The mist grew heavier as the trio approached the jagged silhouette of the Ruins of Dægra’s Hollow. The air was colder here, biting through John’s hoodie and the patched leather jerkin he wore over it. Every step forward felt like entering another world, a darker, quieter one where the forest seemed to hold its breath.
John tightened his grip on the spear Freya had insisted he bring. Despite the recent improvements from his Tactical Spearplay skill, the weapon still felt awkward in his hands. He glanced at Freya, who was leading the group with her usual confidence, her axe resting casually over her shoulder.
“So,” John began, his voice low, “is it just me, or does this place scream ‘death trap’ to anyone else?”
Freya smirked but didn’t turn around. “What gave it away? The silence or the creepy ruins ahead?”
“The part where I can’t feel my toes anymore,” John muttered.
Behind him, Eirik, the ever-silent hunter, moved like a shadow. His keen eyes scanned the surrounding forest, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Without speaking, he pointed toward the faint outline of the ruins now visible through the trees.
The ruins emerged from the mist like a forgotten nightmare. Crumbled walls covered in dark vines leaned precariously, their surfaces etched with strange, jagged symbols. The stones themselves looked almost alive, as if they pulsed faintly beneath the vines, though that could have been John’s imagination.
Freya came to a stop and studied the ruins. Her breath puffed in the cold air. “I’ve seen my share of old battlefields, but this... this feels different.”
“Different how?” John asked.
Freya gestured to the jagged carvings on the stones. “Symbols. They’re not Norse, not even close. Whoever built this place wasn’t from around here.”
“Great,” John said, shifting uncomfortably. “So, we’re walking into some ancient cursed monument that even the Vikings were scared of. Fantastic.”
Freya grinned. “Cheer up, Bone Caller. This is the kind of adventure you’ll be telling stories about…if we survive.”
“Big ‘if,’” John muttered.
The group moved closer, stepping carefully over the crumbled remains of walls and shattered stone. The silence pressed heavier on them the farther they ventured into the ruins. Even the distant sounds of the forest, birds, the wind in the trees, were absent.
“Feels wrong,” Eirik said quietly, his first words since they entered the area.
Freya nodded. “Keep your eyes open. If this place is tied to necromancy, there could be traps. Or worse.”
John exhaled nervously, opening his system menu for a quick review of his stats. The familiar glowing interface appeared before him, bringing a small sense of order to the chaos.
----------------------------------------
[SYSTEM MENU: CHARACTER SHEET]
* Name: John Harper
* Class: Necromancer – Path of the Deathcaller
* Level: 3
* Attributes:
* Strength: 4
* Dexterity: 4
* Intelligence: 11
* Charisma: 2
* Mana: 110
* Skills:
* Death Lash (Level 0): Necrotic tendrils for direct damage.
* Gravebond (Level 1): Enhanced skeleton durability and speed.
* Tactical Spearplay (Level 0): Improved spear combat.
* Bone Armor (Level 0): Skeletal plating for defense.
* Mana Regen (Passive, Tier 1): +10% mana regeneration.
----------------------------------------
“Okay,” John muttered to himself, closing the interface. “Stats say I’m not completely useless. That’s something.”
“Talking to yourself again?” Freya asked, glancing back at him.
“Just checking the odds,” John replied. “And, spoiler alert: they’re not great.”
Freya chuckled. “Then we’ll just have to beat the odds, won’t we?”
As they entered the ruins, John couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. He glanced at the twisted carvings again, half-expecting them to move.
“Anything I should know about this place?” he asked Freya, keeping his voice low.
“Just the stories,” she replied. “Dægra’s Hollow was supposed to be a fortress once, long before the clans. They say it fell to some... unnatural force. No one’s been able to hold it since.”
“Because of the unnatural force?” John asked.
Freya shrugged. “Or because it’s falling apart. Take your pick.”
Ahead, Eirik raised a hand to signal them to stop. He pointed to a patch of ground just ahead, where the stones were arranged in an unnaturally even pattern.
“Trap,” Eirik said simply.
John squinted at the ground, then back at Eirik. “How do you even see that?”
Eirik didn’t answer. Instead, he picked up a loose rock and tossed it forward. The moment it landed, a faint click echoed through the air, followed by a hiss. Rusted arrows shot out from the walls, their tips embedding themselves in the opposite stone with sharp thunks.
“Noted,” John said, taking a careful step back. “Let’s not step on those.”
