The relic was smaller than I'd imagined—just a cylindrical object no larger than the hilt of a dagger. Its surface was engraved with runes, the patterns faintly shimmering like ripples on water. There was a quiet power to it, a sense of age and latent energy that hung in the air, making the room feel heavier than it should.
Lyra studied it from a distance as we moved through the catacombs, her sword drawn. "Why hasn't anyone taken this yet?" she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Cerys said the magic guarding it has weakened over time," Lyra said. "But even weakened wards don't just let you stroll in and grab something like that. Relics this old tend to attract attention—treasure hunters, mages, thieves. This one's been sitting here for centuries, and no one's taken it?"
I frowned, glancing at the relic in my hand. "Maybe the wards were stronger than she thought, and only recently weakened enough for anyone to reach it."
"Maybe," Lyra said, though her tone suggested she wasn't convinced. "But we've seen how things in this world don't just sit quietly, waiting to be found. Be ready for anything."
The passage back felt colder than it had before, the damp air clinging to my skin. The shadows seemed to stretch farther, moving unnaturally as our lantern light flickered.
"We're being followed," Lyra said suddenly, her voice sharp.
I stopped, straining my ears, but the silence was absolute. "I don't hear anything."
"That's the problem," she said. "We're not alone."
The corridor ahead darkened unnaturally, the shadows thickening and pooling together. Slowly, they began to take shape—humanoid figures with glowing, pale eyes and indistinct, shifting edges.
"Wards," Lyra said, stepping in front of me. "Residual magic tied to the relic."
"They weren't here before," I said, drawing my sword.
"The wards didn't activate until the relic was removed," Lyra replied. "Now they're here to make sure it doesn't leave."
The first figure lunged, its movements silent but unnervingly fast. Lyra's sword flashed as she intercepted it, the blade slicing through its smoky form. The ward recoiled but didn't dissolve, its shape shifting as it circled her warily.
"Aric, keep moving!" Lyra shouted, parrying another strike.
I gripped my sword tighter, the faint glow of its runes pulsing in time with my heartbeat. Another figure advanced toward me, its smoky blade slicing through the air. I blocked the strike, the impact sending a shockwave through my arm.
"They're not solid," I said, struggling to hold my ground.
"No," Lyra said through gritted teeth, her blade weaving through the air. "But they're not weak either. Use your runes—disrupt their magic!"
I swung my sword again, the runes flaring as they connected with the figure's form. The light seemed to burn through the ward, and its shape wavered before dissolving into smoke.
The battle was relentless. The wards moved with an unnatural grace, their strikes precise and unyielding. Lyra fought with a fluidity I could only admire, her blade a blur as she forced back two of the figures at once.
"Stay close!" she called out, dodging a strike that nearly grazed her shoulder.
"I'm trying!" I shouted, cutting through another ward.
The relic in my hand grew heavier with each passing moment, its latent magic pulsing faintly as if in response to the wards. It wasn't calling to me, but it was reacting to its surroundings—the ancient magic of the catacombs and the remnants of the wards still protecting it.
"We have to move!" Lyra said, finishing off another ward with a well-placed strike. "They'll keep coming as long as we stay here!"
I nodded, forcing myself to focus. The last of the wards lunged at me, its smoky blade slicing through the air. I met its attack with my sword, the runes blazing as they cut through its form. The ward dissolved into nothing, leaving the corridor eerily quiet once more.
We didn't waste any time. The relic's faint hum followed us as we hurried through the twisting passages, our lantern light casting erratic shadows on the damp walls.
By the time we reached the surface, the sun was beginning to rise, its golden light spilling over the jagged rooftops of Ebonreach. I took a deep breath, the fresh air a welcome relief after the stifling atmosphere of the catacombs.
Lyra turned to me, her expression serious. "We need to deliver this relic and figure out what it's for. But Aric..."
"What?"
Her gaze lingered on the relic in my hand. "Be careful with that thing. Relics like this don't just hold power—they hold secrets. And secrets always come with a price."
Her words sent a chill through me, but I nodded. "Let's get this to Cerys."
Together, we headed toward the Observatory, the weight of the relic and Lyra's doubts hanging heavily between us.