I contemplate the artifacts above, the puzzles we’ve solved, the sheer scope of cultures and eras they represent. It’s a mosaic of history, one that tells a story far greater than any of us alone. How does it all connect? What thread binds the thieves’ guild’s sly maneuvers, the arcane politics of Faerie’s councils, and Briarvale’s guarded secrets? And most of all, how does the girl’s enigmatic lineage fit into this sprawling enigma?
I doubt we’re going to find any of that out today, but it’s plaguing me.
A soft clinking sound pulls me back from my musings. Dezi holds up a fragment of pottery, his expression pensive. “Every piece has its place in the puzzle,” he murmurs, almost to himself. His words echo my own thoughts, and I nod, feeling the weight of our shared purpose.
“Keep moving,” I suggest, gesturing to the corridor’s end, where the darkness seems less absolute. There’s a subtle shift in the air, a senseof anticipation that tingles across my skin. “We didn’t come this far to let some bullshit ruins best us.”
Fiadh grins as she bumps my shoulder with hers. “Spoken like a real Prince, Revvie. You might still be worthy of that crown.”
She has no idea how much I hope she’s right.
The musty scent of ancient stone fills my nostrils as the last echo of the puzzle mechanism clicks into place. I’m standing a little straighter, a small smirk playing on my lips; we’ve cracked it—the floor puzzle with those damned vases. My fingers still tingle from the elemental charge that surged when I aligned the water vase just so.
That’s one for the books—Fi one, ancient doucheface zero.
“Down we go,” Khol murmurs, his hand hovering over the hilt of the curved blade on his belt, eyes scanning the shadows for signs of trouble.
“Head first into danger once again,” I mutter, mostly to myself, but Tiernan chuckles softly beside me.
“Always such an optimist, Knuckles,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder.
I shrug. “Life hasn’t taught me much about having faith in people until you guys.”
“As much as I’dloveto dissect that statement, witchling, we need to get moving,” Dezi interjects, though the tightness in his voice suggests he’s not looking forward to what’s next. I catch the twitch of his pale lips—the guy’s got a knack for hiding his discomfort, but I can read him now.
“Don’t get cocky. It will probably get harder the further in we go,” Revelin adds, the torchlight flickering across his beautiful features. He’s keeping his typically overflowing emotions reigned in right now, so his aura is the only thing quieter than the steady drip-drip of water somewhere in the darkness ahead.
We descend further; the air growing cooler as we leave the chamber of vases behind. The passage narrows, and I hunch, my daggers gripped tightly in both hands. They’re an extension of me, as much a part of my being as the blood pumping through my veins. I prefer my patented brass knuckles to the knives, but since I don’t know if I can get in that close, these will have to do.
“Watch your step,” I whisper back to the others as we navigate the uneven steps etched into the earth, each one leading us deeper into the heart of the ruins. Every shadow seems to dance, teasing us with the possibility of hidden dangers lurking just beyond sight.
“Knuckles, you doing okay?” Tiernan asks, keeping pace with me despite the narrow path.
“Never better. Can’t wait to meet the gnarly old man who asks what our quest and favorite color are,” I deadpan despite the adrenaline singing through my system. It’s a lie, of course, but a comforting one. We reach the bottom, the ground leveling out beneath our boots, and there’s a collective sigh of relief.
“Everyone wishing we’d taken Zumba for a while before attempting this shit?” Khol jokes, but his attempt at lightening the mood falls flat.
“I’d rather see what these ruins have in store for us next,” Dezi says, and something like anticipation—or is it dread?—tightens in my chest. “The anticipation of this mystery unfolding is much like being edged intellectually.”
“Not touching that,” I sing-song as I look at the opening in the wall.
“Rather the point…” the vampire mutters.
As we enter the huge depression in front of us, a cavern opens up, vast and silent, save for the gentle lapping of water from a pool at its center. Its surface is as still as glass, reflecting the strange and intricate artifacts that encircle it like sentinels guarding some sacred ground. I tread lightly, my eyes sweeping across the bounty of history displayed before us. Amidst the trove, I spot a Grecian urnwith scenes of heroes faded but still fierce, an ornate scabbard that must have belonged to a forgotten chieftain, and even what looks to be a fairy’s diadem, delicate as a spider’s web.
Again, what in the actual fuck is going on here?
“Look at this,” Khol murmurs, lifting a jeweled dagger so finely crafted it seems to slice the dim light into shards. “This is goblin steel.”
“Careful,” Tiernan warns, his hand instinctively reaching out as if to protect Khol from any magic protecting the item—or perhaps to protect the weapon from his mischief.
I give the basilisk a frustrated glare. “What did you miss when we said not to touch shit, scaly pants?”
He shrugs and I turn to look at our new location carefully. The walls, adorned with carvings and murals, whisper secrets of an age when magic was as common as the air we breathe. Among these depictions, I notice a recurring motif: beings descending into the watery depths, their forms both graceful and foreboding.
“Fantastic,” I groan, unable to shake the countless tales that warn of monsters lurking in such waters. “There’s probably something with tentacles waiting down there to make a meal out of us.”
“Or mer-folk with serrated teeth,” Khol adds, grinning wickedly as he sets the dagger back on its velvet-lined case.
