The ruins stretched far deeper into the forest than Ryn had initially thought. As the group ventured further, the dense overgrowth began to thin, revealing more of the ancient structures hidden beneath layers of moss and time. The oppressive air lingered, clinging to their skin and filling their lungs with an intangible weight.
Ryn's hand never strayed far from his weapon, his every step measured and deliberate. The shard he had taken from the collapsed wall now rested in his pocket, its faint hum like a second heartbeat. Though the others couldn't hear it, Ryn felt its presence, as if it were trying to communicate with him—or control him.
"This architecture doesn't match anything I've seen," Serafina murmured as she ran her fingers over a partially intact pillar. Its carvings glowed faintly in the dim light, casting strange shadows against the surrounding rubble. "It's… otherworldly. Ancient even by the standards of the Houses."
"Maybe it predates them," Lyara suggested, crouching to inspect a shattered statue half-buried in the dirt. Its face had been weathered away by time, but the remnants of its intricate armor were still visible. "A civilization that existed before the Houses consolidated power?"
Ryn's voice was low as he responded, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. "If that's true, then whatever's here is more dangerous than we thought. The Houses don't just fear it—they've erased it."
The statement hung in the air, heavy with implication. Erasure wasn't a tactic the Houses employed lightly. For something to be not only hidden but wiped from history meant it posed a direct threat to their dominion. It also meant that Ryn and his group were treading on forbidden ground.
The ruins eventually opened into a wide courtyard, its edges lined with cracked columns and broken stone benches. At its center stood a massive, circular dais inscribed with the same glowing glyphs they'd seen throughout the ruins. The sigil on Ryn's chest grew warm as he approached, pulsing in rhythm with the carvings.
"This feels like a focal point," Lyara said, stepping carefully onto the dais. She glanced at Ryn. "Your sigil—it's reacting, isn't it?"
Ryn nodded. "More strongly the closer I get. This place… it's connected to whatever the shard is."
Serafina's eyes narrowed as she examined the glyphs. "They're incomplete. Look here." She pointed to several sections where the carvings abruptly stopped, the lines jagged as though interrupted mid-creation. "It's like the work was abandoned. Or sabotaged."
"Sabotaged?" Korin's voice was skeptical. "By who? If this place predates the Houses, who else could've interfered?"
"The Houses themselves," Ryn said quietly, his mind racing. "Or the ones who came before them. Whoever built this place, they weren't allowed to finish. The Houses—or their precursors—made sure of that."
Before anyone could respond, a low rumble echoed through the ruins, shaking the ground beneath their feet. The group froze, weapons drawn as they scanned their surroundings.
"What was that?" Lyara asked, her voice tense.
"Not what," Serafina said grimly, her gaze fixed on the glyphs. "Whoever's been watching us just made their presence known."
The rumble grew louder, and from the shadows emerged a figure cloaked in tattered robes, their face obscured by a hood. They moved with an unnatural grace, their footsteps silent despite the crumbling stones beneath them.
"Trespassers," the figure said, their voice echoing unnaturally. "You tread where you do not belong."
Ryn stepped forward, his blade drawn but held loosely at his side. "Who are you?" he demanded. "What is this place?"
The figure tilted their head, as if amused. "You seek answers, yet you carry the fragment. Do you even understand what you hold?"
Ryn's grip tightened on his blade. "I know enough to understand that the Houses fear it. That makes it valuable."
"Fear?" The figure laughed, a hollow, unsettling sound. "The Houses do not fear. They destroy. And they destroyed this place for good reason."
"Then you'll tell us what that reason is," Ryn said, his voice cold. "Or I'll carve it out of you."
The figure's laughter stopped abruptly. "Bold words for one so young. But boldness will not save you here."
Before Ryn could respond, the figure raised a hand, and the glyphs on the dais flared to life. The ground beneath them trembled as energy crackled through the air, and the oppressive weight that had followed them through the ruins intensified.
"The fragment you carry is a key," the figure said, their voice rising above the chaos. "A key to power beyond your comprehension. But it comes at a price."
Ryn's chest burned as the sigil reacted to the energy, its pulsing now frantic. He gritted his teeth against the pain, refusing to show weakness.
"What price?" he demanded.
The figure's hood shifted, revealing faintly glowing eyes. "Your name. Your identity. To wield the fragment is to become something… other. Are you prepared for that sacrifice?"
Ryn hesitated, the weight of the question pressing down on him. But as he looked at his companions, their faces a mix of fear and determination, he knew there was only one answer.
"I am," he said, his voice steady.
The figure nodded slowly. "Then you will have your answers. But know this, bearer of the fragment: the path you walk is one of silence. The Houses will hunt you. The world will forget you. And in the end, you may forget yourself."
With a wave of their hand, the figure disappeared, leaving the group alone on the dais. The glyphs' glow faded, and the oppressive air lifted, though the weight of the figure's words remained.
Ryn turned to his companions, his expression hard. "We keep moving. Whatever this key unlocks, we need to find it before the Houses do."
Serafina stepped forward, her eyes searching his face. "Are you sure about this? If what they said is true…"
"It doesn't matter," Ryn said firmly. "The Houses took everything from us. If this is the price of fighting back, so be it."
As the group began to leave the ruins, Ryn couldn't help but glance back at the dais. The sigil on his chest had calmed, its pulsing now a faint echo. But the shard in his pocket still hummed with energy, a constant reminder of the power—and the sacrifice—that lay ahead.