Duran had lost track of how many days—or weeks—it had been since he was separated from his men. The dark, twisting halls of the Lost Vault had become his prison, each corner revealing new dangers. He had been navigating the endless maze of stone corridors and hidden chambers, surviving on his instincts and sheer determination.
The monsters that roamed the labyrinth were relentless. Twisted, misshapen creatures—born from the magic that saturated the vault—attacked him constantly. Their glowing eyes and gnashing teeth haunted his every step. Duran's body bore the marks of countless battles, his armor dented and his sword chipped from the onslaught. The weight of his injuries pressed on him, but he couldn't stop moving. If he stopped, he knew it would be the end.
His supplies were running dangerously low. The water from the underground streams was barely enough to keep him going, and the small amounts of dried food he had managed to scavenge were almost gone. Every day was a battle for survival.
The Weight of Time
Duran sat with his back against the cold stone wall of a small alcove, one hand pressed against a fresh wound on his side. The wound wasn't deep, but it stung—a reminder of his most recent encounter with one of the labyrinth's creatures.
He had been trapped in this maze for what felt like an eternity. The sense of isolation was starting to wear on him. The cold, oppressive air, the endless winding paths, and the constant danger—it all weighed heavily on his mind. There was no escape. Every corridor he explored only led him deeper into the vault, further away from any hope of finding his men or getting out.
But even through the exhaustion and pain, Duran refused to give up. The Heart of Oryn was still out there. He could feel its presence, pulsing with an ancient magic that seemed to guide him deeper into the labyrinth.
"I'm not done yet," he muttered to himself, forcing himself to his feet. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword, and with a deep breath, he pushed forward.
A Glimmer of Hope
Days later—Duran wasn't sure how many—he came upon something different. The labyrinth had been nothing but narrow corridors and claustrophobic chambers, but now he stood before a massive stone door. It was covered in intricate carvings and glowing runes that seemed to pulse with the same energy he had felt when he first entered the vault.
The Heart of Oryn was near.
Duran approached the door cautiously. The air around it was thick with magic, and his instincts screamed that whatever lay beyond this door was the final challenge. He had survived this long, but the hardest part was still ahead.
With a deep breath, he pressed his hand against the door. The runes flared to life, and the door began to open, the sound of grinding stone filling the air as the massive slabs slowly parted.
Duran stepped forward, his heart pounding in his chest. The next test awaited him.