A damp chill clung to the dawn air as Damon emerged from his tent. Soft gray light filtered through the canopy of leaves overhead, and the caravan campsite stirred with early-morning groans and hushed conversations. Horses snorted, crates scraped, and a slow-moving line formed where travelers awaited breakfast from Thormund's meager stores. The events of the previous night—the secret excursion into the ancient ruins—still buzzed in Damon's mind. He and Seraphina had glimpsed an unsettling hint of the past, one that only deepened the mystery of the Crimson Crown.
He found her seated on a fallen log near the edge of camp, quietly braiding her auburn hair. A faint bruise marred one of her forearms, likely a result of navigating the temple's rubble in darkness. When she caught sight of Damon, she gave a small nod.
"Morning," he said, keeping his voice low. "You sleep at all?"
She shrugged. "A little. Hard to rest after what we saw." Her gaze flicked toward a dense cluster of trees, beyond which lay the mossy stones and runic carvings they'd discovered. "I've been thinking about those inscriptions. They're more extensive than I realized. If we had more time, we could translate them properly."
Damon couldn't deny the pull he felt toward the ruins. The mention of "Ascension" and "Blood" in relation to dragonic power haunted him. "Maybe we should go back," he ventured. "We barely scratched the surface of what's there."
Seraphina opened her mouth to respond, but Kelwick's sharp voice cut through the early-morning quiet. "All right, everyone! Pack it up—we're moving in thirty minutes. The forest route has been decent so far, but I don't want to linger. Let's get to more open roads by midday."
A stir of activity followed as caravanners kicked aside embers from the dying campfires and stowed their gear. Thormund's wagon creaked under the weight of fresh cargo—bundles of herbs and dried leaves he'd collected to sell at Silverhold's markets. Rivan, the tall guard, checked the wagon wheels for damage, frowning at a hairline crack in one of the spokes.
Seraphina rose, murmuring to Damon, "We'll have to leave these ruins behind—for now."
His heart sank a little, but he nodded. There was no easy way to convince Kelwick and the others to delay further. They all had business to attend to in Silverhold, and Damon himself had originally been intent on reaching the capital to find answers about the Crown. Yet the runes he and Seraphina had uncovered teased at the possibility of something else—something hidden beneath the temple floors.
Just as he resigned himself to the idea of leaving, a strangled shout erupted from the undergrowth. Damon spun around in time to see one of the caravan's newer escorts—an older man named Bram—stumble back into the clearing. His face was ashen, eyes wide with fear.
"Bram?" Kelwick barked, striding over. "What's going on?"
Bram pointed a trembling finger. "I—I was scouting for a path around that fallen oak, and I saw a part of the hillside cave in. There's a passage down there, behind the temple ruins."
A tingle shot down Damon's spine. A passage? He met Seraphina's gaze, and her eyes lit with the same electric curiosity. Whatever lay beneath those ancient stones might be the key to unraveling the mysteries they had only glimpsed in the crumbling carvings.
Kelwick cursed under his breath. "Of all the—did you see anything else? Any sign of trouble?"
Bram shook his head vigorously. "No bandits, if that's what you mean. Just an opening in the earth. Looked like some kind of underground structure. Old stone steps leading down."
The entire camp seemed to hold its breath. Thormund's eyes darted from Kelwick to Seraphina to Damon. "Doesn't sound safe to me," he muttered. "We've got a schedule, Kelwick."
But Damon couldn't contain himself. "Let's at least investigate," he blurted out. "If it's a collapsed tunnel, it might be unstable—and dangerous if we just leave it. Besides, maybe it's nothing. But if travelers come this way, they could get hurt."
Kelwick looked unconvinced. "We're not a band of explorers. We're merchants and guards. We have a job to do."
Seraphina spoke up, her tone carefully measured. "If the ground is caving in, it could pose a threat to our caravan, too. A horse or wagon might stumble into a sinkhole. Allow me and Damon to go take a look. If it's truly just a collapsed tunnel, we'll report back quickly."
The caravan leader scowled. "You two want to go alone? In that ruin-riddled forest?"
