“Consider the word. Elevated. Not Chosen, not Privileged, not Blessed. They are raised up by the people, to serve at the pleasure of the people. There is power in a word.”

– Feldar, Tetrarch of Kel, Autobiography

…and they entered the ruins.

Leftos had insisted that they stay together as much as possible. It was a small group, in the end. They had left Jahan and their remaining soldiers back at the camp, ostensibly tasked with guarding the injured and their supplies, in case more of the feathery lizards decided to show up.

But Omvar suspected another reason. Leftos probably wanted as few people as possible to see the insides of these ruins, for whatever reason.

So, it was only himself, Rashaad, Zara, and, of course, Orhan and Omvar, who walked through that archway and descended the broken stairs into the complex. The light quickly faded as they went deeper. Everyone held onto their lanterns for dear life, as darkness started to creep in. Everyone except luminous Leftos, of course.

After far too many steps for Omvar’s liking, they finally reached a dusty stone floor. “What’s all this stuff?” His voice echoed slightly in the cavernous space. “Instruments? Weapons?” Omvar peered curiously at the objects scattered around.

“Stay focused,” Leftos called over his shoulder, not even bothering to look back. “That’s not what we’re here for.”

“Well, then what did we come here for?” Omvar pressed. No answer to that.

Next to him, Orhan had put down his lantern and started to scribble furiously in his notebook. “You see that marking there Omvar, the one that looks a bit like an upside-down beetle?” He was agitatedly pointing to some kind of pedestal that exhibited etchings all over its surface. “I swear I’ve seen that exact symbol in recent work in the Journal for Historical Studies that described a stele in ruins near Imra.”

“So, what does it mean?” Omvar asked, mildly interested.

“No clue. It does look funny, though, doesn’t it?” Orhan was now crouching to examine the pedestal from all angles, searching for more symbols.

“A key insight in translation is co-occurrence”, he continued, “We may not know what a word means but its frequency, and the identity of neighboring words, can help a great deal, once some initial words have been deciphered.” While he spoke, Orhan continued to make notes, his black notebook resting against one hand.

Omvar nodded along, only half-listening, as his attention was caught by something else. Almost without noticing, he had wandered a bit further down the corridor, until he stood before an opening into a side room. Entering, Omvar scanned the chamber. It seemed to be filled entirely with large metal eggs. As he ran his hand over one of them, feeling their smooth surface glide beneath his fingertips, he looked up and gasped. Standing in front of him was a huge figure made of metal and stone, arms outstretched, head tilted back as if gazing at the sky somewhere far above the ceiling.

Omvar’s gaze lingered on the strange objects. A part of him—the old, almost forgotten part that had always been drawn to the mysteries of the past—felt a pull toward the relics. But another part, the part hardened by years of discipline and the disappointing reality of their world, knew better than to let curiosity derail their mission. Or his life, for that matter.

He turned to call the others but then he realized that he was alone. Where had they gone? He shrugged it off and approached the figure warily. It loomed over Omvar, about twice his size. Each hand could have crushed his skull with about the same ease as if he crushed an ant. Omvar raised his own hand, as if to reach out.

“What are you doing?” Orhan. Speaking up from somewhere behind him. Omvar turned and spotted his friend near the entrance to the room.

“I was just—”

“Come on,” he said, waving down the corridor. “We need to catch up with the others. You do realize that Leftos won’t hesitate to leave us behind if we inconvenience him in any way?” Omvar could almost see his old friend tap his foot in impatience behind his usual jovial smile.

“I wasn’t the one decoding beetle codes,” Omvar complained but began to move toward the entrance to the room. With a last look at the metal giant, he followed Orhan into the corridor and, led by reverberating voices, they soon caught up to Zara and Rashaad. The two Elevated stood in another room, huddled around a strange obelisk.

“What do you make of this?” Zara asked Rashaad, pointing to the structure. The room was shaped like an amphitheater, a long set of stairs leading down to a dais. In the center of the platform, a dark-gray lance erupted from the floor, periodically wrapped in thick bands of silvery metal, until it concluded in a ball-like object of the same material. Omvar ran his hand over the cool surface of the obelisk, feeling the intricate carvings that seemed to whisper tales of an ancient world.

Rashaad was silent for a moment, his veil hiding any expression he might have had. “I don’t know. And that frightens me,” he finally admitted, voice low and serious.

Zara looked at the tall man nervously. Aren’t those people supposed to protect us? Omvar thought. Finally, Orhan and his curiosity broke the awkward pause, as he wandered off to examine long parallel lines gouged into one of the walls. His steps, though muffled by what must have been centuries of dust, echoed through the wide hall.

“Where is Leftos?” Omvar asked the two Elevated, who had turned around to face them.

“Went scouting ahead,” Rashaad answered, his eyes never leaving the obelisk. “Said he wanted us to inspect some of these rooms.”

So, he knew where to go, Omvar mused. What have we gotten ourselves into here?

But before he could even so much as open his mouth to press Rashaad for more details, a triumphant cry echoed through the chamber.

