Darkness engulfed Lyra and Alaric as they passed through the threshold, the chamber vanishing behind them like a dream fading upon waking. The air was thick, pressing against them as if resisting their very presence. Then, with a sudden jolt, they found themselves standing within an endless expanse of ruins.
Towering pillars, cracked and crumbling, stretched toward a sky choked with swirling mists. The ground beneath them was uneven, littered with shattered stone and forgotten relics. In the distance, a soft, sorrowful melody played, carried by an unseen breeze.
"Where... are we?" Alaric whispered, his voice barely breaking the silence.
Lyra knelt, running her fingers over an intricate carving on a fallen column. "This place... it's ancient. Older than anything we've seen before."
Before either of them could say more, the melody grew louder. From the mist, figures began to emerge—translucent shades of people long lost to time. Their faces bore expressions of longing, sorrow, and hope. They moved as if reliving forgotten memories, their gestures slow and deliberate.
One figure, cloaked in tattered robes, stepped forward, its empty gaze settling upon Lyra. "You have come seeking the truth" it intoned, voice echoing with layers of voices. "But truth is not given—it is earned."
Alaric reached for his sword, but Lyra placed a hand on his arm, shaking her head. "We mean no harm. We only seek to understand."
The figure regarded them for a long moment before raising a spectral hand, pointing toward a massive, half-buried doorway at the heart of the ruins. "Then walk the path of those who came before. Their echoes will guide you—if you dare to listen."
As the figures faded back into the mist, Lyra and Alaric exchanged a glance, their resolve unshaken. Together, they stepped forward, ready to face whatever lay ahead in the ruins of the forgotten.