Arwen’s words hung the in the air for a while.

“Can you explain what a focal point is?” Midhir finally spoke, shattering the heavy silence. His gaze remained fixed on the chalk structure as his fingers absentmindedly caressed the glowing flower.

Lonan took a deep breath. “Monuments are like the churches – it’s where you went if you wanted to pray to the Old Faith. They were places of worship and sacrifice.” He pointed towards the chalk structure. “These are called focal points, and there are quite a few of them in Eldoria, and those which are complete act as conduits to spiritual power, from what I understand.”

Arwen’s gaze snapped to Lonan. She looked at him intently, with pursed lips and furrowed brows.

“I believe when the Old Faith was prevalent in these lands, these were created to keep the area around them safe,” the historian continued, slowly circling the altar-like structure. “Humanity has only recently gained the ability to properly cut veil-infused crystals and utilise them. Less than a century ago, in fact. Before, we hadn’t the ability to manipulate the elements like we have now. So people turned to the Old Faith for protection against horrors from the beyond.” He ran his fingers on the edge of the altar-like structure. “Rituals like the one you saved me from were quite commonplace in those times.” He added with a grim voice, and visible discomfort.

“I see.” Alistair folded his arms and stepped closer to the structure. “You said this was created to protect from things beyond the veil, right? If we can’t destroy it, can we use it?”

Willow breathed in a sharp breath. “Use it?” She exclaimed wide eyed. “Have you lost your mind? What if Lonan’s wrong? What if it summons them instead?” She pointed at the structure while staring intently at Lonan. “How sure even are you about what it does?”

A faint smile flashed across the historian’s face. “I’m certain that I’m right. All texts, all artifacts that I have studied point to these being defensive structures.” He then turned his gaze towards Alistair. “But I must agree with Willow – it’s unwise to use anything left from the Dark Ages. The Old Faith has been all but forsaken and the gods went into slumber for a good reason.” His expression turned darker, and his voice grew colder as he continued. “Everything has a price, be it a life, blood, or half the world’s light. And the Old Gods never forget to collect their due.”

“There must be something we can do,” Alistair protested. “Bareon can’t endure attacks from terrorists and the rapid growth of the forest. Our orders are to destroy this – if that’s too risky, we must find a way to neutralise it. There must be a way.”

“I understand, but…”

The discussion seemed pointless as his gaze lingered on the chalk structure. His fingers continued to caress the flower as he pondered a while. Absentmindedly, he stepped forward, closer to the structure, and gently touched its smooth surface.

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Runes of the old tongue had been carved into the sides of the altar-like structure, but they cut off at about the halfway point. Lonan was right, now that he looked at it with proper light, he could clearly see it was incomplete.

“I don’t think he’s quite right.” Arwen softly spoke, startling Midhir. He hadn’t even noticed her standing right next to him. “It’s certainly incomplete, but I don’t think all it was supposed to do was keep the city safe.” She glanced at him. “What do you think?”

He breathed out a silent sigh. “I don’t know what to think,” he admitted. “When I fell down here last time, these just… opened up and dropped me further down,” he tapped on the chalk root covered ground with the heel of his boot.

Arwen leaned closer to it. “Is that so?” she muttered quietly. She placed her palm on the smooth surface of the altar-like structure. “Say, Midhir, did you perhaps use any of your spiritual power when you touched it?”

Before he could reply, the ground beneath his feet shook. Before he could even react, the chalk roots beneath him collapsed, dropping him into the darkness below.

“Midhir!” He heard Willow’s scream. Winds caught him mid-air, just before he hit the ground. His eyes shot wide open, only to see the worried group several meters above him, looking down the newly created gap.

The winds placed him onto the ground gently. The glow on Willow’s sword faded as she breathed a sigh of relief. “That was close. You’re not hurt, right?”

“I’m fine,” he scrambled to get up and dusted off his clothes.

The sound of stone brushing against stone echoed in the silence. The chalk roots came to life once more, weaving themselves into a stair-like shape, closing the gap between Midhir and the others.

A cold shiver ran down his spine as he stepped back to give the stairs space to form. The scene was disturbing at best, horrifying at worst. Stone – chalk – wasn’t supposed to be able to do this. It wasn’t supposed to be alive. Why was it able to grow like tree roots? His gaze turned to Arwen, who seemed unbothered by all this. She was still calmly standing next to the altar-like structure with her eyes closed.

A disturbing thought gnawed at the back of his mind. Why did she know how to do this? Why was she able to manipulate chalk?

The stairs soon finished forming. Arwen opened her eyes. “Oh, so that did do something.” She sounded more surprised than anything.

“What were you thinking?!” Lonan exclaimed wide eyed. “You could have killed him! Or us! Or brought the city down on us-“

Alistair loudly cleared his throat. “Arwen, please warn us before experimenting like this.” He shot a meaningful glance at Midhir. “It’s best if we’re all prepared to avoid injury.” He then stepped down the first step. “Either way, we have a new avenue for exploration. Let us go – we have wasted quite a bit of time.”

They descended to join Midhir with the apologetic Arwen, and the somewhat frightened Lonan.

“This way,” Midhir led the way towards the large cavern housing the marble bridge and the temple. He tried to push that disturbing thought away, but it remained at the forefront of his mind. A sliver of doubt – seeds of distrust were sown.

A woman lifted her head from the old tome in her lap. She pushed aside a lock of beautiful crimson hair and raised her gaze towards the clear skies. Her lips curled down, and her finger rather impatiently tapped against the side of the tome.

“I worry.” Her voice was but a whisper. “Find their pawn, and make sure it remains safe from them.”

“It? That’s a human you’re talking about.”

She scoffed at the voice echoing in her mind. “Semantics. Go.” She dismissively waved her hand as her gaze turned to the raven sitting on a large, soft pillow near the hearth.

“Fine, fine.”