“What is it this time, Orhan? Do the lines in the wall remind you of Trifeltian tree rings?”

But it was not Orhan. It was Leftos, standing atop the stairs that led down to their platform. Even from a distance, Omvar had to admit the Delegate struck an imposing figure, with his cream-colored suit and matching cape.

“There you are!” Leftos exclaimed. The triumphant tone only partly due to finding them, Omvar suspected. “Care to join me? I’ve found what we came here for.”

“I thought we were only here to expand Kel’s knowledge and maybe a lucky artifact find,” Omvar hissed to Orhan.

“Apparently not so.” Orhan did not seem surprised. His body was still partly turned toward the etched wall, reluctant to let it go. Omvar clearly saw the gleam in the other man’s eyes.

He sighed. “Well, playtime’s over,” Omvar announced and started up the stairs, an evidently unhappy Orhan in tow, who kept glancing toward the receding wall.

“Finally,” Leftos greeted them with a clap, as they ascended the last of the amphitheater rows. With a curt nod, he led them back into the corridor.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

As they silently followed Leftos through the winding corridors of this underground maze, Omvar caught glimpses of the rooms they passed—some with visible doors on the opposite side, some leading into open hallways. In passing, Omvar tried to peek into these chambers and saw bizarre devices and contraptions he could not even begin to imagine the purpose of, surrounded by intricate carvings nestled amongst half-collapsed bookshelves.

Omvar’s eyes widened as each turn revealed yet another vast chamber. This place was a lot bigger than he had thought.

Finally, they entered a massive circular room with a domed ceiling that seemed to disappear into the darkness above. Arrayed against the back wall stood a pedestal holding a round object—a silver orb with a pale blue sheen, reflecting the light cast by their lanterns. Next to Omvar, Leftos practically radiated excitement. Goosebumps erupted on Omvar’s arms. Seems like he was not immune himself to the sense of awe these ruins inspired.

“Blood and bones, what is this?” Zara asked, gaze fixed on the orb.

“The key,” Leftos said simply. “This is why we’re here. Now we just have to grab it and get out of this place,” he said, his voice hushed but intense.

Zara frowned. “Great plan. What if it fails?”

Turning, Leftos met her gaze, unwavering. Omvar wondered whether the Delegate was being questioned often, in his usual life in Kel. Likely not. “Trust me, it won’t,” Leftos replied in a clipped tone.

Orhan stepped forward, squinting at the cause of their long journey. He paused, his gaze turning introspective. Silently, he looked around the room. Then, a sudden realization spread across his face.

“This... it’s part of a defense system,” he said slowly, scanning the chamber for confirmation. “It looks different from the drawings in Rohnar’s treatises, but I recognize some of these symbols and mechanisms.”

Rashaad’s eyes narrowed as he took in their surroundings. “Seems like we’ve stepped into the lion’s den,” he muttered under his breath.

Omvar followed Orhan’s gaze and noticed the walls, seemingly hewn out of solid rock. Noticed the intricate symbols carved into them. Noticed suspiciously placed slits that evoked nothing more than images of traps, ready to spring at a moment’s notice.

Leftos sighed, nodding in acknowledgment to Rashaad before he addressed the group. “We know from reports of other ruins that this orb is probably guarded by traps. Only someone familiar with the history of this place, this ancient civilization, could navigate them,” he said, his gaze settling on Orhan, offering a mock bow. “Historian First Class Orhan Malenk, would you do us the honors?”

Orhan nodded and moved forward, his black notebook open and pen ready. “Of course,” he replied, turning his attention to the symbols etched on the walls of the chamber. Focusing, he started to make notes, studying the slits carefully and deciphering the ancient text surrounding them.

While Orhan worked, the rest of the group watched. Leftos’ pacing was the only sound in the expectant silence, his cape billowing in his wake. Zara and Rashaad exchanged a tense glance. Omvar felt the anticipation filling the room to the brim. He suddenly envied Jahan, sitting cozily at the campfire outside.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of concentrated examination, Orhan straightened with a triumphant grin. “I’ve got it,” he declared, holding up his notebook. “I know how we can reach the orb.”

Leftos let out a deep breath, visibly relaxing, and Omvar could feel a wave of relief wash over him. “Excellent work,” Leftos said, clapping Orhan on the back and motioned for him to lead the way.

With renewed confidence, Orhan stepped forward and the group tensely followed behind. To Omvar, each symbol they passed along the wall was like taking a step deeper into the realm of forgotten knowledge. Occasionally, Orhan stopped to carefully examine a symbol, tracing its lines with his finger while he murmured something under his breath. Eventually, he halted in front of a glyph that looked like a blend between shield and star to Omvar. “This is the symbol for ‘protection’,” Orhan announced. “The path around the traps starts here.” He pointed toward a narrow opening in the wall behind them that Omvar would have blithely walked past.

Then, with a grace that belied his portly stature, Orhan squeezed into the gap, vanishing from sight. Leftos was first in taking a step into the opening. The others quickly followed Orhan’s lead after that, walking down a narrow corridor within the wall that had been completely invisible from the entrance.

