The dawn broke sluggishly over the ancient, mist-weighted down wooded area surrounding Draven's stronghold, casting skinny arms of light through timber pressured by means of creeping vines. The air hung thick with foreboding as Kiaran, Eira, Sable, and Ronan Blackwood stood earlier than the entrance to the tunnels, a forbidding portal carved into the rock, festooned with snarling gargoyles and faintly sparkling glyphs that throbbed with dark magic. The vicinity reeked of age-antique blood and the whisper of souls long trapped.

“Down there lies the most effective manner in," Ronan spoke softly, his voice a ghostly echo against the stone.

Sable’s darkish eyes narrowed. “This isn’t only a tunnel. It’s a cursed burial ground, isn’t it?”

“Once, lengthy in the past, this changed into a website of electricity,” Ronan showed, his gaze drifting over the markings and worn, rotting remnants of timber stakes that ringed the mouth of the tunnel. “Draven’s ancestors buried their finest warriors right here, certain them to the castle, to rise in protection towards any threat.” His voice lingered during the last phrases, drawing the photograph of undead guardians into their minds, unwelcome organization.

The stone felt alive, whispering secrets and techniques too historical to recognize as they moved inner, its oppressive magic bearing down on them. Their torches flickered, casting shivering shadows across the damp stone partitions, symbols and carvings swirling like malevolent faces. Eira drew a pointy breath as they stepped in addition inner.

“This is incorrect,” she murmured, clutching her team of workers, which glowed softly with a faded light. “There’s a… a presence.”

Kiaran touched the difficult walls, feeling a sudden jolt of cold pulse into his fingertips, resonating with the cursed magic that had sealed his energy. His scar burned, a familiar pain reminding him of his curse and his reason. “Then we press ahead.”

The bloodless grew as they descended, the tunnel slanting deeper underneath the citadel till the load of the world regarded to crush down upon them. Every few steps, they surpassed eerie markings carved into the partitions—some twisted like spirals, others extra tricky, depicting scenes of ritualistic offerings and violence. Shadows flickered at the threshold of Kiaran’s imaginative and prescient, darkish phantoms that vanished as he turned, although the feel of being watched never dissipated.

“We’re now not on my own,” Sable whispered, drawing a throwing blade. “Something’s waiting.”

A howl split the silence, a chilling wail that regarded to come back from in the partitions themselves. It grew closer, the rattling of chains echoing till, from the darkness, a figure emerged—a spectral warrior, cloaked in airy armor, bound by chains of flickering, pink mild. The spirit’s eyes glowed a violent crimson, its gaze fixed on the intruders.

“Stand aside!” Kiaran shouted, gripping his sword tightly.

The spirit did no longer falter, did now not waver. Chains lashed out from its palms, cutting through the air. Kiaran barely dodged, his sword swinging to parry a 2d strike. Sable darted to the side, her daggers flashing, however the chains moved with unnatural speed, slithering like snakes.

“Eira!” Kiaran shouted. “Do something!”

Eira’s fingers trembled as she lifted her workforce. Summoning her magic, she solid a faint silver glow that bathed the hall. The spirit’s form flickered, its chains weakening in the light. Yet the effort strained her, her light faltering as the chains fought again, tougher and angrier, as if unwilling to allow move of the captive warrior’s tormented soul.

Ronan studied the markings on the wall with a practiced eye, his voice taut. “There’s a ritual for freeing it—speedy!”

Kiaran and Sable held their positions, moving in sync to deflect the chains as Ronan chanted in an historical tongue. The air thickened, the historical language resonating with the magic trapped within the partitions. Slowly, the warrior’s rage dulled, his chains falling limp, dissolving into embers as the spirit’s eyes softened with comfort.

A faint whisper, a breath of gratitude, drifted thru the tunnel earlier than the spirit vanished absolutely.

Silence swallowed them, the sudden absence of noise a haunting reminder of what they had simply faced.

“Is all of us very well?” Kiaran requested, casting a cautious glance at the others.

Eira nodded, although her face was faded, tired. “Barely. But I don’t suppose that became the handiest spirit here.”

“No, it’s now not.” Ronan appeared deeper into the shadows; his expression guarded. “These tunnels were meant to preserve something in, something Draven wouldn’t need released. We’re treading on dangerous ground.”

Kiaran’s gaze hardened. “That’s why we’re here. Let’s hold shifting.”

As they resumed their journey, Kiaran couldn’t shake a nagging feeling—a sensation that there was greater to Ronan than he let on.

With the spirit warrior gone, the path grew quieter, but the silence was a taut, ready element, packed with the hum of vintage magic and anticipation. The deeper they went, the extra suffocating the air have become. Flickers of motion haunted the edges in their torchlight, and the whispers inside the stone grew louder, like muffled screams pressing in opposition to invisible limitations.

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They came to a fork inside the tunnel, one route bending downward into a good darker passage, the other coated with broken stone statues of creatures, faces twisted into grotesque expressions.

Ronan paused, his brow furrowing. “These tunnels aren’t mapped—as a minimum, now not in any records I’ve visible. Each route is in all likelihood a tribulation Draven has designed to discourage intruders.”

“Which means traps,” Sable said, her fingers tracing the threshold of a dagger.

“Or worse,” Eira delivered, her grip tightening on her personnel.

Kiaran took a step forward, his voice low however determined. “We break up. We’ll cover greater ground and avoid being cornered if something follows us.”