"We'll be faster in a smaller group," Seraphina reasoned. "Less risk of accidents with too many people clambering around."
Rivan stepped forward, spear in hand. "I'll go, too. If there's any trouble, better to have a bit more muscle on hand."
Kelwick sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Fine. But be quick about it. We'll wait here until midday—no longer. If you're not back by then, we move on."
Damon exchanged a quick glance with Seraphina, a surge of excitement flooding through him. He strapped on his sword belt, checked his small pouch of supplies, and followed Bram and Rivan into the trees. Seraphina came last, cloak brushing fallen leaves as she moved with her usual quiet grace.
They found the spot easily enough: a portion of the hillside near the old temple had collapsed, revealing what might have been an ancient corridor. Stones carved with faint geometric patterns flanked a narrow set of descending steps. The air wafting up from below felt cool and damp, tinged with the scent of earth and mold.
Rivan held a torch, lighting the darkness ahead. "Looks tight," he remarked. "Watch your footing."
Damon felt his heart hammer. This was it—a chance to uncover the secrets hidden beneath the forest floor. They squeezed into the opening, stones crunching underfoot as they proceeded downwards. The walls on either side were made of hewn rock, worn smooth by centuries. A gust of stagnant air blew past, making the torch flame flicker and dance.
They descended perhaps twenty steps before the passage leveled out. Seraphina took point now, dagger in one hand and a small lantern in the other. Bram lingered near the back, looking uneasy. The corridor stretched ahead, vanishing into darkness beyond their torchlight.
After a few careful paces, they entered a wider chamber. Broken pillars lay scattered across the floor, and faint symbols lined the walls—similar to the ones Damon had seen on the temple ruins above, only these were better preserved. The stylized form of a coiling dragon repeated over and over, circling around spiked crowns and swirling flames.
Rivan let out a low whistle. "This place goes way back. You think it's part of the cult that worshiped dragons?"
Seraphina knelt by one of the pillars, running her fingers over the carved relief. "Undoubtedly. We're in some kind of sub-temple or vault."
"Vault," Damon echoed, the word lingering in his mind. A place where something precious was kept safe… or hidden.
They ventured deeper, stepping over broken floor tiles. The air grew colder, the silence pressing. Bram's breath sounded ragged; he kept glancing over his shoulder as if expecting an ambush. But the only threat seemed to be the precarious stones above them, which occasionally groaned under the weight of centuries.
Soon, they reached a massive, ornately carved door set into the far wall. It was half ajar, forced open by the shifting earth. Seraphina approached cautiously. "Look at these runes," she murmured, shining her lantern across the surface. "They match the inscriptions we saw last night—only the text is more complete here."
Damon moved closer, translating what little he could: "Blood… to be offered… the Crown… awakened." His pulse fluttered. The Crown. It's real, and this vault might be connected directly to it.
Rivan swung the torch around, illuminating the chamber's corners. "I don't like this. Feels like we're trespassing on something we shouldn't."
Bram hung back, anxiety clear on his face. "Maybe we should turn around. Kelwick said midday—"
But Damon couldn't tear his gaze from the half-open door. Part of him was terrified, another part fiercely curious. "Just a quick look. If there's nothing but rubble, we'll leave."
After a moment's hesitation, Seraphina edged through the gap. Damon followed, ducking under an overhanging slab. The room beyond was smaller, more intact. Torchlight revealed a large, circular stone platform at its center. Shallow channels were carved around the platform's edges, stained dark by time. At the platform's center stood a rectangular chest forged of black metal, its surface etched with swirling motifs reminiscent of dragon scales.
A shiver danced down Damon's spine. He approached carefully, each step feeling heavier than the last. Seraphina kept pace beside him, face taut with a mixture of awe and caution. Could it really be here? he wondered, half in disbelief.
Rivan hovered near the doorway, shifting his weight uneasily. "That chest looks sealed tight," he said quietly. "We should be careful about messing with it."
"Agreed," Seraphina said, though her eyes never left the chest. "There could be traps—or lingering wards."