As they approached their destination, the echoes of their footfall off the stone walls became a ghostly chorus, underscoring their urgency. How many people would have slyly attempted to find the right path through the maze of traps toward the pedestal? Instead, the solution to this puzzle was both simple and hard. The worst kind of solution.

Passing another narrow slit like the one that had granted them entry into the passageway, they exited the wall again. At last, they emerged unscathed into the alcove with the pedestal that they had seen from the door on the opposite side of the room.

And there it was—the silver orb, resting on the smooth basalt structure and pulsing with an almost otherworldly blueish light. Omvar released a tension he did not realize he had been holding, as he reflected on all the ways he could have died in the last few minutes, if it were not for Orhan. Judging by the looks on his companions’ faces, he was not the only one. Only Leftos stood there, casual as ever, eyeing the pedestal with naked curiosity. Beside him, Orhan was drawing the orb, as it sat atop its velvet cushion. The man was unbelievable.

“We truly made it,” Rashaad muttered in disbelief, staring in awe at the strange object before him. “Let’s get this over with, then.” He stepped forward, hands outstretched, to retrieve the orb from its perch. The tips of his fingers touched the smooth material.

Suddenly, a resonating hum filled the room, seemingly coming from all directions at once. Beams of blinding light burst from the slits in the walls and ceiling, illuminating the chamber like a thousand suns. An instant later, the beams converged on Rashaad—missing Orhan’s head by a hand’s breadth—and trapped the Akhantari Elevated in a shower of piercing beams.

A guttural scream tore from Rashaad’s throat, reverberating off the stone walls. His body convulsed under the assault of the concentrated energy, his skin blistering as the light incinerated him.

Omvar could only watch in horror as the Elevated was reduced to a lump of charred meat in mere moments; no time to react or even think.

Frozen in place, Omvar found his voice trapped in his throat. As if his mind had not caught up yet with the grisly scene that unfolded before his eyes. Too late—utterly too late—Zara cried out for her lost companion, amid the wave of shock and grief that swept through the group. On his other side, Orhan stood motionless, notebook gripped in both hands, shock painting his face a ghostly white.

Only Leftos seemed unaffected, a strangely pensive expression flitting across his face as he examined the openings in the wall, where the light had come from. Leaning against a nearby basalt column as if he had no care in the world. As if nothing at all had happened.

Even after the horrifying spectacle had ended, returning the chamber to deathly stillness, nobody dared to move. Finally, Leftos stepped forward, stopped at Rashaad’s charred corpse, and… started to examine it. Nobody said a word. Omvar was still too horrified to process events.

As if remembering something, Leftos suddenly glanced up, eyes flickering past the ancient, rune-covered walls to find a visibly shaking Zara. “You’re next,” stated matter-of-factly, before he returned his attention to Rashaad’s smoking remains.

Leftos’ words echoed in Omvar’s head. He just stood there in shock, not knowing how to react. This had been a man—probably a decent man. Rashaad had been their guide—had been an Elevated, for Belt’s sake. And now he was dead. Just like that. It seemed impossible, yet it was horribly real. He felt sick.

Beside Omvar, Zara staggered forward, swaying slightly. Her eyes flicked between the scorched thing that had been Rashaad and the orb that still sat there, indifferent and enigmatic.

“No,” Leftos’ annoyed voice pierced her movements from below. “Don’t just try the same thing again! Experiment.” With horror, Omvar watched as the Delegate probed the deep pits in Rashaad’s flesh, where the spears of light had pierced the man.

Omvar glanced over at Zara, but she did not even seem to have registered Leftos’ words. She still just stood before the pedestal, incandescent fury burning in her eyes.

Then, with a jolt, she snapped out of her daze. Gritting her teeth, she took a step forward and, with all her strength, slammed her fist into the base of the pedestal. For a split second, nothing happened. The structure seemed indestructible. But then a small crack appeared at its base, spreading rapidly up the sides. With a resounding crash that echoed throughout the chamber, the pedestal split in two and crumbled away into chunks and dust.

The silver orb fell from its perch with a bright clang, bouncing slightly as it rolled down the platform. Zara, in a movement that seemed almost casual, scooped up the orb. As she turned back to the group she shook like leaves in an earthquake, panting heavily from the effort.

“That’s one way to do it,” Leftos commented dryly. He rose and took the orb from Zara’s trembling hands. “Splendid. Then I believe we are finished—”

A deep rumbling sound interrupted him.

The ground beneath Omvar started to shake, dislodging dust and debris from the ceiling. He stumbled, falling to the ground. Omvar felt panic rising in his chest as he struggled to his feet again, heart pounding.

“What’s happening?” he shouted, but his words were drowned out by the deafening roar.

As the tremors subsided and the dust settled, they looked around in confusion. At least for a scant few moments, before the rumbling and shaking resumed. They exchanged a glance, an unspoken understanding passing between them.

And then, then they ran.