Benjamin steadied himself, his boots crunching against loose stone. The air was heavy with humidity, thick with the scent of moss, earth, and something faintly metallic.
He blinked, adjusting to the dim light. The monumental scale of the place took his breath away. Towering stone pillars surrounded him, their surfaces carved with intricate patterns that depicted winged and four-legged creatures. Vines and roots coiled around the stone, merging the ancient architecture with the wild jungle that had overtaken it.
Above him, shafts of golden sunlight poured through large openings in the distant ceiling, illuminating patches of the floor in shifting patterns. The filtered light gave the space a dreamlike quality, blending the natural and the artificial in a way that felt both beautiful and unsettling.
Benjamin ran his hand along the nearest pillar, tracing the carvings. The symbols were familiar, echoes of what he'd absorbed from books. They hinted at something once grand—a place of importance to the ancients.
"This wasn't just a temple," he murmured aloud, his voice breaking the silence. "It's... something else. Leisure? Research?"
The thought clicked as his fingers brushed over a mural depicting a group of humanoid figures observing large, bird-like creatures. The creatures weren't plumed like Earth's birds but had furred bodies, with elongated wings and legs that looked almost mammalian.
"Tyrans," he whispered, the name surfacing from his absorbed knowledge. These creatures were once bred and studied by the ancients, kept for both leisure and research. The murals showed them flying, perched, and even standing alongside humans as though they were partners.
But the creatures carved into the stone looked noble, graceful. The low growls and sharp cries echoing in the distance told Benjamin that whatever Tyrans still roamed this place were far from the serene beings the ancients knew.
---
Benjamin pressed on cautiously, his eyes scanning the ground for traps. He noticed small inconsistencies—a loose tile here, a faint groove in the wall there. The first trap was simple: a pressure plate that would've triggered darts from hidden holes in the walls. He stepped around it easily.
"Classic," he muttered, shaking his head. "Why does every ancient ruin come with deadly booby traps? Was it a standard feature?"
Further in, a narrow corridor almost caught him off guard. He froze as he heard a faint click beneath his foot. Reacting instinctively, he leapt back just as a massive spiked log swung down from the ceiling, crashing into the floor with a deafening thud.
Benjamin crouched, his heart racing as he stared at the trap. "Alright," he said aloud, trying to steady his breath. "Less sarcasm, more focus."
He skirted around the trap and continued deeper into the dungeon. The space felt alive, the air vibrating faintly with energy. Above, the massive shafts of sunlight revealed nests clinging to the upper arches and trees that had grown through cracks in the stone.
---
The first Tyran appeared without warning. Benjamin was rounding a corner when he froze at the sound of claws scraping against stone. Ahead, a creature stepped into the light—a bird-like figure with fur instead of feathers, its body sleek and muscular. Its elongated wings folded against its sides, but its sharp, curved beak and glowing yellow eyes made its predatory nature clear.
Benjamin's stomach twisted. "So... not friendly," he muttered under his breath.
The Tyran's head tilted sharply, its eyes locking onto him. It let out a sharp, guttural screech that echoed through the chamber, and Benjamin realized with growing dread that the sound had been a signal.
From the shadows, two more Tyrans emerged, their movements fluid and precise. They spread out, flanking him, their claws scraping against the stone as they approached.
"Alright, think, Ben," he said, backing up slowly. His hand instinctively went to the ring Kareya had given him. "Kareya said this would scare them off. Let's hope she was right."
---
The first Tyran lunged, its wings snapping open as it leapt forward. Benjamin twisted the ring on his finger, and a pulse of force erupted outward, a shimmering wave of energy that sent the Tyrans sprawling back.
The creatures screeched in pain and surprise, their sharp cries echoing as they scrambled to recover. Benjamin didn't wait to see if they would. He bolted down a side corridor, his boots slipping slightly on the damp stone.
The Tyrans recovered quickly, their glowing eyes tracking him as they gave chase. Their calls filled the air, growing sharper and angrier as they closed the distance. Benjamin twisted the ring again, sending another pulse of force behind him. It slowed them down, but the artifact's energy was waning.
"Limited use," he muttered, gritting his teeth. "Thanks for the heads-up, Kareya."
---
Benjamin rounded a corner and ducked into an alcove, pressing himself against the wall to catch his breath. The Tyrans' screeches echoed farther down the corridor, their frustration evident as they lost track of him.
He pulled a flask from his bag, taking a cautious sip of water. His hands shook slightly as he wiped the sweat from his brow.
"Alright," he whispered to himself, his voice shaky. "Traps, giant murder birds, and a ring that's almost out of juice. Great start."
He took another sip and slung his bag over his shoulder. The air felt heavier now, the distant screeches growing fainter but still present.
