The transition from the swirling chaos of the Serpent's Kiss to the stillness of the underwater cavern was jarring. Pag blinked, his vision adjusting to the ethereal, blue-green light that filtered through the water. Above them, the surface shimmered, a distorted mirror reflecting the ghostly silhouette of the Sunken City, suspended between two worlds. The silence was profound, broken only by the gentle hiss of their breathing apparatus and the soft lapping of water against ancient stone. The weight of the water pressed in on him, a tangible reminder of the alien environment he had entered. A shiver ran down his spine, and it wasn't entirely from the chill of the water. This was the heart of the Lunar Empire, a place steeped in magic and mystery, a place where the boundaries between reality and the virtual realm had blurred.

The Sunken City wasn’t a city consumed by darkness; it was a city reborn in an otherworldly luminescence. Bioluminescent flora clung to the remnants of buildings, their delicate tendrils swaying in the gentle current, casting an eerie, yet captivating glow across the submerged ruins. Schools of iridescent fish, their scales flashing with every color imaginable, darted between crumbling columns and archways, their fleeting beauty a stark contrast to the scene of decay. The air, or rather, the water, hummed with a subtle energy, a palpable reminder of the potent magic that infused this sunken realm.

A quick glance at his character sheet brought a wave of nausea, a stark reminder of the urgency of their mission. The countdown timer for Tombs Rattle ticked down relentlessly, a digital metronome marking the steady progression of the disease. Less than nine hours remained. The weight of the quest pressed down on him, a burden shared with the silence of the submerged city. He had to find the cure, had to reach the guild master of the Waffles.

Beside him, Aviva stood with an unnatural calm, her hooded figure a silhouette against the ethereal glow. She moved with a grace that defied the uneven surfaces of the ruined city, her feet gliding over the debris as if she walked on solid ground. She paused, tilting her head slightly, as if attuned to some unheard sound, her keen senses picking up subtle cues that eluded Pag’s perception.

"The city... it feels... different," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper, yet carrying clearly through the water. "The energy here... it's shifted."

Her words mirrored Pag's own unease. He, too, sensed a change in the city’s atmosphere. It was more than the physical shift of being underwater. It was a change in the very fabric of the place, a subtle, yet palpable shift in the flow of magic, a dissonance in the harmony of this submerged realm.

"We need to find a Lunar Oracle," he said, his voice tight with urgency. The words felt strange, distorted by the water, but the desperation in his tone was undeniable. "And the guild master of the Waffles."

He clung to FelineFine’s message, a lifeline in this unsettling environment. Find the Oracle. She can help.

Aviva nodded, her gaze sweeping across the submerged cityscape. "The palace lies at the heart of the city," she said, pointing towards a massive structure looming in the distance. Its silhouette, barely visible through the shimmering water and the haze of bioluminescence, hinted at a grandeur lost to time. "The Oracles reside there," she continued, her voice carrying a hint of respect, "as does the Emperor and, most likely, the guild master of the Waffles."

As they ventured deeper into the heart of the Sunken City, its inhabitants began to emerge from the shadows. The Patala, with their shimmering, multicolored skin, navigated the submerged streets as if born to this underwater existence. Their movements were fluid, their forms shifting with a grace that was both beautiful and unnerving. Their crystallized mana cores, embedded in their skulls, pulsed with a soft, ethereal glow, marking them as beings deeply intertwined with the magical energies of this realm. A group of Quang warriors, their scales patterned in shades of silver and black, their eyes glowing with an unsettling intensity, approached them, their movements wary, their hands resting on the hilts of their weapons. Words were exchanged, a guttural language that Pag couldn't understand, but the tone was unmistakable. They were being assessed, their presence in this sacred city questioned.

A wave of anxiety washed over him. The weight of their mission, the urgency of finding the cure for Tombs Rattle, the knowledge that the fate of both the virtual and real world rested in their hands, pressed down on him with suffocating force. He glanced at his character sheet again. The countdown timer ticked down another minute. Seven hours, forty-two minutes. Time was slipping away. The Patala warriors observed them, their expressions unreadable, their silence more unsettling than any threat. Finally, with a gesture that could have been dismissal or warning, they turned and melted back into the shadows of the city, their forms disappearing into the ethereal glow of the bioluminescent plants as if they were figments of the underwater landscape itself.

Aviva’s grip on his arm tightened, a silent reassurance in the face of growing unease. She led him forward, her movements purposeful, her gaze fixed on the looming silhouette of the palace. They were being watched, that much was certain. But by whom? And to what end? The questions lingered, unanswered, adding another layer of mystery to the already enigmatic city.