Freya smirked. “Good instincts, Bone Caller.”
The trio navigated around the trap, their movements slow and deliberate. Every step deeper into the ruins felt heavier, as though the air itself resisted their presence.
When they reached what appeared to be the main courtyard of the fortress, John paused to take it all in. Shattered armor and broken weapons littered the ground, their edges dulled by time. Deep claw marks gouged the stone walls, their size suggesting something far larger than a human had made them.
“This place was a battleground,” Freya said, her voice quieter now.
John knelt to inspect a rusted sword half-buried in the dirt. It crumbled to dust as he lifted it, leaving only the hilt behind. “Whatever happened here, it wasn’t just a battle. It was... something worse.”
Freya looked at him. “Worse how?”
“I don’t know,” John admitted. “But if I had to guess, this wasn’t a fight. It was a massacre.”
Eirik, who had been scanning the area, motioned for them to follow him again. “We’re not alone,” he said.
Freya raised her axe, her body tensing. “What do you mean?”
“Tracks,” Eirik replied, pointing to faint footprints in the dirt. They weren’t human.
John’s stomach dropped. “Fantastic. Let me guess, whatever made those is bigger, meaner, and probably already knows we’re here.”
Freya grinned, though her grip on her axe tightened. “Let’s find out.”
As the trio pressed deeper into the ruins, the tension grew thicker. Whatever waited for them in Dægra’s Hollow, it was watching.
The crumbling halls of Dægra’s Hollow loomed over the trio, their shadows twisting in the dim, otherworldly light filtering through the misty cracks in the ruins. Shattered armor and broken weapons littered the ground, each piece a silent testimony to battles long forgotten. Deep claw marks gouged into the stone walls seemed to pulse with foreboding energy, as if warning them to turn back.
John stepped carefully over a jagged fragment of a helmet, his eyes darting to the dark corners of the hall. “You ever notice how ancient ruins never come with a map or a ‘Welcome’ sign? I mean, throw a guy a bone…”
Freya cut him off with a smirk, gripping her axe tighter. “You’ve got enough bones to deal with, Bone Caller. Focus.”
With a smile and laugh, John mutters under his breath, “ I’ll give you a bone to deal with…”
Eirik, silent as ever, crouched to examine the floor ahead. His gloved fingers brushed against a faintly raised tile. Without a word, he gestured for them to stop.
“What is it?” Freya asked, her voice dropping.
“Trap,” Eirik said simply. His class, Pathfinder, made him an expert at tracking, navigating hazardous terrain, and spotting danger before it struck. His skills were invaluable in places like this, though his brevity often left John guessing.
“How bad?” John asked, squinting at the tile.
Eirik pointed to small holes lining the walls ahead. “Arrows.”
John sighed. “Of course. Because this place wasn’t creepy enough without deadly traps.”
Freya leaned over to inspect the mechanism. Her Hunter-class skills made her adept at dismantling simple traps, but even she frowned at the complexity of this one. “This isn’t raider work. It’s too precise. Whoever built this wanted to keep something, or someone, out.”
“Or in,” John muttered.
Eirik tossed a loose piece of rubble onto the pressure plate. The faint click that followed was immediately drowned out by the sharp hiss of rusted arrows shooting from the walls. They clattered against the stone opposite, some splintering on impact.
“Well, that’s comforting,” John said, stepping carefully around the tile. “Let’s try not to die on the way to the dying part, yeah?”
Freya chuckled but kept her eyes sharp, scanning the walls for more traps. “Stay close, Bone Caller. If anything jumps out, you’re our bait.”
“Love the vote of confidence,” John grumbled, gripping his spear.
As they moved deeper into the ruins, the air grew colder, heavy with the metallic scent of decay. John’s unease grew with every step, his skin prickling as if the shadows themselves were watching.
In the center of the next hall, the skeletal remains of a warrior lay sprawled, its armor rusted and its sword clutched in bony fingers. The skull was cracked, a jagged scar running from the temple to the jaw, and the ribcage was warped as though crushed by something immense.
Freya crouched beside the skeleton, her fingers brushing the rusted sword. “Whatever killed him didn’t do it cleanly. This was a fight to the death.”
John frowned, staring at the bones. A faint chill rippled through him, not from the cold air, but from something deeper, something that felt almost alive. “There’s... something here.”