Ronan nodded; his gaze critical. “Agreed. I’ll take the left direction with Eira. Kiaran, you and Sable take the right.”

A sit back went via Kiaran at the separation; however, he knew that they had little choice. The darkness seemed to swallow their voices as they parted ways, the sounds of Ronan’s and Eira’s footsteps fading speedy into the depths.

Kiaran became to Sable, her face demanding but unreadable inside the dim torchlight. “Stay near,” he whispered.

They moved cautiously, Kiaran’s sword drawn, Sable’s knives equipped, because the tunnel grew narrower, the air colder. The partitions here were covered with alcoves, shadowed recesses that appeared to pulse with hidden existence. Shadows watched them, respiratory with unnatural quiet.

Without caution, a legitimate broke the silence—the shuffling of something heavy, dragging throughout the floor. They halted, eyes straining against the dark, as a large shape slowly emerged from one of the alcoves, its bulk filling the slim tunnel.

The creature was twisted, a mockery of life, with misshapen limbs and eyes that glowed like loss of life embers. Its mouth opened in a silent scream, revealing jagged, damaged enamel, each one covered in a glistening layer of dark ooze.

“Go,” Kiaran said thru gritted teeth, however Sable shook her head, her eyes blazing with defiance.

“I don’t go away my allies in the back of.”

The creature lunged, and Kiaran introduced up his sword, metal clashing in opposition to bone. The effect sent a jolt up his arm, and he stumbled returned. Sable darted in, slashing at the creature’s side, her blade sinking into its rotting flesh. But it changed into relentless, swinging at her with clawed hands that dripped with decay.

Kiaran steadied himself, plunging his sword into the creature’s side, twisting it to rip through sinew. It howled, a guttural sound that shook the walls, but didn’t prevent shifting. The creature’s different hand struck him, sending him reeling back against the wall.

Before it could strike again, Sable leapt onto its back, her blade finding a prone spot close to its neck. She twisted the knife with a fierce growl, and the creature shuddered, a very last, echoing moan escaping its maw as it slumped ahead, dead.

They both leaned in opposition to the wall, catching their breath because the silence fell yet again.

“We need to preserve going,” Sable said, voice regular however strained. “Draven’s maintain on these creatures’ approach there are more ahead.”

Kiaran nodded, wiping his blade clean earlier than transferring ahead, the tunnel developing steeper and colder. Shadows clung to them like 2d skins, and the air grew so thick it felt find it irresistible turned into clawing at their throats.

Meanwhile, Ronan and Eira had descended deeper into their own passage, the faint glow of Eira’s magic illuminating the stone. The walls appeared alive, pulsing with darkish energy that hummed louder the farther they went.

“We’re close to something… powerful,” Eira whispered, glancing at Ronan.

He gave her a traumatic nod. “Keep your magic equipped. Whatever it's far, Draven has fortified it with each darkish spell he ought to muster.”

As they stepped into a wider chamber, they discovered themselves earlier than a massive stone door, etched with historic symbols. Chains hung from it, each link pulsing with a faint, crimson mild. Beyond the door, Eira may want to sense a presence—a malice so darkish it was like an open wound within the cloth of the arena.

“This is it,” Ronan murmured. “This door binds something… or someone.”

Eira’s voice was slightly a whisper. “What could be that risky?”

“Draven’s mystery weapon,” Ronan responded. “An entity sure through blood and historic curses. If launched, it would tear through flesh and bone alike—loyal to Draven and Draven on my own.”

Eira placed her fingers on the door, her magic flaring in gentle tendrils. She felt the resistance right now, like icy claws looking to shove her away. With attempt, she controlled to send a pulse of mild into the chains, forcing them to slacken simply enough to create a gap. The door groaned, reluctantly shifting, as Ronan braced himself, equipped for whatever lay beyond.

On the other side, a vast determine loomed, its shape barely visible inside the flickering light. It became sure via chains a good deal thicker than those at the door, each link sparkling with a horrible, searing magic that hissed in opposition to the creature’s flesh.

The beast lifted its head, its eyes burning like coals because it focused on Ronan and Eira. Its voice was a deep, guttural growl, full of historic fury. “Intruders… release me, and I shall feast upon your souls.”

Eira recoiled, her mild flaring defensively, however Ronan held her lower back. “This thing’s energy is bound through Draven himself. We can’t combat it—we can best desire to skip without waking it absolutely.”

With cautious steps, they moved across the chamber, keeping their eyes at the creature, whose burning gaze accompanied them, tracking each movement. Eira felt its anger like a wave, crashing towards her senses, however she held her cognizance, her light robust and unwavering.

Back inside the other tunnel, Kiaran and Sable had entered a narrower passage, the partitions marked with scratches and bloodstains, as if something had desperately tried to break out. They stored their weapons at the ready, the silence stretching taut as they superior.

The tunnel opened right into a circular chamber, dimly lit by means of eerie, inexperienced torches that flickered without any seen supply of gas. In the center of the chamber stood a pedestal, upon which lay an obsidian amulet, its surface etched with symbols much like those on the partitions.

Sable’s eyes narrowed. “A entice?”

“Or a key,” Kiaran spoke back, eyeing the amulet.

Without another phrase, he reached out, and his hands closed across the amulet’s cold floor. A surge of strength shot via him, filling his veins with a burning sensation. His curse flared, the pain intensifying as the amulet’s energy fought towards it, as if trying out his remedy.

But before he should pull back, a sudden force yanked at him, pulling him into darkness.