The palace, as they approached, revealed itself to be not a single structure but a sprawling complex of interconnected buildings and courtyards, its walls adorned with intricate carvings and mosaics that hinted at the rich history of the Lunar Empire. Towers and spires reached toward the surface, their peaks barely visible through the shimmering water, their once-proud heights now submerged beneath the waves. Bridges and walkways, some intact, others crumbled and overgrown with bioluminescent flora, spanned the submerged streets, connecting the various buildings of the complex. The scale of the palace, even in its ruined state, was breathtaking, a testament to the power and influence of the Lunar Empire in its prime. Yet, beneath the surface grandeur, Pag sensed a palpable tension, a simmering unease that permeated the very water they breathed.

"Be careful, Pag," Aviva whispered, her voice barely audible above the gentle lapping of water against stone. "There's something… off about this place." He nodded, his heart pounding against his ribs. He, too, felt it - a discordant note in the harmony of the city, a subtle shift in the flow of magic that hinted at something amiss.

Their arrival at the palace gates did little to ease his growing apprehension. Two massive doors, intricately carved with scenes of serpents and dragons intertwined in a dance of power and dominance, barred their entry. The silence was heavy, broken only by the gentle whoosh of their breathing apparatus and the steady ticking of the countdown timer on his character sheet. Each passing second felt like a grain of sand slipping through his fingers, bringing him closer to succumbing to Tombs Rattle. He had to reach the guild master. Time was running out.

As Pag and Aviva approach the imposing palace gates, their path is blocked by a Quang warrior. His scales, patterned in shades of silver and black, shimmer in the ethereal light of the bioluminescent plants. His eyes, glowing with an intensity that sends a shiver down Pag's spine, fix on them with unwavering scrutiny.

A tense silence hangs in the water as the Quang warrior assesses them, his hand resting on the hilt of a weapon that seems to hum with an energy that Pag can feel even from a distance. The warrior speaks in a guttural language that Pag doesn't recognize, his words distorted by the water, but the tone is unmistakable: Challenge. Authority. A demand for explanation.

Pag exchanges a nervous glance with Aviva, his anxiety growing with each passing second. The countdown timer on his character sheet continues its relentless descent. He has to find the Oracle, has to find the cure. Time is slipping away.

Aviva steps forward, her movements fluid and confident despite the tension that crackles in the water. She addresses the warrior in a language that Pag doesn't recognize, her voice calm and steady. Her words seem to flow around the warrior, weaving a spell of diplomacy and respect. The warrior's rigid posture softens slightly, his grip on his weapon easing. He listens intently, his glowing eyes never leaving Aviva's face.

The warrior responds, his voice still gruff but laced with a hint of curiosity. A brief exchange follows, a dance of words and gestures that Pag can only observe with a growing sense of hope. Whatever Aviva is saying, it seems to be working. The warrior's initial hostility is fading, replaced by a cautious acceptance.

Finally, with a nod that seems to convey both permission and warning, the warrior steps aside, granting them passage through the palace gates.

A wave of relief washes over Pag as the Quang warrior steps aside, the tension that had gripped him easing slightly. He follows closely behind Aviva, his gaze darting from side to side, taking in the grandeur of the palace even as a sense of unease lingers. He can’t shake the feeling that they are being watched, that their every move is scrutinized by unseen eyes.

The palace gates open into a vast courtyard, its once-pristine beauty now marred by the ravages of time and the sea. Crumbling statues of serpents and dragons, their forms overgrown with bioluminescent flora, stand guard over the submerged space. The silence is broken by the gentle gurgling of water and the soft clicking of crustaceans clinging to the seaweed-draped walls. Schools of iridescent fish dart through the ruined archways, their fleeting beauty a stark contrast to the scene of decay.

A wave of dizziness washes over Pag, and he stumbles, clutching at Aviva’s arm for support. His vision blurs, the vibrant colors of the underwater city fading to a dull gray. The countdown timer on his character sheet flashes a warning, its numbers stark and unforgiving. Five hours, thirty-seven minutes. The effects of Tombs Rattle are intensifying, and the urgency of his mission weighs on him with suffocating force.

"Pag, are you alright?" Aviva asks, her voice laced with concern. She steadies him, her grip on his arm firm but gentle.

He takes a deep breath, fighting back the nausea that threatens to overwhelm him. "I'm fine," he lies, forcing a smile. "Just a bit… overwhelmed."