Freya looked up at him, her brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” John admitted, kneeling beside the skeleton. He hesitated, then activated Gravebond, funneling a sliver of his mana into the lingering necromantic energy.
[GRAVEBOND ACTIVATED]
Mana Cost: 10
Remaining Mana: 100
The response was immediate. The air around the skeleton shimmered faintly, and for a brief moment, the bones twitched. John recoiled, his heart pounding.
“Okay, that’s new,” he muttered.
Freya’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”
“Just... testing something,” John said, stepping back. “This place is steeped in necromancy. It’s not just old bones, it’s like the magic here never really left.”
Eirik, who had been inspecting the far wall, held up a fragment of fabric. The tattered piece bore a faded symbol, twisted and chaotic, similar to the carvings they’d seen outside.
Freya stood, taking the fragment from Eirik. Her expression darkened. “This was a banner. This place wasn’t just a ruin, it was a fortress. Someone lived here, fought here. And they lost.”
“Badly,” John added, glancing at the skeletal remains again.
The oppressive energy in the room seemed to deepen as they moved forward. The walls narrowed, forcing them into a single-file line. Freya led, her axe ready, while Eirik stayed behind John, watching their rear.
John’s thoughts raced as he adjusted his grip on his spear. His new skills offered versatility, but his mana pool was finite. If they encountered something more dangerous than traps, he needed to conserve his strength.
The group entered a large chamber at the heart of the ruins. A cracked stone altar dominated the space, its surface covered in faintly glowing runes. The air was thicker here, almost suffocating, and the remnants of ancient battles were more pronounced. Broken shields and splintered weapons lay scattered, along with the occasional shattered bone.
Freya approached the altar cautiously, her eyes scanning the room. “This looks important. Too important.”
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
John followed, his gaze fixed on the glowing runes. They pulsed faintly, as if responding to their presence. He reached into his pack and pulled out the Book of Forgotten Tides, its cover flickering with the same strange light.
As John placed the book on the altar, the runes flared to life, casting the chamber in a ghostly glow. The system prompt appeared before him, words blazing in his vision:
[SYSTEM PROMPT: Unlock Past Memories?]
Y/N
Freya glanced at John. “What’s it saying?”
“It’s... asking if I want to unlock something,” John said, his voice hesitant.
Eirik moved closer, his hand resting on his sword. “Do it.”
John hesitated for a moment longer, then mentally selected [YES].
The room shuddered as a surge of cold energy rippled through the air. The light from the altar intensified, and the runes shifted, forming a new pattern that spiraled outward like a living thing.
John staggered back as a vision overtook him, blurry at first, then sharp and vivid.
The runes on the altar flared brighter, casting ghostly shadows across the chamber walls. The light seemed alive, twisting and writhing like snakes made of pure energy. John gripped the edge of the altar to steady himself as cold, sharp tendrils of magic slithered through his body.
“Oh, good,” John muttered through gritted teeth. “Just what I needed, frostbite on my soul.”
Freya stood beside him, her axe at the ready, her gaze darting between the glowing altar and John. “What’s happening?”
“Great question,” John said, his voice tight. “If I survive, I’ll let you know.”
The glow from the book intensified, and the chamber blurred as the runes seemed to pull John’s mind away from his body. He barely registered Freya’s hand gripping his shoulder before he was plunged into darkness.
----------------------------------------
The darkness gave way to a scene so vivid it felt more real than the ruins around him. John stood on the edge of a battlefield, his feet sinking into damp, blood-soaked soil. All around him, spectral figures moved, warriors clad in tattered armor, their faces twisted with desperation.
At the center of the chaos stood a young man in a blackened cloak, his face pale and gaunt but filled with determination. His hands were outstretched, threads of necromantic energy spiraling from his fingers into the broken bodies of fallen soldiers. One by one, they rose, their lifeless forms jerking into unnatural motion.
“That can’t be good,” John muttered, taking an involuntary step back.
The vision pulled him closer, whether he wanted it to or not. The young necromancer’s voice cut through the noise of the battlefield, sharp and frantic. “I can’t let them die, not like this! There has to be another way!”
Freya’s voice echoed faintly beside John, though her form remained unseen. “He’s... trying to save them?”
“That’s one way to put it,” John said. “Another is he’s fast-tracking his villain origin story.”
The necromancer’s magic surged, and the battlefield began to change. The fallen soldiers he had raised became twisted, their bodies elongating, their bones reshaping into grotesque forms. The necromancer stumbled back, his expression shifting from desperation to horror.