As he stepped back into the corridor, his eyes drifted to another mural. This one showed a figure standing alongside a massive Tyran, its wings spread wide as if in triumph. The figure's hand rested on the creature's neck, a bond of trust and power between them.
Benjamin stared at the image, a strange chill running down his spine.
This place isn't just a ruin. It's a monument to something... bigger.
--
Benjamin moved deeper into the dungeon, the towering stone pillars and sprawling roots giving way to a more intricate layout. The space opened up into a vast hall with uneven platforms scattered across a chasm. A faint river flowed far below, its waters glinting in the shafts of sunlight that filtered from above. The sound of rushing water echoed faintly, mixing with the occasional bird-like screeches from distant Tyrans.
The platforms, once bridges and walkways, were now fractured and precarious. Vines hung from the ceiling like makeshift ropes, some stretching all the way down to the water below. Stone slabs jutted out at awkward angles, some crumbling with age, others covered in thick moss that made them slippery and treacherous.
---
Benjamin wiped his forehead, smearing dirt and sweat across his face. "Brilliant," he muttered to himself, eyeing the crumbling bridge ahead. "Ancient architects really liked making life difficult, didn't they?"
He carefully stepped onto the first platform, his boots skidding slightly on the slick surface. Below, the faint roar of the river reminded him how high up he was. He crouched, testing the stability of the next slab before hopping across.
The jump was short, but the uneven surface of the landing nearly sent him tumbling. He caught himself on a vine, pulling himself upright as the platform creaked ominously under his weight.
"Alright," he said aloud, his voice low but steady. "One step at a time."
He continued forward, navigating the broken walkway with increasing caution. The sunlight filtering through the distant openings above illuminated parts of the path, but shadows clung stubbornly to the edges, hiding potential dangers.
---
Near the middle of the chasm, he came to a larger gap. The only way across was a narrow bridge of roots that stretched from one platform to the next. The roots looked sturdy enough, but they twisted unevenly, and moss grew thick on their surface.
Benjamin crouched, gripping one of the roots to test it. It held firm, though the slick moss made it hard to get a good grip. He hesitated, glancing at the drop below.
"This is such a bad idea," he muttered, gripping the root tighter.
He moved cautiously, one hand gripping the root above while his boots carefully found purchase on the slippery surface. The bridge swayed slightly under his weight, the motion making his stomach churn.
Halfway across, a piece of moss gave way under his foot, sending him sliding. His hand shot out, grabbing the root above just in time to keep himself from falling. He hung there for a moment, breathing heavily as his heart pounded in his chest.
"Never. Again," he whispered through gritted teeth, pulling himself back onto the bridge.
---
By the time he reached the other side, his arms and legs burned from the effort. He collapsed onto the nearest platform, leaning against a crumbling wall as he tried to catch his breath. His shirt was torn in places from the rough roots, and faint scratches stung his arms and hands.
Reaching into his bag, he pulled out his flask and took a long sip of water. The cool liquid soothed his parched throat, and he followed it with a piece of dried fruit to keep his energy up.
The faint light from above made the platform feel almost serene, but the distant screeches of Tyrans reminded him he couldn't rest for long. Still, his exhaustion won out, and he let himself close his eyes for just a moment.
---
The sound of rustling pulled him from his half-sleep. At first, he thought it was just the wind, but the noise was too close, too deliberate. His eyes snapped open, his hand instinctively going to his ring.
The rustling came again, this time from his backpack.
Benjamin froze, his mind racing. Slowly, he reached for the bag, pulling it toward him. The moment he opened it, a familiar black-furred head popped out, golden eyes blinking up at him.
"Atty?" Benjamin whispered, his voice equal parts disbelief and exasperation.
The Attush tilted its head, purring softly as it crawled out of the bag and onto his lap. Its long tail flicked lazily as it stretched, completely unfazed by the situation.
"You little—" Benjamin sighed, running a hand through his hair. "How did you even get in there?"
The Attush yawned, curling up on his lap as if to answer: Does it matter? I'm here now.
Benjamin shook his head, a small smile breaking through his frustration. "Great. Now I have a stowaway."
As much as he wanted to scold the creature, its presence brought an unexpected comfort. He scratched behind Atty's ears, the soft purring calming his nerves.
"Well," he said quietly, glancing at the fractured path ahead, "I guess you're stuck with me now. Just don't get us killed, okay?"
The Attush purred louder, its golden eyes glinting in the faint light as if in agreement.
--
Benjamin navigated the labyrinthine corridors with growing caution. The once-grand architecture, now overtaken by nature and time, became increasingly disorienting. He stopped often to sketch crude maps in a small notebook, marking landmarks, dangerous areas, and potential paths forward. Each detail mattered—broken platforms, roots bridging gaps, even loose tiles that might trigger traps. The process kept him focused, giving his mind something to latch onto amidst the growing unease of the dungeon.