Aviva's gaze is sharp, assessing. She doesn't believe him, but she doesn't press the issue. She knows they have to keep moving. Time is of the essence.

"We need to find the Oracle," she says, her voice low and urgent. "She's our best hope."

They navigate the submerged streets, their path illuminated by the ethereal glow of the bioluminescent plants and the occasional pulsing light from a Patala's mana core. The silence of the city is unsettling, broken only by the whisper of water and the echo of their own movements. The weight of unseen eyes presses down on them, and Pag can't shake the feeling that they are being followed, that their every step is monitored.

As they move deeper into the palace complex, they encounter more of the city’s inhabitants. Patala artisans work diligently, repairing damaged structures and crafting intricate objects from salvaged materials. Quang guards patrol the submerged streets, their weapons at the ready, their gazes wary. The city, despite its ruined state, is not entirely deserted. Life, it seems, has found a way to adapt to the submerged environment.

They reach a massive archway, its entrance flanked by two towering statues of dragons, their forms intricately carved with details that have survived the ravages of time and the sea. The archway leads into what was once a grand hall, its high ceiling now partially collapsed, the floor littered with debris. The remnants of elaborate mosaics and murals cling to the walls, hinting at the grandeur that once filled this space. A sense of reverence hangs in the water, a reminder of the power and influence that the Lunar Empire once held.

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Aviva pauses at the entrance to the hall, her gaze sweeping over the scene. "This is the Hall of Whispers," she says, her voice hushed with respect. "It was once the center of Lunar Empire power, where the Emperor held court and the Oracles delivered their prophecies." She steps into the hall, her movements cautious, her gaze alert. "It's also the most likely place to find the Oracle we seek."

Pag follows her, his heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and dread. The air in the hall feels heavy, charged with a palpable energy. He can sense the weight of history here, the echoes of countless voices whispering through the water. The countdown timer on his character sheet flashes another warning, a stark reminder of his own mortality. Four hours, twenty-three minutes. He has to find the cure. He has to survive.

They move deeper into the hall, their footsteps echoing on the debris-strewn floor. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the soft gurgling of water and the rhythmic thrumming of their breathing apparatus. The weight of unseen eyes presses down on them, and Pag can't shake the feeling that they are being watched, that their every move is being judged.

Suddenly, a voice cuts through the silence, its tone sharp and commanding. "Halt! Who dares trespass in the Hall of Whispers?"

Pag and Aviva turn to face the source of the voice, their hands instinctively reaching for their weapons.

Standing before them is a figure cloaked in shadow, its form barely visible in the dim light of the submerged hall. The figure steps forward, its movements fluid and predatory, revealing itself to be another Quang warrior, his scales patterned in shades of deep blue and green, his eyes glowing with an unsettling intensity. He holds a spear, its tip shimmering with a faint, blue glow, a weapon that seems to hum with a power that Pag can feel even from a distance.

The warrior's gaze sweeps over them, his expression unreadable. "State your business," he demands, his voice cold and sharp, "or face the consequences."

Pag’s heart pounds in his chest as the Quang warrior confronts them, his spear shimmering with an otherworldly glow. The weight of the warrior’s gaze, the implicit threat in his words, amplifies the urgency of their mission. The countdown timer on his character sheet, now at four hours and twenty-three minutes, serves as a constant reminder of his dwindling time. He has to find the cure, has to navigate this perilous encounter, and he has to do it fast.

Aviva steps forward, her posture calm but alert, her hand hovering in what pag assumed was a calming gesture. She addressed the warrior in the same fluid language she used at the palace gates, her tone respectful but firm. Pag, still struggling to regain his equilibrium after his bout of dizziness, watches the exchange with a mixture of anxiety and fascination. He doesn't understand the words, but he can sense the undercurrents of tension and diplomacy flowing between them.

With a swallow and a glance at Pag, Aviva went into what pag assumed was an explanation of their presence in the Hall of Whispers. Hopefully emphasizing their peaceful intentions and their desperate need to find the Lunar Oracle. Though he cannot understand much of the Quang language Pag thought he heard mentions of ProlixalParagon, a name that seemed to draw a flicker of recognition in the warrior’s glowing eyes.

The warrior listens intently, his expression unreadable, his spear held steady. Finally, when Aviva finishes speaking, he sighs, a sound that seems to rumble through the water itself.

"The Oracles are no longer here," he says, his voice deep and resonant, tinged with a hint of sadness. "She left the city long ago, when the war first began to spread its shadow across the land."

