The journey toward the temple was fraught with tension. The dense forest closed in around them as they moved deeper into the northern woods, the towering trees casting long, shadowy fingers across the path. The air grew colder, carrying with it the faint, metallic tang of magic and decay. It was unsettling, and even the horses seemed uneasy, their ears twitching at every faint rustle in the underbrush.
Alaric rode at the front of the group, his posture straight and commanding as he led the the royal knightx. His sword rested across his lap, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of movement. Behind him, Roderic rode with the Shadow Blades,they took up the rear, their darker, more utilitarian gear blending seamlessly with the shadows of the forest.
Lysandra rode in the middle of the formation, her injured leg protesting with every jolt of her horse's stride, but she refused to let it slow her down. Her hand rested lightly on the hilt of her blade, her sharp eyes darting between the trees, every sense on high alert.
The eerie quiet of the forest was broken only by the crunch of hooves on fallen leaves and the occasional murmured conversation. Roderic rode up beside Alaric, his brow furrowed as he leaned closer.
"This place feels wrong," he said, his voice low enough to avoid carrying to the rest of the group. "The men feel it too. It's like the forest is watching us."
Alaric nodded, his gaze never leaving the path ahead. "It's not just the men. There's something here… something unnatural."
Behind them, Lysandra caught fragments of their conversation, her ears pricking at the mention of "unnatural." She urged her horse forward slightly, coming up beside Alaric. "You think it's tied to the temple?" she asked, her voice steady but curious.
Alaric glanced at her, his expression thoughtful. "It has to be. If the ghouls were being controlled, whoever—or whatever—was commanding them is likely using that temple as a base."
"Great," Lysandra muttered, her tone laced with dry humor. "Because I love marching into obvious traps."
Alaric smirked faintly but said nothing, his focus shifting back to the path. Ahead, the forest seemed to darken even further, the air growing heavier with each step closer to their destination.
Hours passed in tense silence as the group pressed on, the oppressive atmosphere making time feel sluggish. Finally, as the sun began to dip lower in the sky, the trees thinned, revealing the first glimpse of their destination.
The temple rose from the earth like a jagged scar, its ancient stone walls cracked and overgrown with ivy. Dark, ominous carvings decorated the structure, their shapes warped and twisted, as though the temple itself rejected the purity of nature. A faint, sickly green light pulsed from within, casting long shadows that danced across the clearing.
The group halted at the edge of the forest, the horses pawing nervously at the ground. Alaric dismounted, his hand on the hilt of his sword as he studied the temple with a grim expression.
"Roderic," he said, his voice low but commanding. "Have the men spread out and secure the perimeter. No one enters until we know it's clear."
Roderic nodded, barking orders to the knights and Shadow Blades. The group began to fan out, their movements quick and efficient despite the unease that hung over them.
Lysandra slid off her horse with a wince, ignoring the dull throb in her leg as she moved to stand beside Alaric. Her eyes were fixed on the temple.
The temple, an imposing structure that seemed to defy time itself. Its massive stone walls, carved from dark, weathered granite, bore the scars of centuries past. Cracks ran through the foundation, filled with tangled roots and creeping ivy, as if the forest were trying to reclaim it. Yet, despite its age and the encroaching wilderness, there was an undeniable aura of power about the place—a feeling that it had not simply survived the passage of time but endured it.
The architecture was unlike anything Lysandra had ever seen, a style lost to the annals of history from an era when the lands of Volatira and Eldren were one, unified under an ancient empire. The walls were covered in intricate carvings, their details worn but still discernible. The designs were strange and otherworldly: spiraling runes, depictions of battles long forgotten, and figures of gods or kings with elongated limbs and exaggerated features. Each carving seemed to tell a fragmented story, though the meaning was lost to the ages.
Massive pillars flanked the temple's entrance, their surfaces etched with symbols that pulsed faintly with an unnatural green light. The light moved like a heartbeat, steady and relentless, casting an eerie glow over the clearing. The pillars were crowned with grotesque statues—beasts with serpentine bodies, clawed wings, and eyeless faces—guarding the temple as if waiting for trespassers to make the wrong move.
The entrance itself was a yawning archway, its edges lined with jagged, uneven stones. Above the arch, a massive carving depicted a central figure—an emperor or deity—holding a staff crowned with a blazing sun. Surrounding the figure were kneeling soldiers and supplicants, their heads bowed as if in reverence or fear. Beneath their feet, serpents writhed, their bodies intertwined in endless knots.
The path leading to the temple was littered with broken stones and debris, remnants of what might have once been statues or altars. These fragments lay half-buried in the dirt, their edges worn smooth by time but still faintly bearing the same runic inscriptions as the walls.
Lysandra's gaze drifted upward, where the temple's roof stretched into jagged spires that pierced the canopy of the forest. The spires were uneven, some broken and crumbling, others still sharp and intact, as if they had resisted whatever forces had tried to bring them down. Between the spires, dark voids hinted at windows or vents, though no light escaped from within.
