The darkness within the ruins seemed to close in around them, thick and suffocating. Ellie led the students deeper into the crumbling corridors, her footsteps cautious, her breath tight in her chest. Every sound—every faint drip of water or distant rustle—felt amplified, as if the ruins themselves were listening, waiting.

The students followed closely behind her, their faces pale in the dim light cast by the orbs of magic they carried. Their excitement had dimmed into something quieter, more uncertain, as the reality of the place settled in. These ruins were old—older than any of them had truly grasped. The air felt thick with history, with the weight of things long forgotten.

Ellie kept her gaze fixed ahead, her mind racing. She had no idea where she was leading them. She had no map, no strategy—just the faint memory of stories and whispered rumors about the relics that were said to be hidden here. Yet, with each step, the students’ trust in her seemed to grow, their silence thick with expectation. They believed she knew what she was doing. They believed in the legend of Ellie Liddell, the dragon-slayer and wielder of ancient magic.

If only they knew.

The passageway narrowed, the stone walls damp and crumbling, forcing them to walk single file. Ellie brushed her fingers against the walls as they moved, feeling the worn grooves of ancient carvings beneath her touch. The runes were faint, almost completely eroded by time, but still pulsing faintly with residual magic.

Every now and then, she felt a spark of something—some old enchantment that hadn’t fully died. She shivered, hoping they wouldn’t accidentally wake anything that had been lying dormant.

One of the students, the silver-haired girl, spoke up softly behind her. “Lady Ellie, do you think we’ll find the relics of Lorthraine? The ones the stories speak of?”

Ellie didn’t turn around. “Maybe,” she said, her voice low, evasive. “But remember, not all stories are true.”

The girl didn’t seem discouraged. “The legends say the relics hold untold power. They say they were the source of Archmage Merdhyn’s strength.”

Ellie’s heart beat faster. Untold power. The last thing she wanted was to stumble upon something with more power than she could handle. She could barely keep herself from stumbling over her own feet, let alone control a relic that might have belonged to one of the greatest mages in history.

The passageway suddenly opened up into a large, vaulted chamber. Ellie froze at the entrance, her eyes adjusting to the dim glow that seeped in from cracks in the ceiling. The chamber was massive, its walls covered in more of the same faded runes, but these were larger, more intricate.

At the center of the room stood a stone pedestal, worn and chipped with age, but still commanding. A faint light flickered in the air above it—something small and crystalline, suspended in a haze of ancient magic.

Ellie’s breath caught. The relic.

Behind her, the students gasped in awe.

“Is that...?” the silver-haired girl whispered, her voice trembling with excitement. “It’s the Relic of Lorthraine. It has to be.”

Ellie stared at the object, her mind blank with disbelief. How had they come upon this? She hadn’t planned any of this—she had just been walking. She didn't even stumble this time. How could it be so easy? She could feel the weight of the students’ gazes on her, the awe in their voices, but all she felt was a rising panic.

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Someone did mention the relic—if it truly existed, did not reveal itself to those who seek it for selfish or malicious purposes the other day. Could it be true?

“Stay back,” Ellie murmured, more out of instinct than certainty. Her feet moved on their own, carrying her slowly toward the pedestal. The air around the relic buzzed with magic—ancient, pulsing, alive. It made her skin prickle, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. She could feel it watching her, waiting for her next move.

The students were silent, watching her with wide, reverent eyes. To them, this must have seemed like the culmination of everything they’d heard about her—their hero leading them straight to the lost relic, as if by some innate sense of magic. They didn’t see how her hands trembled, how her thoughts were a tangled mess of fear and confusion.

As she neared the pedestal, she felt a faint tremor beneath her feet—a soft vibration that ran through the stone floor, as if something deep within the ruins had stirred. Her heart pounded in her chest. She hesitated, her fingers hovering over the relic.

It was small, a crystal shard no larger than her palm, faintly glowing with a soft blue light. The runes etched into it were almost invisible, so worn by time that they seemed more like faint scars on the surface. The magic that clung to it, though, was undeniable—old and powerful, like the breath of something ancient stirring from slumber.

Before Ellie could pull back, her hand brushed against the crystal.

A sharp crack echoed through the chamber. The floor lurched beneath them, and Ellie stumbled back, her heart leaping into her throat. The students gasped, clutching at one another as the walls seemed to pulse with new life, the old runes flaring to life, casting eerie shadows across the chamber. The ground trembled again, and Ellie’s fingers curled instinctively around the relic, gripping it tight.

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The magic in the air thickened, humming louder, and Ellie felt it coursing through her—filling her senses, racing through her veins. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think, as the relic’s power tangled with her own, tugging at something deep inside her.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the trembling stopped. The runes dimmed, their light flickering out, and the chamber was silent once more.

Ellie blinked, her heart racing. She looked down at her hand, realizing with a start that she was still clutching the relic, its soft glow pulsing against her palm. She glanced back at the students, their faces pale but awestruck.

“That was...” the silver-haired girl breathed, her eyes wide with admiration. “Incredible.”

Ellie swallowed hard, forcing her voice to remain steady. “It wasn’t... I didn’t mean to—”

The dark-eyed boy stepped forward, his gaze fixed on her, full of awe. “You knew exactly what to do,” he said, his voice low and reverent. “You found the relic, Lady Ellie. You restored the magic in this place. No one else could have done that.”

Ellie opened her mouth to protest, to tell them the truth—that she had just stumbled upon it, that it had been an accident. But the words wouldn’t come. They believed in her so completely, so deeply, that any attempt to explain would sound like false modesty.

She was trapped in the role they had cast her in. A hero. A legend.

“I...” Ellie glanced down at the relic, its glow soft and steady in her hand. She could feel its weight, not just in her palm but in the way the students’ eyes followed her every movement, the way their trust in her felt heavier with each passing moment.

“Let’s—let’s get back,” she said quietly, sliding the relic into her pocket, hoping none of them would notice the tremor in her voice.

The students nodded eagerly, their faces still bright with awe. As they turned to leave the chamber, Ellie lingered for a moment, her gaze drifting over the ancient stone and faded runes. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she had disturbed something—something old, something powerful—and that it wasn’t finished with her yet.

But for now, she had to play the part they expected of her.

As they left the ruins, the relic warm against her side, Ellie couldn’t help but wonder how much longer she could keep up the charade.