Bareon was aflame with conflict, and inferno was raging up above. Yet down here, it was so very solemn and quiet. The screams of the wounded didn’t reach so far down, nor did the roaring flames, or the booming explosions.
Rubbing his aching hands, he looked up towards the small gap in the cavern’s ceiling that he fell from. He could barely see so far up from all the dust and ash that was falling down. Only the light of the flames reached so far down, even that was growing dimmer with every passing moment.
He lifted the ball of fire in his hand as high up as he could as he looked around for a way back up to Bareon. Going back through the way he came was impossible without a properly powerful wind augment, and even if he did have one with him, he wasn’t strong enough to fly for long enough to reach the surface.
His gaze lingered on the distant cavern walls. It was a massive cavern, stretching below quite a large section of Bareon, he guessed. Did Lord Orlein know of the existence of such a place?
“Probably not…” he muttered to himself. His whisper echoed along the cavern walls. He shuddered, but at least the eerie silence was now broken. He held his breath, listening for any other sound. Had his voice disturbed anything just now? Probably not, since the eerie silence returned.
It would have been rather odd if there was yet another ancient, powerful and dangerous being slumbering in this darkness that he was unlucky enough to awaken from a deep, endless slumber. That wouldn’t happen twice in less than two days, surely.
He nervously chuckled to himself as he started walking around. The cavern walls were uneven and consisted of rough stone, covered with a dark, crimson coloured moss. Rare chalk-white veins of… something were visible underneath, each about as thick as his arm.
The same veins were also under his feet, hidden under the carpet of moss. He crouched, pushing a patch of moss aside to reveal them.
There was no doubt about it. These were almost identical to the chalk-roots of the monument in the forest north of Bareon.
A cold shiver ran down his spine. The influence of those monuments was already far beyond the confines of the Old Growth. For how long had these existed below central Bareon? Decades, or perhaps centuries? Were they here when the Bareon Disaster happened, and the Rose Capital fell? Were they here before then, when the Ardagh family first led the refugees to this place to found Eldoria?
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With a sigh, he stood back up. He was no historian or archaeologist, staring at these chalk-roots wasn’t going to provide him with any answers. Instead, his gaze turned to the altar – a large, chalk rectangle with a blooming flower on top.
The flower was emitting a bright, vibrant glow. It was difficult to look away from it. It was calling to him, urging him to approach it. He felt like a moth drawn to a flame – unable to resist what was clearly a trap. Alarm bells rung at the back of his mind as he stepped closer to the altar.
Vibrations shook the cavern, causing streams of dust to fall from the ceiling. Unnerving creaks and pieces of rock loosening reached his ears. He pried his eyes off of the altar and the flower resting atop it.
Small rocks rolled down the walls and fell from the high up ceiling as somewhat more powerful tremors shook the ground beneath his feet.
His gaze darted from one end of the cavern to the other, looking for a way out. He needed to get out of here, before the ceiling collapsed and buried him underground. He touched his earring as he hurried along the walls. Even the stake he had in the holding gem couldn’t protect him from however many tons of stone that would fall.
The ground shook again, much more violently this time. He stumbled backwards, barely keeping himself from falling down. His gaze darted up as streams of dust fell from newly forming cracks in the rock ceiling. He could hear the rock face slowly beginning to crumble under the weight it was holding.
He looked around frantically – there was no tunnel leading out of the cavern, no large enough passageways for him to fit through. But it made no sense – how had this altar been built here without an exit? It was impossible, there had to be a way out.
He looked up again, at the hole he fell through. Debris and ash continued falling from the city above, piling up on the cavern floor.
His chest tightened. He clenched his fist, and poured more power to the flame in his palm. It grew brighter, doing away with the shadows dancing near the cavern walls. With narrowed eyes, he frantically looked around for an exit.
There was no tunnel, nowhere to pass through. He was trapped here, with the only object of note being the altar, and the vibrant flower atop it.
His gaze turned there; he could feel it calling. It was a pull at his very being, and the more he looked at it, the stronger the pull became. It was impossible to ignore.
He closed his eyes. The Old God had shown it to him, accompanied with the words ‘power’ and ‘ancient.’ Was he furthering the terrorists’ goals by following the Old God’s directions? Would this even save him from this place?
Another tremor shook the earth. He heard something crash behind him.
He had to survive, no matter what. With the fire of determination in his eyes, he dashed across the cavern as chunks of the ceiling fell, crashing into the ground. Debris scattered all over the cavern, and cracks formed along the walls and the ceiling, even the ground.
He ran without a second thought, with a mind clear of all doubt.
He needed to survive first.
His hand touched the crimson and blue petals.
The chalk veins concentrating below the altar seemingly came to life, they crumbled beneath his feet, collapsing deep underground. A scream escaped his lips as he fell into the darkness once more, holding onto the flower as if it was life itself.