At the center of the temple's facade, just above the main archway, was a large circular relief. It depicted an eclipse—a black sun encircled by jagged rays of light. The carving seemed almost alive, the faint green glow from the runes reflecting off its surface and giving it an otherworldly shimmer.
Lysandra's stomach churned as she took it all in. This place was not just old—it was ancient, built in an age when magic and power ruled unchallenged. It had been a place of worship, of war, of rituals that likely defied comprehension. And now, it was a place of death and decay, its purpose twisted by whoever—or whatever—had claimed it.
"This temple…" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's not just a den. It's a relic. A monument to something… ancient."
Alaric, standing beside her, followed her gaze, his expression grim. "A relic from a time before our kingdoms existed," he said. "Back when this land was ruled by an empire whose power was built on magic and blood."
Lysandra shivered at his words, the pulsing glow of the runes casting strange shadows over her face. "Whatever they were worshiping here, it wasn't something benevolent."
"No," Alaric agreed, his tone heavy. "It wasn't."
The air inside the temple was thick and damp, carrying the scent of earth and decay. Their footsteps echoed faintly against the worn stone floor as Alaric, Lysandra, Roderic, and the troops ventured cautiously into the ancient structure. The dim green light emanating from the runes along the walls cast eerie, flickering shadows, making it hard to tell where the carvings ended and the dark corners began.
The main hall stretched before them, a vast, cavernous space lined with more of the grotesque statues they had seen outside. The walls were covered in faded murals, depicting scenes of battle, ritual, and subjugation. The figures in the murals seemed to writhe under the glow of the runes, their exaggerated forms twisted into grotesque shapes.
"This place feels alive," Roderic muttered, his voice low as he gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. "Like it's watching us."
"It probably is," Lysandra replied, her tone dry but her eyes sharp as she scanned the shadows. Her injured leg protested with every step, but she pushed through the discomfort, refusing to show any weakness.
Alaric raised a hand, signaling the group to halt. "Fan out," he ordered quietly, his voice steady but firm. "Stay within sight of one another. Look for anything unusual—anything that might explain the connection between this place and the ghouls."
The knights and Shadow Blades split into smaller groups, moving carefully through the temple's hall. Lysandra stayed close to Alaric and Roderic, her blade drawn as her eyes flicked over the carvings and broken altars that littered the space.
As they moved deeper into the hall, Lysandra's gaze was drawn to a massive central altar at the far end of the room. The stone slab was stained dark, its surface etched with runes that pulsed faintly with the same sickly green light. Chains dangled from the sides of the altar, their ends rusted and jagged, as if they had once restrained something—or someone.
"This doesn't look like a place of worship," Lysandra said grimly, gesturing toward the altar. "More like a sacrificial chamber."
Alaric approached the altar, his expression dark as he examined the runes. "These markings… they're not just for show. They're binding runes, meant to trap something—or summon it."
"Summon it?" Roderic echoed, his brow furrowing. "Summon what?"
"Something powerful," Alaric replied, his tone heavy. He ran a hand over the edge of the altar, his fingers brushing against the deep grooves carved into the stone. "And if it's connected to the ghouls, it's not something we want to face unprepared."
Lysandra moved closer, her eyes narrowing as she studied the runes. "These are old, but they've been reactivated recently. Look at the edges—they're too clean to have been dormant for centuries."
Roderic glanced around nervously, his hand tightening on his sword. "So, someone's been here."
"Someone who knows exactly what they're doing," Alaric said, his voice quiet but resolute. He turned to the troops scattered around the room. "Search for anything that might give us a clue—a journal, supplies, anything."
As the soldiers and Shadow Blades began combing through the hall, Lysandra felt a faint chill run down her spine. Her gaze drifted to one of the murals near the altar—a depiction of a figure cloaked in shadow, its hands raised as if commanding an army of twisted, skeletal creatures. The ghouls.
"This isn't just a den," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "It's a gateway."
Alaric turned to her, his expression grim. "A gateway to what?"
Before she could answer, a sharp cry echoed from one of the knights at the far end of the hall. Everyone froze, their weapons drawn as they turned toward the source of the noise.
"Over here!" the knight called, his voice strained with urgency. "There's a passage—it looks like it leads further down."
Lysandra exchanged a glance with Alaric and Roderic, her grip tightening on her blade. "Deeper into the pit," she said dryly. "Why am I not surprised?"
Alaric smirked faintly, though his expression remained tense. "Because we've been doing this long enough to know it's never easy."
Roderic sighed, stepping forward with his sword at the ready. "If this is where the answers are, we don't have a choice. Let's move."
The group gathered near the passage, its entrance a jagged hole in the wall that seemed to descend into darkness. The faint green glow of the runes barely penetrated the blackness beyond, leaving the air heavy with an oppressive sense of dread.
"Stay close," Alaric said, his voice firm as he stepped into the passage first. Lysandra followed, her blade gleaming faintly in the dim light, and the others fell in line behind them.
The air grew colder as they descended, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Whatever waited for them below.