Pag's heart sinks. Hope, so recently kindled, flickers and threatens to die. Without the Oracle, their mission seems doomed. He glances at his character sheet, the countdown timer ticking away precious seconds, a relentless reminder of his mortality. Three hours, fifty-eight minutes.

Aviva, however, doesn't give up. "Do you know where they went?" she asks, her voice laced with determination. "Is there any way to find them?"

The warrior hesitates, his gaze shifting to the depths of the submerged hall, as if searching for answers in the swirling shadows. "There are rumors," he finally says, his voice low and hesitant, "whispers carried on the currents of the Tide. Some say she sought refuge in the Temple of the Moon, a hidden sanctuary deep within the heart of the Lunar Empire."

"The Temple of the Moon," Aviva repeats, committing the name to memory. She turns to Pag, her expression a mixture of hope and concern. "It's a long shot," she says, "but it's our only lead. We have to try."

Pag nods, his resolve hardening. He knows the risks, knows the dangers that await them in the uncharted depths of the Lunar Empire. But he also knows that he has no choice. The countdown timer ticks down relentlessly, a stark reminder of his dwindling time. Three hours, forty-two minutes. He has to find the cure. He has to find the Oracle. He has to survive.

"Lead the way," he says, his voice firm, his gaze fixed on the shimmering waters ahead, ready to face whatever trials await them on their quest for the Temple of the Moon.

The Quang warrior, his expression softening slightly, gestures toward a submerged tunnel that leads deeper into the palace complex. His words, though distorted by the water, are clear in their intent: the path to the Temple of the Moon is fraught with danger.

Aviva nods her understanding, acknowledging the risks with a calm determination that Pag finds both reassuring and unsettling. The countdown timer on his character sheet, now at three hours, twenty-seven minutes, serves as a stark reminder of the urgency of their mission. He has to find the cure, has to reach the Temple of the Moon, and he has to do it before Tombs Rattle claims him.

“what did he say?” pag asked quietly

“He was grateful that I spoke his mother tongue as the common is not so familiar to him and He warns of ancient guardians, treacherous currents, and the ever-present threat of the Pale Tide, a force that seems to warp the very fabric of reality within the submerged city.” Aviva said leading him away from the warrior.

“Pale tide?” He asked

Aviva shrugged and shook her head. “He didn’t, and wouldn’t go into too much detail on it.”

They followed the warrior's directions, venturing deeper into the submerged city, the ethereal glow of bioluminescent plants their only guide. The path is winding and treacherous, the crumbling structures of the Sunken City creating a labyrinth of submerged streets and collapsed buildings. Schools of phosphorescent fish dart through the ruined archways, their fleeting beauty a stark contrast to the sense of decay and danger that permeates the water.

As they move deeper into the city, the oppressive silence is broken by a series of guttural growls echoing through the water. The sounds send a shiver down Pag's spine, his instincts screaming at him to turn back, to flee from whatever lurks in the shadows. Aviva, however, doesn't hesitate. She draws a dagger, its blade shimmering with a faint, blue light, and motions for Pag to follow close behind.

They round a corner, their path illuminated by the glow of Aviva's face, and come face to face with a group of grotesque creatures. They are unlike anything Pag has ever encountered in Ludere Online, their forms a nightmarish amalgamation of reptilian and aquatic features. Their eyes, glowing with a malevolent red light, fix on them with a hunger that makes Pag’s stomach churn.

Before Pag can react, Aviva lunges forward, her movements a blur of speed and precision. Pag, his initial fear replaced by a surge of adrenaline, follows her lead, casting a spell that conjures a wall of fire, followed by two roaring jets of fire driving the remaining creatures back into the shadows.

The fight is over quickly, but the encounter leaves Pag shaken. The creatures, with their grotesque forms and unsettling aggression, are a stark reminder of the dangers that lurk beneath the surface of this submerged world. He glances at his character sheet, the countdown timer ticking down relentlessly, a stark reminder of his own mortality. Three hours, eleven minutes. He has to find the cure, has to reach the Temple of the Moon, and he has to do it before he becomes another victim of this unforgiving environment and the tombs rattle.

The Quang warrior, watching the fight unfold with a stoic expression, nods in approval at their swift victory. His words, though distorted by the water, carry a hint of respect as he acknowledges their strength. He then gestures towards the tunnel once more, urging them onward with a renewed sense of urgency.

