The transition from the outskirts of Erthwood to the desolate expanse of the Wastes was stark. The world seemed to change with each step Morganna and Lucian took. Vegetation became scarcer, the ground hardened into cracked dirt, and the wind carried an eerie, hollow whistle, as if lamenting the demise of the land it passed over. Morganna walked with steady determination, her golden eyes locked on the horizon, where distant, twisted shadows of the Wastes stretched endlessly.
The serpent, which had faithfully slithered at her side, began to grow restless, its tongue flicking out more frequently as if tasting something in the air. Morganna's lips curved slightly, almost imperceptibly. The Wastes were alive in their own way, and her familiar could sense it. She relished the idea—this place, which had driven countless travelers mad, would yield to her. She would bend its darkness to her will.
"Stay close," she said to Lucian without looking back, her voice low but carrying an unmistakable authority.
Lucian trudged behind her, his eyes darting from side to side, watching the shifting shadows of the Wastes. There was an unnatural darkness here, something that clung to the edges of perception like a waking nightmare. His instincts screamed at him to turn back, but his resolve kept him moving. He glanced at Morganna's back—how could she walk so confidently through this cursed land?
"What exactly are we looking for?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
Morganna paused for a moment, then turned her head slightly, just enough for him to catch the glimmer of her golden eyes. "A tomb," she said simply, her voice rich with anticipation. "An ancient tomb of a forgotten mage whose power was said to rival the gods. It lies buried beneath these desolate lands."
"A tomb?" Lucian echoed, his eyebrows furrowing. "How do you even know it's real? The Wastes have swallowed entire armies. Most people think anything out here is just myth."
Morganna laughed—a low, almost musical sound that sent a shiver down Lucian's spine. "My dear Lucian, myths are simply truths that most are too frightened to face. I have sources—things whispered to me by those who understand power, who know what lies beyond mere mortal knowledge."
Lucian hesitated, but nodded. The confidence in her voice was infectious. He had to believe, if only to justify how far he had come.
The terrain became rougher as they moved deeper into the Wastes. Rocks, gnarled and twisted like skeletal remains, jutted out from the cracked earth, and strange, phosphorescent fungi glowed in the dim light. The sky above was a sickly color—neither day nor night, but some eternal twilight that distorted time. There was no path to follow, no markers that pointed the way, yet Morganna walked as though she knew each step before she took it.
They came to a cliffside, the drop below obscured by a thick, unnatural fog. Morganna stopped at the edge, her eyes narrowing. "We're close," she murmured, more to herself than to Lucian. Her serpent coiled tighter around her feet, seemingly agitated.
Lucian looked at the drop, then back at Morganna. "How do you know?"
Morganna raised a hand, and a strange, dark energy began to pulse from her palm, swirling like smoke. The wind picked up, and the fog below them seemed to part, revealing jagged steps carved into the rock leading downward, disappearing into the shadows below.
"This is it," she said, a dangerous smile playing on her lips. "The entrance to the tomb."
Lucian swallowed, staring at the steep descent. The steps were narrow, barely enough for one person, and the stone was worn, slick with moisture and glowing lichen. A yawning darkness awaited them below, and even the serpent seemed reluctant to proceed.
Morganna moved without hesitation, stepping onto the first stone step. She glanced back at Lucian, her smile growing. "Afraid of the dark, Lucian?" she taunted.
Lucian steeled himself, taking a deep breath. "Not anymore," he said, and followed her down into the abyss.
The descent was treacherous, the air growing colder and thicker with each step. Morganna moved gracefully, her serpent coiling down beside her. Lucian was less elegant—he had to press himself against the cliffside for balance, his heart pounding with each step that sent a small pebble tumbling into the blackness below.
After what felt like hours, they finally reached the bottom, where an ancient stone door stood embedded into the rock face. The door was covered in strange, shifting runes, glowing faintly as if in response to Morganna's presence.
Lucian stared at the door, the runes making his head spin the longer he looked at them. "How do we open it?" he asked, his voice hushed.
Morganna stepped closer, her fingers brushing over the runes. "The mage who rests here was known for his power over the mind," she whispered. "He guarded his tomb with enchantments meant to deter any but the most determined. Only those who are willing to face their own nightmares will gain entry."
Lucian felt a chill run down his spine. "Face our nightmares?"
Morganna closed her eyes, the dark energy radiating from her once again, intertwining with the runes. "Yes. But do not fear, Lucian," she said, her voice echoing with dark humor. "The things that haunt you are but fleeting shadows compared to the darkness I wield."
The runes began to shift and twist, the light growing more intense. The ground beneath them rumbled, and slowly, the stone door began to open, revealing a yawning darkness beyond. The air that rushed out was frigid, filled with the scent of damp earth and something ancient, something that had been undisturbed for centuries.
Lucian's hands trembled as he followed Morganna through the doorway, into the tomb of the forgotten mage. He could feel it—the presence of something powerful, something that resonated with the magic that Morganna exuded. A flicker of doubt crossed his mind, but he quickly extinguished it. He had chosen this path, and there was no turning back.
The darkness swallowed them whole, and as the stone door sealed itself behind them, Morganna's laughter echoed in the narrow chamber—a twisted promise of what was yet to come.