---
He was crouched near a wall, studying a faint engraving, when the sudden screech of a Tyran sent a chill down his spine. The sound was sharper, closer than before. Benjamin turned, his eyes widening as the hulking, furred creature stepped into the light. Its glowing eyes locked onto him, and its wings flared slightly, making its already imposing frame seem even larger.
"Of course," Benjamin muttered, grabbing his notebook and shoving it into his bag. He bolted, the Tyran's sharp cries echoing as it gave chase.
The narrow corridor twisted ahead, roots and rubble forcing Benjamin to zigzag and leap over obstacles. The creature followed relentlessly, its claws scraping against stone with every stride. He twisted the ring Kareya had given him, sending out a forceful pulse that slowed the Tyran but didn't stop it.
"Not enough juice for this," Benjamin panted, his heart pounding as he sprinted down another passage.
---
The chase brought him to a medium-sized hall at the end of a corridor. The entrance was marked by a massive stone gate that had once sealed the room, now shattered into jagged pieces. Benjamin slipped through the narrow opening, the air inside cooler and strangely still. He turned to see the Tyran stop just short of the broken gate.
The creature screeched once but didn't follow. Instead, it paced back and forth outside the entrance, its glowing eyes flicking to the shattered stone and the darkness beyond. Then, to Benjamin's astonishment, it backed away, retreating into the corridor from which it came.
"What the—?" Benjamin whispered, catching his breath. Did it just look...scared? Benjamin didn't dare give voice to these thoughts.
He leaned against the wall, his chest heaving as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. The Tyran, a monstrous mindless predator used to relentlessly chase it's unlucky victims careless even for its own safety, had in fact stopped as if something inside the room had terrified it.
---
The hall itself was unsettling. Its walls, once covered in intricate carvings, had been deliberately defaced. Deep gouges and scratches marred the stone, erasing what might have been a story or warning. Here and there, faint traces of the original images remained: a Tyran standing upright, its body twisted unnaturally, followed by depictions of what looked like withering or death.
Benjamin approached the carvings cautiously, running his fingers over the scratches. "A virus?" he murmured, his mind pulling at fragments of information from the books he'd absorbed. "Or some kind of mutation?"
The air felt heavier here, as though the room itself carried the weight of whatever had happened within it. Benjamin's eyes drifted to the center of the hall, where something caught his attention.
At the heart of the room stood an object—a perfectly symmetrical, intricately designed hexahedron-like rock. Its surface was etched with impossibly fine patterns, lines and symbols that seemed to shift subtly in the dim light.
Benjamin's curiosity flared as he approached the artifact. He knelt a safe distance away, pulling out his notebook to sketch it. The precision of the designs was mesmerizing, almost mechanical in their complexity.
"This definitely wasn't made by hand," he muttered, his pencil moving quickly over the page.
---
As he worked, his eyes wandered back to the walls. The symbols near the hexahedron echoed those on the shattered door, though they were also scratched and incomplete. Whatever message had been left here, someone—or something—had gone to great lengths to erase it.
His thoughts raced. What is this thing? A weapon? A tool? Or something else entirely?
A faint rustling sound broke his concentration. Benjamin froze, his hand gripping the pencil tightly. The sound came again, this time closer. He turned sharply to see Atty poking its head out of his bag, its golden eyes blinking lazily.
"Really?" Benjamin whispered, exasperated. "You picked now to wake up?"
The Attush yawned, stretching before hopping out of the bag. It trotted casually toward the artifact, ignoring Benjamin's attempts to shoo it away.
"Atty, no," he hissed, but the creature paid him no mind.
It leapt onto the hexahedron, circling it once before sitting neatly on top, its tail curling around its paws. The intricate rock pulsed faintly beneath the Attush, as though reacting to its presence.
Benjamin blinked, stepping back. "You've got to be kidding me. Of all the places to sit—"
Before he could finish, the artifact began to vibrate. The movement was subtle at first, a faint hum that grew louder with each passing second. The symbols on its surface lit up one by one, casting shifting patterns of light across the room.
Atty's ears twitched, but it remained seated, purring softly as though nothing were amiss.
Benjamin's chest tightened as the vibration intensified, the hum deepening into a low, resonant tone that filled the hall.
"Atty," he said, his voice shaky. "What did you just do?"
The artifact glowed brighter, the light spilling out to illuminate the scratched carvings on the walls. Benjamin shielded his eyes as the hum grew deafening, the air around him vibrating with an almost electric energy.
Then everything went silent.