The crescent moon hung low over the River Arath, its pale light fractured by the rippling current below. The bridge above stood silent, ancient and imposing, its carvings catching the faint glow of the night. At its base, Joren adjusted the straps of his satchel, glancing uneasily at Lyria. She held the map tightly, her fingers worrying the edges as if to steady herself.
"You're sure about this?" Joren asked, his voice low yet carrying a note of excitement.
"No," Lyria replied, her eyes locked on the massive stone columns. The faint swirl of Velmoran script carved into the closest one seemed to flare under her gaze. "But if we wait any longer, someone else might find it. Someone who won't understand…"
Joren tilted his head, the flickering lantern light catching his lopsided smirk. "Understand? Or care?"
Lyria didn't answer, her focus drawn to the stories her mother used to tell. Stories of this cursed bridge, of love lost and gods angered, of floods that swept away entire lives. Those tales had always felt distant, the way bedtime stories did. Now, they pressed against her mind with suffocating weight.
The night air felt thicker here, as if the bridge exhaled its own history, one laden with sorrow.
"Let's move," she said, her voice firmer than she felt.
The map led them to the base of the largest column. Vines clung stubbornly to the stone, their roots digging deep into the weathered grooves. Joren ran his fingers over the patterns, his eyes narrowing in thought.
"Velmoran script," Lyria murmured, stepping closer. "It says… 'The river remembers.'"
"Vague," Joren whispered, pulling a small tool from his satchel. "Doesn't help much with directions, does it?"
"It's not meant to," Lyria shot back, her tone honed than intended. "It's a warning."
Joren paused, glancing at her. He saw the tension in her jaw, the way her hand gripped the strap of her bag. "Hey," he said softly. "I'll be careful."
"You'd better be."
Lyria reached out, her fingers brushing over the swirling marks on the column. The patterns felt alive beneath her touch, humming faintly, almost undetectaably. She closed her eyes, whispering the incantation her mother had once taught her.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a low rumble, the column shifted. Stone ground against stone as a narrow passage revealed itself, leading downward into darkness.
Joren stepped back, his eyebrows rising. "Well, that's… menacing."
Lyria gave him a pointed look. "Still sure you want to go first?"
"Absolutely." Joren grinned, but the unease in his eyes betrayed his boldness.
The stairwell spiraled into the earth, the walls damp and cold. Their lantern light, light up faint veins of glowing moss that clung to the stone, casting a greenish glow over their path.
"This moss," Lyria said, running her fingers lightly over it. "It only grows where the river touches magic."
"Fascinating," Joren muttered, pulling a small vial from his bag and scraping some into it.
"Don't disturb it too much," she warned. "It's part of the balance here. If you—"
"I know," he interrupted, though not unkindly. "I just… I want to study it later. Imagine what we could learn."
Lyria gave him a hesitant glance but said nothing. She understood his curiosity, but she also understood the danger of meddling with things they didn't fully comprehend.
As they descended, the narrowed stairwell, the air grew colder. The oppressive mysteries of the bridge above seemed to press down on them.
"This place feels like it's holding back," Lyria murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Joren glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "Waiting for what?"
She didn't answer.
The staircase opened into a vast, circular chamber. Joren and Lyria stopped in their tracks, their breaths catching at the sight before them.
The walls were a textile of ancient artistry. Marks, carved deep into the stone, glowed faintly, their light intertwining with vibrant murals. The images depicted scenes of beauty and sorrow: a healer bathed in golden light, her hands outstretched; a prince dressed in decorated armor, his face covered. The two figures appeared throughout the murals, their stories told in fragments.
But the room itself was divided. One half of the chamber was rigid and geometric, the lines sharp and unyielding, the colors cold and metallic. The other half was fluid and organic, with soft curves and earthy tones. A jagged crack ran through the center, splitting the room as if mirroring the divide between Caldris and Velmora.
"This is…" Lyria whispered, her voice trembling.
"Incredible," Joren finished, stepping forward.
Lyria moved to the Velmoran side, her eyes drawn to the healer. The figure's golden light seemed to glow faintly, as if alive. "It's her," she said softly.
"Her who?"
"The healer," Lyria replied. "My mother used to tell me stories about her. She was said to be… different. Chosen by the river, but also cursed by it."
Joren turned to the Caldrisian side, studying the prince. His armor was intricately detailed, each piece etched with glyphs. "And him?"
"A prince," Lyria said, her voice distant. "But I don't know his name. I don't think anyone does."
Joren frowned, his fingers brushing over the edge of a nearby rune. "This can't be coincidence. The myths… the bridge… this chamber… It's all connected."
In the center of the room stood a stone pedestal. Upon it lay a weathered scroll, its surface marked with both Velmoran script and Caldrisian symbol.
Lyria stepped closer catching her breath as she read aloud. "'Love defied the river… a union that angered the gods…'" Her voice faltered, her hands trembling.
Joren picked up where she left off, his eyes scanning the Caldrisian symbols. "'Sacrifice… the curse of unity.'"
They exchanged a glance, the meaning of the words sinking in.
"This chamber… it's telling their story," Lyria said. "The prince and the healer… They loved each other, but their love… it wasn't allowed."
"Or wasn't understood," Joren offered, his voice softer now.
Lyria looked down, her heart aching. "Do you think… the river punished them?"
Joren hesitated, then shook his head. "Or maybe their love was the only thing worth the risk."
Joren's eyes fell on a small indentation in the pedestal. It was shaped like the shard they had found earlier.
"Joren, no," Lyria said quickly, seeing his intent.
But he was already moving. "If this shard fits, then it's meant to—"
"Stop!" she said, grabbing his arm. "You don't know what it will do."
"Neither do you," he countered, his gaze steady.
Lyria hesitated, her fear filled with her curiosity. Finally, she released his arm. "Just… be careful."
Joren nodded and placed the shard into the slot.
The effect was immediate. The chamber trembled, the murals shifting as if alive. The prince and healer in the images reached for one another, their hands nearly touching before the crack in the wall tore them apart.
The air grew heavy, the sound of rushing water filling the chamber. Lyria clutched Joren's arm, her voice barely audible. "The river… it remembers."
A low voice echoed through the room, neither male nor female. "You dare awaken what was silenced."
The shard glowed brightly, projecting an image into the air. The prince and healer stood together, their faces anguished. The vision ended with them submerged in water, their hands still reaching for each other.
Lyria collapsed to her knees, overwhelmed. "This isn't just history," she whispered. "It's a warning."
The chamber began to flood, water seeping through the cracks and rising rapidly.
"Lyria!" Joren shouted, pulling her to her feet. "We have to go!"
She hesitated, staring at the murals. "We've angered the river god… It's punishing us."
"No," Joren said firmly, gripping her hand. "We're not them, Lyria. We can still make it out. But only if you trust me."
For a moment, she wavered. Then, she nodded, her fingers tightening around his.
They raced toward the stairwell as the water surged behind them. The once-hidden passage was now a torrent of rushing currents, the glow of the bridge's carvings intensifying.
They barely made it out, collapsing on the riverbank, soaked and shaking.
Joren looked back at the bridge, its carvings now dimmer. "We've set something in motion," he said quietly.
Lyria stared at him, her voice trembling. "We're repeating their story."
Joren turned to her, his expression resolute. "Then let's finish it differently."
From the distance, the lights of Caldrisian patrols approached, their footsteps echoing over the bridge.
Lyria glanced toward Velmora, a shadow crossing her face. "I can't stay here," she whispered.
Joren's grip tightened around the shard, determination gleaming in his eyes. "This is only the beginning."