Chapter Thirty-Five: City of the Forgotten
The ruins whispered of history too old for words.
The hidden canyon opened into a vast basin where the desert had peeled back its veil of sand to reveal the broken skeleton of a city that should not exist. Faded spires jutted skyward like shattered ribs. Buildings, carved from stone blackened by time, leaned at impossible angles. Stone bridges hung over yawning chasms. Faint blue light pulsed from cracks in the ground, casting ghostly illumination over everything.
The city was silent.
But it was not dead.
Elliott Fen stood at the canyon's edge, the relic cradled in his palm, its smoky surface glowing faintly. The sphere's pulse synchronized with the flickering lights in the city below—steady, ancient, calling.
Behind him, the others stared.
"By the gods..." Elric's voice was a hoarse whisper. His spectacles slid down his nose as he fumbled for his notebook. "It's real."
Seraphine whistled softly, the sound swallowed by the eerie quiet. "Would've bet my last gold piece this was a myth."
Marlow's eyes narrowed. "It's not a myth."
Dorian adjusted his sword at his hip, gaze sweeping the ruins. "It's a warning."
The Forgotten City
They descended cautiously, boots crunching over loose stone and dry sand. The basin floor was littered with relic fragments—half-buried shards of unknown materials, cracked glass panels inscribed with indecipherable runes, rusted gears the size of wagon wheels.
The architecture was alien. Curved structures met sharp angles. Doorways stood impossibly tall. Bridges spiraled into the air with no visible support.
Everything here predated known history.
Everything pulsed faintly with dormant magic.
"This city… it's not on any map," Elric muttered, eyes wide. "Not in any archive. Not even in fractured relic war records."
"Because someone wanted it forgotten," Marlow replied.
Elliott felt it too—the weight of secrecy. The relic's pulse in his hand matched the faint energy in the air.
It wasn't abandoned.
It was hidden.
Echoes of the Past
They explored the outer edges first—careful not to venture too deep.
Faded murals stretched across broken walls, depicting beings draped in flowing robes, wielding relics unlike anything they had seen before—artifacts that floated in midair, that fractured the sky, that reshaped land and sea.
But their faces… were deliberately erased. Chiseled away with purpose.
"Someone tried to wipe them from history," Dorian observed grimly.
Elliott nodded. "And almost succeeded."
Deeper within the ruins, they found remnants of a battle—scorched stone, melted relic fragments, walls shattered from within.
The city hadn't simply decayed.
It had fallen.
The Beacon
At the city's heart stood a circular plaza, sunken into the earth, its floor inscribed with concentric patterns that pulsed faintly beneath their feet.
At its center… a beacon.
A towering spire of glass and stone, cracked but still standing, its surface etched with constellations identical to those within the relic Elliott carried.
The relic's pulse quickened.
The beacon answered.
Seraphine whistled again. "Well… that's definitely going to attract unwanted attention."
Marlow's hand hovered near her weapons. "It already has."
And she was right.
Shadows moved beyond the plaza.
Figures—cloaked, masked, familiar.
The Relic Hunters had followed them.
Standoff in the Ruins
The leader of the Relic Hunters emerged from the shadows, her crimson-marked mask reflecting the faint blue glow.
"You led us well, Bearer," she called, voice echoing across the plaza. "The city reveals itself to those worthy."
Elliott stepped forward, the relic in his grasp humming with power. "We're not handing it over."
The woman's laugh was soft, sharp. "You misunderstand. You already have."
Dozens of her followers fanned out across the plaza, weapons drawn, relic fragments pulsing faintly in their hands.
Dorian swore under his breath. "We need a new hobby."
Seraphine grinned, knives glinting. "Too late for that."
Elliott raised the relic, its light intensifying.
The beacon responded—its cracked surface flaring with life, symbols shifting, forgotten systems awakening.
And beneath their feet, the ground trembled.
The City Awakens
A deep hum resonated through the ruins.
The blue light surged, spreading across the stone pathways, climbing shattered towers, racing along forgotten circuits.
The city… woke.
Doors slammed shut.
Bridges collapsed, sealing escape routes.
Golems—half-buried guardians of stone and relic-metal—stirred from slumber, their eyes glowing faintly as they straightened, dust cascading from their forms.
The Relic Hunters faltered, their leader cursing beneath her breath.
"You don't control this city," Elliott called out, his voice steady, amplified by the relic's power. "No one does."
The ground split, revealing mechanisms beneath—the inner workings of a civilization lost to time.
The beacon flared.
The golems turned.
And for the first time in centuries… the city of the forgotten defended itself.
End of Chapter Thirty-Five