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“A great power lies within,” I answer, keeping my voice steady as I pull a linen from my bag. “Something ancient… and waiting reclamation.” Another lie rolling off my tongue with ease.
“What is this place?” Triona whispers, her voice trembling, steeped in awe. Her gaze flits between the coffin and the glowing artifact. “It doesn’t feel real,” she adds, her words hushed, as though afraid to disturb the sanctity of the room.
“It is real,” I affirm. The low hum beneath our feet deepens, resonating within our bones. “And aware.”
She takes a hesitant step forward, eyes locked on the black coffin at the centre of the dais. Her voice wavers. “Do you think…”
I turn to her fully, meeting her gaze without flinching. “We both know what this place is… and what’s likely restin’ in that coffin.”
My fingers hesitate as I reach for the peridot sphere. Carefully, I enshroud it in the linen, veiling its radiance. I wait, expecting something to happen—a shift in the chamber, a surge of power, anything—but only the steady hum continues, vibrating faintly through the air.
I ensure the artifact is securely wrapped, its glow now imperceptible. Turning to Triona, I hand it to her with a resolute expression. “You need to keep it bundled until you get to Uisneach Hill…. Standing precisely where it tells you.” I say, my voice firm. She nods, clutching it close. The chamber seems to breathe around us, watching silently as we prepare to leave.
The air shifts—subtle, but unmistakable. My pulse quickens as an unseen presence brushes against my senses, like a shadow stirring in the dark.
And then, a figure steps into the chamber from within the shadowy depths of the cave. The dim, shifting light catches on the green hue of his hair. His features are sharp as carved glass, angular and ageless.
“The concern with breaking a seal,” he says, his voice smooth and venomous, “is that one must mend what is sullied. Otherwise you... well, I suppose I need not speak of consequences to you, being as apparent as they are.”
His attire is as peculiar as his presence—intricate gold trim lines his cloak, its flowing layers resembling something torn from the pages of a centuries-old legend. The fabric bears arcane patterns and gilded accents, their craftsmanship hinting at power long forgotten. A gold-belted sash cinches his waist, and ornate bracers clink faintly as his arms cross.
The malevolent curve of his lips and piercing green eyes burn with a cold intensity, promising no mercy.
His echoing steps create an aura of silent menace, as though the very air around him bends to his will. He says nothing, waiting silently. I instinctively move in front of Triona, hands reaching to my sides as I pull both daggers free in one fluid motion. I grip them tightly, squaring my stance, ready for whatever comes next.
“Keep yer eyes off her,” I growl, daring him to challenge me. The smirk on his face widens, but he does not shift his gaze.
“Who are ye?” I demand, my tone even despite the storm building in my chest.
An unsettling smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. He remains silent, watching us with the patient menace of a predator savouring the moment before the pounce.
The air between us grows heavier with each passing second. A shuffle in Triona’s step seems to embolden him. With calculated ease, he reveals a dark, jagged blade that appears to swallow the faint light around it. The air grows colder, the hum of magic shifting into a low, ominous thrum.
“I am Indech,” he says smoothly. His eyes rest lazily on the weapon in his hand, and a dark chuckle escapes his lips. “Are you familiar with items such as this?” he asks, holding the blade aloft as though presenting a prize.
He tilts the blade, letting its dark surface glint faintly in the dim light. “A Void Dagger. Forged in the depths of chaos itself. It does more than cut—it severs the threads of magic, rends the shield of gods, and leaves even immortals to bleed in silence.”
His mocking laugh echoes in the chamber as he continues, “No, you would not, living the filthy mortal lives you have been living. Ignorant of the powers that shape your fragile world.”
His sneer deepens as he watches our reactions, the weight of his words sinking in. Before we even have a chance to question how he knows who we are, he lunges toward me—blade in hand, a jagged extension of his hostility. The weapon gleams with a sickly shimmer, its edge pulsing faintly with some corrupted magic.
I react on instinct, twisting just in time to avoid a strike that would have gutted me. The force of his swing rips through the air, sending a shockwave that rattles the cavern walls.
I parry with a flurry of swift strikes, my daggers flashing, but Indech moves like liquid shadow, moving through my attacks with inhuman grace. Sparks fly as steel clashes against the cursed blade, each impact sending tremors through my arms. The dagger seems to leave behind an unnatural void, the sense of magic draining with every swing.
He lunges again, vicious and precise. I roll back, landing in a crouch, only to find him already there. He twists mid-air, aiming the Void Dagger straight for my ribs. I barely bring both blades up in time, catching his strike in a cross-block. The impact reverberates through my arms and knocks me backward, boots scraping against stone as I fight to remain standing.
“Stop!” Triona’s voice cuts through the clash of steel, trembling with urgency.
I glance toward her—but she’s already in motion.
She throws herself between us without hesitation, driven by instinct more than strategy. Her blade comes up to parry, but Indech is faster. Too fast.
His blade, meant for me, catches her instead. The cursed dagger slips past her defence, slicing deep through her thigh with a sickening hiss. She crumples with a strangled gasp, blood pooling fast as she hits the ground.
A sharp, searing agony lances through my chest from sheer, unrelenting fear. Every fibre of my being screams to strike, to end him now, to drive my daggers into his heart and carve him apart for what he’s done. My grip tightens around my weapons, fingers aching with the force of my fury. The need to kill him surges through me like wildfire, violent and consuming. Triona, bleeding, gasping, needs me now.
Indech halts, and his amusement flickers into something sharper—alarm.
