The wind howled through the Mistveil Mountains, carrying with it a biting chill that clung to Aveline's skin. She tightened her cloak, her breath visible in the cold, thin air. The dense forest had given way to treacherous rocky paths and narrow ledges, and the faint markings on the map had guided her to a forgotten trail winding higher into the peaks.
She paused to catch her breath, her fingers brushing against the edges of the map. Its glowing ink pulsed faintly, almost as if it were alive. The map wasn't just guiding her; it seemed to react to her movements, growing brighter with every step toward her destination.
"What are you trying to show me?" she murmured, her voice lost to the wind.
The answer came not from the map, but from the landscape ahead. As she rounded a jagged boulder, she saw them—ancient ruins nestled in a hollow between two peaks. The stone structures, weathered by centuries of harsh winters, seemed to lean against each other like weary sentinels. Strange, swirling patterns were carved into every surface, their meaning lost to time.
Aveline's heart quickened. These weren't just any ruins—they matched descriptions she'd read in a long-forgotten journal, penned by an explorer who claimed to have encountered the remnants of the Lumina civilization. Most dismissed the account as fantasy, but now, standing before the ruins, Aveline knew the writer had spoken the truth.
She approached cautiously, her footsteps crunching against frost-covered stone. As she passed under a crumbling archway, a strange sensation washed over her, as though she were being watched. Her hand instinctively moved to the hilt of her dagger.
Inside the ruins, the air was heavy, carrying a faint metallic tang. Pillars stood like giants in a slumbering court, their surfaces etched with intricate runes. In the center of the open courtyard lay a circular dais, its edges lined with symbols that matched those on the map.
Aveline stepped closer, her boots disturbing the thin layer of snow that had settled on the dais. The map in her satchel began to glow more brightly, its light spilling through the fabric. She pulled it out and unfolded it, watching in awe as the ink shimmered and rearranged itself, forming a new pattern—a perfect replica of the dais beneath her feet.
"This… can't be possible," she whispered.
She crouched to trace the symbols on the stone with her gloved fingers. As she did, a low hum filled the air, resonating through the ruins. The ground beneath her trembled slightly, and a faint light began to emanate from the runes.
Before she could react, whispers filled the air. They were soft at first, barely audible over the hum, but they grew louder, overlapping in a cacophony of voices. Aveline spun around, her dagger drawn, but there was no one there.
"Who's there?" she demanded, her voice steady despite the unease clawing at her chest.
The whispers coalesced into a single, chilling voice. "You… are not worthy."
The light from the dais flared, and suddenly the shadows cast by the ruins seemed to come alive. They twisted and stretched, taking on vague humanoid shapes. One by one, the shadowy forms stepped forward, their movements fluid and