By dawn, the winter sun cast weak light over the endless gray and white. Volkov moved quickly, his breath fogging in the frigid air. Each step sank into the snow, the crunch sharp and deliberate beneath his boots. The device in his hand beeped steadily. The anomaly was close—just over the next ridge.

The ridge flattened into an expanse of ice and rock. At first, it seemed barren. Lifeless. Volkov frowned and glanced at the pulsing signal on his device. The rhythm was steady now, like a heartbeat. His eyes swept the landscape, scanning for anything out of place.

“There,” he muttered, his voice muffled by the cold.

A jagged silhouette broke through the swirling snow, half-concealed by the peaks. He narrowed his eyes, stepping closer. The shape came into focus, the snow thinning just enough to reveal its form.

The ruin rose out of the mountain’s side, its dark stone walls melding seamlessly with the jagged cliffs. It could have been mistaken for an ancient fortress abandoned centuries ago. But its placement was too deliberate. Too purposeful. Something about it radiated power.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he whispered. His breath fogged the air as he stopped, taking it all in.

It was compact and efficient, designed for war rather than grandeur. Yet it commanded the landscape.

Volkov’s breath hitched. The walls were thick and unyielding, scarred with cracks and chips from countless battles. In places, the stone was blackened, as if fire had tried and failed to consume it. Snow clung to the crevices and battlements, softening the harsh edges.

The walls were lined with high, arched windows, their glass long gone. Broken spires jutted along the battlements, sharp and jagged, while a squat central tower loomed over the valley.

At the base, a massive gate hung slightly ajar. Rust clung to its iron hinges, though they looked strong enough to hold. Around the gate, intricate carvings adorned the stone. Ancient and battle-worn, they seemed alive, pulsing faintly with an energy he couldn’t name.

Volkov slowed. This fortress didn’t belong here. He knew it didn’t.

“Impossible,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “This place doesn’t exist.”

He knew this terrain—every ridge, every outcropping. He’d mapped it during training. There had been nothing here. No ruin.

And yet, here it was.

Volkov’s fingers tightened on the strap of his rifle. He shifted his weight, taking a cautious step forward. His boots crunched too loudly in the silence.

“Not natural,” he murmured, his voice low. “Not even close.”

A faint buzz prickled at the edge of his hearing. The air thickened, heavy with a charge that made the fine hairs on his neck stand on end.

Volkov froze.

“Shit,” he hissed, hand drifting to his rifle, fingers brushing the grip. He felt it—eyes on him. The weight of a gaze pressed against his back, undeniable.

“Keep moving,” he told himself, jaw tightening. One step. Then another. The gate loomed larger with every breath. The carvings rippled faintly, alive with something he couldn’t explain.

He stopped just short of the threshold, scanning the shadowed interior. A flicker of movement caught his eye—something in the dark, quick and silent. He turned sharply, raising his rifle. “Who’s there?” His voice rang out, harsh and abrupt in the silence.

Nobody answered.

***

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Volkov stepped cautiously through the archway, his boots crunching softly on the snow-dusted stone floor. The ruin swallowed him, its dark halls stretching ahead, lined with jagged shadows. He moved methodically, rifle raised, senses sharp. The charged air tingled against his skin.

The walls were covered with the same strange carvings he’d seen outside. His flashlight swept over them, catching faint glints of blue and red within the grooves. The symbols pulsed faintly, as though the walls were alive.

Lowering his rifle, Volkov pulled a notepad from his pack and began sketching. His gloved hand moved quickly but precisely, recording the patterns, their size, and their locations. The unease twisting in his chest didn’t slow him. His ears stayed trained on the silence around him.

The first room he entered was eerily intact. A long table stretched the length of the space, its dark wood polished and unscathed. Plates and goblets sat neatly arranged, as though their owners had just stepped away. A tarnished candlestick held a partially burned candle, wax frozen mid-drip. The air carried an ancient scent—dust, stone, and a sharp metallic tang that set his teeth on edge.

