Lyria sat in the dim corner of the tavern, her back pressed against the rough stone wall. The room was filled with the scent of smoke and ale, the raucous sounds of men gambling and drinking punctuating the night. Her fingers absentmindedly toyed with the hilt of her dagger, its edge dulled from too many contracts but still effective enough to slit a throat if necessary.
She glanced up as the heavy wooden door creaked open. A man stepped inside, his rich velvet cloak and polished boots standing in stark contrast to the grimy patrons that filled the room. His eyes scanned the crowd until they found her. Without hesitation, he crossed the room and sat down opposite her, offering no greeting.
"Lyria, isn't it?" the man asked, his voice smooth but with an edge of urgency. He wasted no time, sliding a parchment across the table toward her. His fingers were long, pale, and adorned with rings that gleamed in the low light.
Lyria's eyes flicked down to the parchment, but she made no move to touch it. "Depends who's asking."
"I am Lord Varren," he said, his tone dismissive as if the name alone should command respect. "I have a job for you."
Lyria leaned back, crossing her arms. "I'm listening."
"I need someone with your… talents. The catacombs beneath this city hold something I require. A relic, hidden deep within the labyrinth. It is said to be guarded by ancient traps and curses, but I trust you can handle such things."
She arched an eyebrow. "And what makes you think I'm interested?"
"The pay," he said, leaning forward. "Ten thousand gold pieces. Half now, half when you return."
Ten thousand was a small fortune, enough to retire and never work another contract. But Lyria was no fool. She knew the stories of the catacombs, had heard too many rumors of what happened to those who ventured too deep. The pay was generous for a reason.
"And what's this relic?" she asked, keeping her voice steady. "Seems like a lot of trouble for some old trinket."
Varren's expression darkened slightly, but he recovered quickly. "It is a gemstone, ancient and powerful. It belonged to the ruling class of the old civilization beneath us. Some say it holds great magical properties, others say it is cursed. But I assure you, it is worth the risk."
Lyria narrowed her eyes. "I don't deal in curses."
Varren smiled thinly. "A smart woman. But curses can be managed, if one knows how. All I need is someone skilled enough to retrieve it. What happens after is not your concern."
She studied him for a moment, weighing her options. The promise of gold was enticing, but her instincts warned her there was more to this than Varren was letting on. Still, ten thousand gold…
"I'll need a team," Lyria said finally. "This isn't a one-person job."
Varren nodded, as though he had anticipated this. "I have already arranged for that. A warrior, a mage, and a healer. All capable. They will meet you at dawn, at the southern gate."
Lyria's lips twitched into a smirk. "You've thought of everything, haven't you?"
"I prefer to be thorough," Varren said, standing up. "I trust you will not disappoint me."
With that, he turned and left the tavern, his cloak trailing behind him like the shadow of a snake. Lyria watched him go, her fingers still resting on her dagger. She had a bad feeling about this job, but the lure of wealth was difficult to ignore. Besides, if there was anything she prided herself on, it was her ability to slip in and out of impossible situations.
But the catacombs were different. The stories whispered in the alleys of Athelian were not just about gold and treasure—they were about death. A creeping, unnatural death that came from the darkness itself.
---
The next morning, as the first light of dawn crept over the city walls, Lyria arrived at the southern gate. Three figures stood waiting, as promised. The first was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a scarred face and a massive sword strapped to his back. He gave her a curt nod.
"Calen," he introduced himself. "I've seen my share of battles, but the catacombs… well, they're another beast."
The second figure, dressed in long robes and clutching a wooden staff, was Jax. His dark eyes gleamed with curiosity and arrogance. "I've been studying the magic of the old kingdom for years," he said. "I can handle anything we encounter down there."
The final member of the group was a quiet woman with pale skin and silver hair. She introduced herself as Nara, a healer. "I've been to places like this before," she said softly. "I'll do what I can to keep us alive."
Lyria eyed the group, noting the tension in their expressions. None of them were strangers to danger, but the fear of the unknown was palpable.
Without another word, they set off toward the entrance to the catacombs, a gaping hole in the ground covered by iron bars that had been hastily pried open. As they descended into the depths, the light of the sun faded behind them, replaced by the oppressive weight of darkness.
And in that darkness, something stirred.