Beyond the Threshold
The moment the stone door fully opened, a wave of stale, ancient air rushed out, carrying whispers of an age long past. Eryndor hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside, Lysara close behind him.
The chamber was vast, its walls lined with towering statues cloaked in dust. Each figure bore the same emblem from the door—a sigil that pulsed faintly with an unknown energy. Strange glyphs covered the floor, shifting slightly under the dim, bluish glow that filled the room.
Lysara exhaled, her voice barely above a whisper. "This place… it's untouched. As if time itself forgot about it."
Eryndor knelt by an altar at the center, running his fingers over the intricate carvings. Something about them called to him, stirring echoes of a past just out of reach.
And then he saw it.
Against the far wall, encased in shimmering crystal, was a figure.
---
A Frozen Guardian
The figure within the crystal was tall, clad in ornate armor that bore the same crest as the warriors he had fought earlier. The armor, though dulled with age, still held a regal presence. The figure's face was obscured, but Eryndor felt a strange sense of familiarity—a connection he couldn't explain.
Lysara narrowed her eyes. "Who… or what is that?"
Eryndor swallowed. "A guardian, maybe. Or…" His voice trailed off as another memory clawed at his mind.
A throne room. A kneeling knight. A vow of loyalty sworn under torchlight.
This person had sworn fealty to him.
His fingers curled into a fist. What was my past?
Before he could step closer, the crystal cracked.
Lysara instinctively drew her dagger. "Eryndor, get back!"
But he couldn't move.
Because as the crystal splintered, a voice—deep and resonant—spoke through the chamber.
"The Keeper has returned."
The statues lining the room trembled. The glyphs beneath them pulsed brighter.
And as the last shard of crystal shattered, the figure opened their eyes—glowing with the same eerie light as the ruins themselves.
---
Awakening the Past
The armored figure staggered forward, taking a deep breath as if breathing for the first time in centuries. Their gaze locked onto Eryndor, unreadable and piercing.
"Who are you?" Lysara demanded, keeping her stance defensive.
The figure ignored her, stepping forward until they were mere feet from Eryndor. Then, they dropped to one knee, bowing their head.
"My lord… you have returned at last."
Eryndor's heart pounded. "I…" His throat felt dry. "Who are you?"
The knight slowly lifted their head. "I am Serathis, your sworn guardian. The one who waited, as you commanded."
Lysara looked between them, eyes filled with disbelief. "Eryndor… what does this mean?"
He had no answer.
But deep inside, he knew—this was no coincidence.
The past he had long forgotten was waiting for him to reclaim it.
---
End of Chapter 11