Pag, his heart still pounding from the adrenaline of the fight, follows Aviva deeper into the tunnel, the image of those grotesque creatures seared into his memory. He glances at his character sheet, the countdown timer a relentless reminder of his dwindling time. Two hours, fifty-six minutes.

As they move further into the tunnel, the walls narrow, and the shimmering water gives way to a thick, oppressive darkness. A strange, almost musical hum vibrates through the water, a dissonant melody that sets Pag’s teeth on edge. The warrior, sensing their unease, explains that they are approaching a chamber guarded by ancient protectors of the Sunken City. He warns them to be cautious, for these guardians are bound to their duty, their loyalty unwavering even in death.

The tunnel opens into a large chamber, its darkness illuminated by an eerie, green glow emanating from a series of large, crystalline structures that pulsate with an otherworldly light. In the center of the chamber, surrounded by the crystals, stands a group of figures. Their forms are humanoid, but their bodies are covered in shimmering scales, and their eyes glow with the same eerie, green light as the crystals. They hold weapons of an unknown metal, their edges gleaming with a sharpness that seems to cut through the water itself. These are the guardians, their presence radiating an aura of power and ancient menace.

As Pag and Aviva enter the chamber, the guardians stir, their glowing eyes fixing on them with a cold, unwavering intensity. Their weapons hum, the sound amplified by the water, and the crystals pulse with a brighter light, casting long, distorted shadows across the chamber floor. The air, thick with the scent of brine and something ancient and unnameable, crackles with anticipation. A battle is inevitable.

Pag glances at Aviva, her expression grim but resolute. The countdown timer on his character sheet continues its inexorable march: two hours, forty-one minutes. He knows that every second counts, knows that they cannot afford to waste time in a protracted battle. But he also knows that these guardians stand between them and their goal. They have to find a way through.

He took a deep breath, drawing on his reserves of strength and determination, ready to face the guardians and whatever other challenges await them on their perilous quest for the Temple of the Moon.

Pag assesses the situation, his mind racing. He considers his options: a direct assault, a stealthy bypass, perhaps even an attempt at diplomacy. He knows that time is of the essence, but he also understands the need for a strategic approach. A frontal attack against these powerful guardians could prove disastrous, especially with his dwindling health and the ever-present threat of Tombs Rattle.

He glances at his character sheet, the countdown timer a constant source of anxiety. Two hours, thirty-five minutes. He has to make a decision, and he has to make it fast.

Aviva, ever the pragmatist, assesses the chamber, her gaze scanning the layout, the placement of the crystals, the movements of the guardians. She whispers to Pag, her voice barely audible above the strange, humming sound that permeates the water, "There has to be a way to bypass them. Their focus seems to be on the center of the chamber, guarding those crystals.”

Pag, following her gaze, notices a narrow passageway partially obscured by a fallen pillar, a possible route around the guardians. He points it out to Aviva, a glimmer of hope rising in his chest. Perhaps they can avoid a direct confrontation after all.

The Quang warrior, overhearing their conversation, shakes his head. His words, distorted by the water, are nonetheless firm: “The passage is sealed. An ancient magic protects it, a barrier that only those with the blood of the Lunar Emperors can pass.”

Pag’s hope deflates. The countdown timer on his character sheet continues its relentless march: two hours, twenty-eight minutes. They’re running out of time. He considers his options, weighing the risks against the potential rewards. His gaze falls on the Ring of Shielding in his inventory, a powerful artifact that could provide temporary protection from the guardians' attacks.

He makes a decision. “We’ll have to fight,” he says, his voice firm despite the tremor of fear in his chest. “We can use the Ring of Shielding to create a temporary barrier, giving us time to slip past them.”

Aviva hesitates, her gaze flickering between Pag and the guardians. She knows the risks, knows that even with the Ring’s protection, a direct confrontation could prove fatal. But she also sees the determination in Pag’s eyes, the desperate hope that drives him.

She nods, drawing her dagger and preparing for battle. "We’ll have to be quick," she says, her voice tight with urgency. "And we’ll have to work together."

The Quang warrior, sensing their resolve, raises his spear in a salute of respect and steps back, allowing them to face their destiny.

Pag takes a deep breath, summoning his magic, the weight of his mission settling on his shoulders. The countdown timer ticks down relentlessly, a stark reminder of his dwindling time. Two hours, twenty minutes. He has to find the cure, has to reach the Temple of the Moon, has to survive this encounter.

The guardians await, their glowing eyes fixed on them, their weapons humming with an ancient power. The battle is about to begin.