Ian adjusted the Amulet of the Fallen around his neck, the cool metal pressing against his skin. The hum of its energy was faint but constant, like a heartbeat that wasn't his own. His fingers brushed over the intricate carvings, shapes that seemed to shift when he wasn't looking.
"Echo of the Gods," Ian muttered, reading the ability's description on the system screen.
Passive Ability: Echo of the Gods
Effect: Amplifies sensory perception, allowing the user to tap into faint traces of divine energy in their surroundings.
Cooldown: None (Always Active).
"What does this actually do?" Ian asked aloud, glancing at Lyra.
Lyra smirked, leaning casually against the shattered remains of a guardian. "You'll figure it out soon enough. Relics like that don't come with instruction manuals. You have to learn by doing."
Ian sighed. That seemed to be the way of things in this world. "Great. Another mystery to solve."
---
The Journey Resumes
The two left the ruins behind, their path winding deeper into the Shattered Vale. The jagged rocks and crumbling structures loomed around them like the bones of some long-dead beast. The air was colder here, the golden light dimming as shadows crept across the canyon floor.
Ian kept his senses sharp, the Predator's Instinct and the amulet's effects working in tandem. Every rustle of leaves and distant echo felt sharper, clearer, as if the world itself was whispering its secrets to him.
"What's next?" Ian asked, his voice cutting through the eerie silence.
Lyra didn't answer immediately, her gaze fixed on the horizon. "There's a village near the edge of the Vale. It's not much, but it's a place to rest—and trade."
Ian raised an eyebrow. "A village? There are people here?"
Lyra chuckled. "Of course. You didn't think this whole world was just ruins and monsters, did you?"
"Honestly? I wasn't sure," Ian admitted.
Lyra's smirk faded, her expression turning serious. "The village isn't like the ones you're used to. Everyone there has their own agenda, and trust is hard to come by. Keep your guard up."
---
The Village of Ironhold
They reached the village by nightfall. The settlement was nestled against the base of a massive cliff, its buildings crudely constructed from stone and salvaged materials. Smoke rose from several chimneys, the air thick with the scent of burning wood and cooked meat.
The village was surrounded by a makeshift wall of sharpened logs, and a pair of guards stood watch at the entrance. Their armor was mismatched, their weapons worn but functional.
"State your business," one of the guards barked as Ian and Lyra approached.
"Trade and rest," Lyra said calmly, holding her hands out to show she meant no harm.
The guards exchanged a glance before stepping aside. "Don't cause trouble," one of them warned.
Ian followed Lyra through the gate, his eyes scanning the village. People moved about cautiously, their expressions guarded. Stalls lined the main path, vendors shouting over one another as they hawked their wares—everything from crude weapons to dried meat and mysterious vials of liquid.
"This place is... lively," Ian muttered.
Lyra snorted. "If you can call it that. Ironhold's a hub for scavengers, mercenaries, and anyone else trying to survive in the Vale. Keep your head down, and don't let anyone see that amulet."
Ian frowned, his hand instinctively going to the relic around his neck. "Why? What's the big deal?"
"Relics like that are rare," Lyra said. "People will kill for less."
---
A New Opportunity
They stopped at a small stall manned by an older man with a weathered face and sharp eyes. His inventory was modest—mostly scraps of armor, dull blades, and a few glowing crystals.
Lyra placed the Guardian Cores they'd collected on the counter. "What can you give us for these?"
The vendor inspected the cores, his eyes narrowing. "Good quality. I'll give you fifty shards for the lot."
"Eighty," Lyra countered, her tone firm.
The man scowled but nodded. "Fine. Eighty."
Ian watched as the transaction took place, the glowing shards handed over in exchange for the cores. He glanced at Lyra. "What are shards?"
"Currency," she said simply, pocketing the glowing pieces. "Enough of these can buy you just about anything in Ironhold."
Ian's eyes wandered to a rack of weapons behind the stall. One, in particular, caught his attention—a sleek bow carved from dark wood, its string glowing faintly.
"How much for the bow?" he asked.
The vendor followed Ian's gaze and chuckled. "That's a fine piece. Two hundred shards."
Ian grimaced. "I guess I'm sticking with the dagger for now."
Lyra smirked. "Don't worry. You'll earn your keep soon enough."
---
The Warning
As they moved deeper into the village, Ian felt a strange sensation—a faint hum at the edge of his consciousness. His steps faltered, and he reached for the amulet.
"What's wrong?" Lyra asked, her tone sharp.
"I... I don't know," Ian said. "Something feels... off."
The system screen flickered to life.
Warning: Hostile Presence Detected Nearby.
Ian's heart raced as he scanned the area, his senses heightened by the amulet. His gaze landed on a figure standing at the edge of the marketplace, cloaked in shadows. The figure's face was obscured, but their eyes glowed faintly, the same eerie blue light as the Shrine Guardians.
"Lyra," Ian said, his voice low. "We've got a problem."
Lyra followed his gaze, her hand going to the hilt of her blade. "Stay close. And whatever happens, don't let them get near the amulet."
The figure stepped forward, their movements deliberate and unnervingly calm. The crowd parted around them, people whispering and retreating as if sensing the danger.
Ian's grip tightened on the Moonfang Dagger. "Who are they?"
Lyra's expression darkened. "Trouble."
The figure stopped a few feet away, their glowing eyes locking onto Ian. When they spoke, their voice was low and resonant, carrying an unnatural weight.
"You carry what does not belong to you," the figure said. "Relinquish it, and I may spare your life."
Ian swallowed hard, his pulse pounding in his ears. "I'm guessing 'no' isn't an option?"
The figure's eyes flared, their hand reaching for a blade at their side. "No."
Lyra drew her sword, stepping in front of Ian. "Then you're about to regret coming here."