some of the soldiers whispered to each other about the ancient magic that was said to protect the ruin, but Duran kept his focus on the terrain ahead.
They were getting closer. The hum that had haunted the night was still present, though faint, and it seemed to grow louder as they climbed higher. Whatever was waiting for them at the top of the foothills was not going to be easy to face.
As they neared the crest of the hill, Duran stopped, holding up a hand for the soldiers to halt. The ground leveled out ahead, and there, half-buried in the earth and overgrown with vines, was the entrance to the ancient ruin.
The Lost Vault, where the Heart of Oryn was said to be kept.
It was massive, its stone doors towering over them, carved with intricate designs and symbols that Duran didn't recognize. The air around it was thick with the hum of magic, and even the soldiers, hardened by years of battle, seemed uneasy.
"We've found it," Duran whispered.
But as he stepped forward, he felt a shift in the air—something was watching them. He could feel it, like eyes on the back of his neck.
"Stay sharp," he ordered, his voice low. "This is just the beginning."