“No,” he whispered. “No, this isn’t what I wanted!”
The magic around him darkened, condensing into a black, oily substance that seeped into his skin. His cries grew quieter as the shadows consumed him, his features twisting into something monstrous. When the transformation ended, the young man was gone, replaced by a towering figure cloaked in darkness, its skeletal hands clutching a staff that radiated malevolence.
Freya’s voice rang out again, sharper this time. “That’s... him. The Black Warden.”
John’s stomach churned. “So, he didn’t just wake up one day and decide to be a walking horror show. Good to know.”
The vision shifted. The Warden stood over the battlefield, his hollow voice booming as shadowy tendrils lashed out, tearing through friend and foe alike. The land around him blackened, the sky above swirling with storm clouds.
“This is what happens when you mess with death,” Freya said quietly.
“Gee, thanks for the reminder,” John said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Good thing I’m just dabbling, right?”
The vision twisted again, pulling John into a blinding light. He found himself standing before three glowing objects, their shapes indistinct but radiating immense power. A voice, calm, ancient, and eerily familiar, echoed in his mind.
“The Heartstone, the Soulflame, the Graven Crown. Only with these can the darkness be undone. But beware: the path to salvation is paved with sacrifice.”
John frowned. “Cool. Love a cryptic shopping list.”
The vision dissolved, the blinding light replaced by the dim, cold glow of the chamber. John staggered, his hands gripping the altar to keep from falling. Freya caught him, her steady grip grounding him as the last remnants of the vision faded.
“You okay?” she asked, her voice softer than usual.
“Define ‘okay,’” John said, straightening with a groan. “Because if it includes seeing a dark reflection of my future self, then sure, I’m peachy.”
Freya’s expression darkened. “You think... that could be you?”
“I mean,” John said, gesturing vaguely at the altar, “guy gets dragged into a world he doesn’t belong in, ends up wielding necromantic powers, and accidentally starts something terrible? Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”
Freya shook her head fiercely. “You’re not him, John. He let himself get twisted by whatever power corrupted him. You’ve got a choice.”
John laughed humorlessly. “Sure, a choice between raising skeletons to save people or letting them die because I’m too afraid to act. Real inspiring options.”
Freya grabbed his arm, forcing him to meet her gaze. “The fact that you’re asking these questions proves you’re not like him. You care about the people around you. That’s the difference.”
Before John could respond, Eirik’s voice cut through the tension. “What did you see?”
John glanced at him, then at Freya. “A lot of bad news. But the big takeaway? There are three artifacts we need if we want to stand a chance against the Warden.”
Freya nodded slowly. “The Heartstone, the Soulflame, and the Graven Crown.”
“Yeah,” John said, straightening. “But they’re not exactly lying around in a lost-and-found box. And the whole ‘path paved with sacrifice’ thing? Not loving that part.”
Eirik’s gaze hardened. “We’ll do what we have to. No more, no less.”
“Comforting,” John muttered.
The room shuddered suddenly, the light from the runes dimming. A cold wind swept through the chamber, carrying with it a faint, ominous whisper.
Freya’s grip on her axe tightened. “We’re not alone.”
John sighed, raising his hands as necromantic energy crackled around them. “Of course we’re not. Because nothing says ‘successful dungeon crawl’ like an ambush.”
The darkness in the room deepened, and an ethereal, armored figure began to materialize near the altar, its translucent form holding a massive, ghostly blade.
The spectral guardian’s hollow voice echoed through the chamber. “You dare trespass in the Warden’s domain? Your punishment shall be eternal.”
John groaned. “Can we get through one ruin without something trying to kill us?”
Freya smirked, stepping forward. “Where’s the fun in that?”
The guardian raised its blade, the air around it crackling with icy energy. John flexed his fingers, his mind racing as he prepared for the fight ahead.
The chamber grew colder, the air so icy it burned their lungs with each breath. The spectral guardian solidified, its form a twisted amalgamation of translucent armor and shadow. Its glowing, empty eyes locked onto them, and its massive, ghostly blade scraped against the stone floor as it stepped forward.
Freya’s axe was already in her hands, her body tense like a coiled spring. “This doesn’t look friendly.”
John managed a nervous laugh. “Yeah, you think? Maybe it’s just here to give us a tour. Like, ‘Welcome to the ruins, here’s where we keep the creepy murder vibes.’”