Damon, however, couldn't help but move closer. An invisible pull seemed to emanate from the chest, as though something inside called to him. He placed a hand on its cold metal surface. Faint lines glimmered under his fingertips, like dormant runes awakening at his touch. This is no ordinary box.
In the hush, Bram took a shaky step forward. "Damon, wait—"
Too late. An eerie hum resonated within the chamber. The etched runes along the chest's edges flared to life, glowing a dull crimson. Damon gasped, withdrawing his hand, but an unseen force seemed to momentarily link him to the chest. A swirl of images flickered in his mind—dragons, roaring flame, a crown wreathed in crimson light.
Then, just as quickly, the glow faded. Silence crashed back in. Damon's heart hammered as he staggered. Seraphina grabbed his arm to steady him, her own face pale. "Damon! Are you all right?"
He swallowed, trying to regain his bearings. "I—I saw something," he whispered hoarsely. "A vision… or a memory. The Crown, dragons… destruction."
Rivan's voice cut in, tense and urgent. "We should leave. Now."
But Damon noticed something: the chest's lid had shifted slightly. The seal was no longer fully intact, leaving a narrow gap. A wave of trepidation and compulsion rolled through him. Part of him wanted to fling it open and see what lay inside. Another part screamed that meddling with ancient, possibly cursed artifacts was madness.
Seraphina, reading the conflict in his eyes, spoke in a measured tone. "We came here for answers, yes. But we're not prepared to face what might be sealed in this chest. If it truly has ties to the Crown, the consequences of disturbing it could be dire."
Nodding, Damon forced himself to step back. The vision still flickered at the edges of his consciousness—like an unshakable whisper calling him onward. Yet he sensed the truth in her words. This was not a treasure to claim lightly; it might be a Pandora's box of draconic power.
Bram released a shaky breath. "Can we go now? Kelwick will leave us behind if we don't hurry—and I'd rather not be entombed with some ancient dragon god."
Rivan nodded, relief palpable in his posture. "Aye. Let's seal this place as best we can and warn others to stay away."
Seraphina cast one last, thoughtful glance at the chest, then turned to Damon. "We'll find another way to uncover the Crown's mysteries—hopefully one that doesn't risk unleashing whatever's locked down here."
He hesitated, uncertain. The pull on his spirit felt almost magnetic, an echo of the faint runes glinting in the gloom. But finally, he forced himself to turn away, following the others back through the half-open door and into the corridor. Every so often, he glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting the chest to burst open or the runes to reignite in pursuit.
The journey upward felt faster, as though fear spurred them to climb the steps without pause. They emerged into the forest's cool daylight, blinking at the sudden brightness. Leaves rustled in a breeze that felt oddly comforting after the stifling air below. Bram and Rivan both exhaled in relief, but Damon and Seraphina exchanged a weighted look. We've discovered more than we bargained for, his eyes seemed to say. And we're hardly done.
By the time they returned to the caravan, Kelwick's impatience was evident. "We're behind schedule," he snapped, though concern undercut his anger when he saw their anxious expressions. Seraphina offered a quick explanation—an old, unstable vault beneath the ruins, dangerous to enter. That was enough detail for Kelwick, who wanted no further entanglements with decaying temples. He ordered the wagons to roll.
As they got underway, Damon couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that he'd come close to something monumental. The glowing runes, the flicker of dragon imagery—these clues pointed toward the real power of the Crimson Crown. Yet that power might be locked behind more than a physical seal. Grimly, he recalled the scraps of text about blood rites and awakenings.
Seraphina rode quietly beside him, lost in her own thoughts. When their eyes met, an unspoken question passed between them: What now? Neither had an answer. All they knew was that the vault's sealed chest had only deepened the mystery, hinting that the path to the Crown was lined with ancient wards and forgotten guardians.
As the caravan groaned along the forest trail, the day's sky gradually cleared, revealing shafts of golden sunlight that pierced the leafy canopy. Yet Damon felt a lingering shadow in his heart, as though part of him had been left behind in that hidden vault, entangled with the secrets it guarded. Once more, he sensed his destiny creeping ever closer—like a looming shape on the horizon, half-veiled in mist but undeniably real. And for better or worse, he knew he could never walk away.