“No cobwebs,” he muttered, his brow furrowing as his flashlight scanned the room. No decay. Everything untouched, frozen in time.

He swept the room, documenting the state of the objects with quick sketches and short notes. When he was done, he moved on.

The second room was smaller. A bed with neatly arranged blankets dominated the center. A dresser stood against one wall, dusty but undisturbed. A single chair sat at a writing desk, a quill and inkpot resting on its surface.

His flashlight swept the dresser. Something caught his eye—a faint glint of green.

“What the hell is this?” he muttered, stepping closer.

An amulet lay atop the dresser, its surface dominated by a large, brilliant green stone. The emerald sat in a gold bezel; its edges carved with intricate, swirling patterns identical to the symbols on the walls. Volkov frowned, leaning closer. The object felt wrong in his hand, its weight unnatural.

He slipped it into a padded pocket inside his jacket and secured it tightly.

The rest of the ruin offered more questions than answers. Every intact room bore signs of life—chairs pushed back, dishes stacked neatly, boots left by a door. But no people. Not even bones.

Volkov moved with purpose, sketching furniture, transcribing carvings, and mapping the layout. The feeling of being watched persisted, but nothing revealed itself.

As he stepped back out into the freezing air, the amulet’s weight seemed heavier than it should. He glanced over his shoulder at the ruin, its dark silhouette looming against the pale sky.

***

The trek back was grueling. Volkov moved quickly. The amulet pressed heavy against his chest, its weight lingering as frozen winds bit his skin and snow stung his face. By the time he reached the extraction point, his body was exhausted, but his mind kept turning over the details of what he’d seen.

The helicopter blades roared to life, cutting through the stillness of the mountain as he climbed aboard. Volkov leaned back in his seat, silent, his hand resting instinctively over the pocket where the amulet was secured.

The base was sterile and cold, its halls lit with the harsh glow of fluorescent lights. The faint smell of disinfectant lingered in the air, and the low hum of machinery underscored the muted voices of personnel. Volkov strode past rows of screens and technicians, his boots clicking sharply against the tile floor. He didn’t stop until he reached the lab, where a team of scientists was already waiting, their faces expectant.

He placed the amulet on the examination table.

“This is what I found,” he said simply, stepping back as the lead scientist, Dr. Ivanova, approached.

She adjusted her glasses, staring at the artifact. “It’s beautiful.”

Ivanova glanced at him briefly before donning gloves and picking up the amulet. Her gloved fingers brushed over the etched surface. “It’s warm,” she murmured, her curiosity giving way to confusion. “This is unlike anything I’ve seen before.” Ivanova held the amulet up to the light. “It looks like an emerald encased in gold, but…unnatural.”

One of her assistants ran a handheld scanner over the amulet, frowning at the readout. “It’s emitting a faint energy signature. Consistent, but low. No radiation, no chemical residue.”

“What’s the source?” Ivanova asked.

The assistant shook his head. “Unknown. It’s stable.”

An hour later, Volkov stood in the debriefing room, his commanding officer, Stepanovich, seated across from him. The screen between them displayed the sketches Volkov had made, alongside images of the amulet and the ruin’s carvings.

“It wasn’t just a ruin,” Volkov said, his voice steady but low. “It felt… inhabited. Not by people, but by something.”

Stepanovich leaned back, exhaling sharply. “We’re not in the business of chasing ghosts, Major. What matters is this—” He tapped an image of the amulet on the screen. “This artifact. What it can do. What it’s worth.”

“It’s more than an artifact,” Volkov said, his voice hardening. “The ruin wasn’t natural. It wasn’t even supposed to be there. I know that area. I trained there. It appeared—out of nowhere.”

Stepanovich’s eyes narrowed. “And you think this amulet caused it?”

“I don’t know,” Volkov admitted. “But it’s connected. The energy, the carvings, the structure—they all tie back to this.”

Stepanovich’s lips thinned. “Noted. We’ll bring in someone to interpret the symbols. As for the castle, we’ll monitor it for now. Whatever’s there hasn’t posed a threat—but if that changes, we’ll act.”