Eirik ignored John’s quip, stepping to Freya’s side, his spear leveled at the entity. “That blade will not wait for us to strike first.”
The spectral guardian raised its sword, its hollow voice reverberating through the chamber. “You dare defile the sanctity of the Warden’s domain? The bridge is forged. Your interference ends here.”
“Bridge? What bridge?” John asked, but the guardian wasn’t interested in answering.
With a guttural cry, the guardian lunged, its massive blade sweeping down. Freya dodged to the side, her movements as sharp and deliberate as her strikes. She swung her axe with all her strength, but it passed harmlessly through the figure, the blade leaving only a faint ripple in its translucent form.
“Great,” Freya grunted, sidestepping another swing. “It’s not solid. What now?”
Eirik thrust his spear forward, aiming for the creature’s center. The weapon passed through its torso like a hand through smoke, and the guardian didn’t so much as flinch.
John stumbled back, panic bubbling in his chest. “Okay, so Plan A isn’t working. How about Plan B: run away screaming?”
Freya shot him a glare. “Try harder, Bone Caller!”
John clenched his fists, the system interface flickering into view. His mana bar glowed faintly, a cruel reminder of its limits. He focused, summoning a skeleton from the pile of remains scattered across the chamber.
[RAISE UNDEAD ACTIVATED]
Mana Cost: 20
Remaining Mana: 80
The skeleton rose, its form brittle and awkward, but ready. John didn’t bother with a Gravebond, this thing needed to distract, not destroy.
“Go, buddy!” he shouted, pointing at the guardian. “Make yourself useful!”
The skeleton lurched forward, its rusted sword swinging wildly. The guardian turned, its blade sweeping down in a blur. The skeleton shattered into a dozen pieces, its bones clattering across the floor.
“Well, that went well,” John muttered.
The guardian advanced again, its blade humming with spectral energy. John’s instincts kicked in, and his hands glowed with dark power as he summoned his newest skill.
[DEATH LASH ACTIVATED]
Mana Cost: 15
Remaining Mana: 65
Shadowy tendrils erupted from John’s hands, lashing out with whiplike precision. They struck the guardian’s chest, and for the first time, the creature recoiled, its form flickering like a candle in the wind.
Freya’s eyes widened. “That’s it! Hit it again!”
“Easy for you to say!” John snapped, dodging a swing from the guardian’s blade. He unleashed another Death Lash, the tendrils carving through the spectral figure like burning acid.
Freya darted forward, her axe slicing through the guardian’s arm as it staggered. It didn’t do much damage, but it threw the creature off balance long enough for Eirik to jab at its head, forcing it to retreat.
“You keep it distracted,” John called out, sweat pouring down his face. “I’ll... I don’t know, keep lashing!”
[DEATH LASH ACTIVATED]
Mana Cost: 15
Remaining Mana: 50
Another pair of tendrils shot forward, tearing into the guardian’s torso. Its hollow roar filled the chamber, the sound like nails scraping against stone.
John’s vision blurred as his mana dipped dangerously low. He summoned another skeleton, not bothering to strategize this time.
[RAISE UNDEAD ACTIVATED]
Mana Cost: 20
Remaining Mana: 30
“Buy me some time, buddy!” he yelled as the skeleton charged.
Freya struck again, her blows relentless as she tried to force the guardian into a defensive stance. “We can’t keep this up forever!”
John’s hands trembled as he readied one final attack. His mana bar blinked, a dire warning that he was running on fumes.
[DEATH LASH ACTIVATED]
Mana Cost: 15
Remaining Mana: 15
The tendrils lashed out, wrapping around the guardian’s torso and pulling tight. The creature writhed, its form unraveling as the necrotic energy tore through it.
“Freya! Now!”
John shouted.
Freya didn’t hesitate. With a fierce battle cry, she leapt forward, her axe arcing through the air. It passed cleanly through the guardian’s head, the force of her swing scattering the shadowy remnants of its form.
The guardian collapsed in on itself, dissolving into a swirling mist. Its final words echoed through the chamber, cold and ominous: “The bridge is already built. You are too late.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Freya lowered her axe, her chest heaving as she caught her breath.
“What the hell does that mean?” she asked, her voice shaking.
John collapsed to his knees, his vision swimming as the toll of his magic hit him all at once. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t think it’s anything good.”
Eirik stood nearby, his spear still at the ready, his expression unreadable. “If the bridge is already built, we need to move faster. Whatever the Warden is planning, it’s already in motion.”
Freya helped John to his feet, her grip steady despite her exhaustion. “We’ve got our answer. Now let’s get out of here before something worse shows up.”
John nodded weakly, his legs trembling as they made their way toward the exit. The weight of the guardian’s final words hung heavily over them, a chilling reminder that their fight was far from over
The group stumbled out of the ruins, their breaths clouding in the icy air as the oppressive darkness of Dægra’s Hollow receded behind them. Each of them bore marks of the encounter: Freya’s armor was scuffed and smeared with ash, Eirik’s cloak was torn, and John’s fingers trembled from mana exhaustion. The spectral guardian’s echoing words still lingered in John’s mind: "The bridge is already built. You are too late."
Freya broke the silence first, planting her axe in the frosted ground and exhaling deeply. “We’re alive, and we have a lead. That’s what matters.”
John rubbed the back of his neck, his expression grim. “Alive for now. If that thing was any indication, the Warden isn’t just waiting around. He’s moving, and fast.”
Eirik adjusted his torn cloak, his gaze scanning the darkened woods around them. “And now he knows we’re here. We’ve stirred a hornet’s nest. Staying in one place too long will get us killed.”
John nodded, but his thoughts drifted to the vision revealed by the Book of Forgotten Tides. The young necromancer’s desperation, the bridge between life and death, it all felt too close to his own situation. “What if I’m walking the same path he did?” John’s voice wavered as he broke the silence. “What if I’m part of what’s allowing the Warden to rise again?”
Freya stepped forward, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “You’re not him, John. You didn’t choose this, and you’re not alone in this fight. We’ve got the knowledge now, and we’ve got a plan.”
John gave a small nod, appreciating her steadiness, even as doubt gnawed at him. Before he could respond, Eirik crouched by a patch of ground near the ruins, his fingers brushing against faint carvings in the earth.
“Wait,” Eirik murmured, his eyes narrowing. “There’s something else here.”
The three of them gathered around as Eirik traced the faint lines with his knife. Symbols began to emerge, crude and weathered by time, forming a riddle etched into the stone:
"The Heartstone’s flame, the Graven Crown, the Soulflame’s light, Three shall unite, the Warden’s might to fight."
John’s system interface flickered to life, a notification appearing in his peripheral vision:
New Quest Unlocked: Artifacts of Power
Discover the Heartstone, the Graven Crown, and the Soulflame to challenge the Black Warden’s dominion.
Eirik leaned back, his face grim. “I’ve heard of one of these. The Heartstone. It’s said to be hidden deep in the Icespire Caverns. Cursed place. Not far from here, but far enough to be dangerous.”
As they processed the revelation, the ruins behind them groaned ominously. Shadowy tendrils began to rise from the cracks in the ground, slithering like living smoke. The air grew colder, and a low hum resonated, pressing against their ears.
“We need to go. Now,” Freya snapped, hefting her axe and scanning their surroundings.
John stumbled back, his mind racing. “What is that?”
“The Warden’s influence,” Eirik growled. “He’s not letting us leave without a fight.”
Freya pushed John ahead. “Run! We’ve overstayed our welcome.”
The trio bolted into the forest, shadows licking at their heels as the ruins seemed to collapse inward, consumed by the tendrils. Cold wind whipped around them, and the ground trembled beneath their feet. Only when the light of the ruins faded entirely did the tendrils retreat, leaving the forest eerily silent once more.
They slowed their pace, panting and scanning the darkness for further threats. John collapsed against a tree, clutching his knees and gasping for air. His system interface flashed again:
Experience Gained:
* Defeating the Spectral Guardian: 600 XP
* Bonus (Strategic Use of Abilities): 150 XP
* Bonus (Team Coordination): 50 XP
Total XP: 2600
Freya knelt beside him, placing a hand on his back. “We made it. That’s what matters.”
Eirik stood guard, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. “We’ve got a long road ahead. The Icespire Caverns won’t wait, and neither will the Warden.”
John nodded, his breaths slowing. “Then we move. The artifacts might be our only shot.”
Freya stood, helping him to his feet. “Good. Then let’s make it count.”i
The crumbled stone walls seemed to watch them leave, a reminder of the power and danger that awaited. Clenching his fists, John turned and followed his companions into the deepening night, resolve hardening in his chest.