The dungeon groaned with unnatural life. Deep within its twisted core, the corrupted landscape shuddered like something ancient stirring in its sleep. The pulse of the place was growing stronger, more rhythmic, like a signal building toward something.
Theron Kaelis stood atop a crumbled ledge, his frost-grey eyes locked on the shifting terrain below. Beside him, Veyra Duskbane adjusted the collar of her cloak, the obsidian threads along her armor shimmering faintly in the ambient red glow. The two guild masters had regrouped after being separated, carving their path through biomechanical monstrosities that had stalked them across fractured terrain and gravity-defying ruins.
"Any sign of the others?" Veyra asked, her voice low.
Theron shook his head. "Not yet. But we're close."
Their surroundings had changed. What was once chaotic dungeon architecture had begun to resemble something more deliberate—structured corridors, floating platforms, and shattered pillars with relic-tech etchings. The air buzzed faintly with distortion.
Moments later, a ripple in the mana field made both of them turn.
From the far end of the broken bridge, Galen Thorne emerged, froststeel mantle torn but intact. Elric Sylvanis followed close behind, vines retracting into the sleeves of his robe-like armor. Both bore the signs of battle—scratches, light burns, and drained auras—but still walked with purpose.
"Well," Elric said with a dry smirk, "guess we weren't the only ones clever enough to survive."
Veyra smirked back. "Took you long enough."
"We ran into resistance," Galen explained. "A fusion construct. It adapted faster than expected."
Theron stepped forward. "We need to move. This isn't a standard dungeon anymore. The further in we go, the more this place resembles relic-origin layouts."
"Agreed," Elric said, scanning the terrain with narrowed eyes. "And the mana density is spiking. Something massive is either asleep... or waking up."
The four guild masters exchanged a brief glance. No one had to speak it aloud—they were nearing the center.
Their group moved swiftly now, traversing a series of crumbling platforms that led downward into a basin of twisting stone and violet energy. Along the way, they encountered remnants of other groups—shattered weapons, damaged comm-rings, and scorched ground. All were signs of battle, but no bodies.
"They were taken," Veyra muttered. "Or absorbed."
Elric knelt beside a strange crystal shard lodged in the wall. It pulsed faintly with inner light.
"Residual mana," he said, holding his staff over it. "This is Saria's kinetic signature."
Galen raised a brow. "You're certain?"
"She leaves a trail. Always has. Overcharges her swings just enough to stain the environment."
Theron studied the distant rock formations. "So they came through here."
The group pressed forward, crossing what remained of a ruined overpass. Below them, a spiral path carved through a shattered canyon, leading to a faint glimmer at its heart.
They emerged at the mouth of a tunnel—far older-looking than anything they'd passed before. It wasn't part of the dungeon. The walls were smooth, metallic, inscribed with relic patterns that moved ever so slightly.
Elric's breath caught. "This isn't just ancient. This is pre-Veil Collapse."
Veyra stared at the entrance, frown deepening. "You're saying this predates the emergence of mana?"
"I'm saying this might've caused it."
They passed through the tunnel without a word. The temperature dropped. Light sources dimmed. And at the end, they emerged into a vast antechamber—
The Sealed Threshold.
It stretched across the cavern floor like a giant's forgotten doorway. The structure radiated dormant power. Liquid metal formed the outer seal, its surface crawling with self-rewriting runes. The surrounding ground was carved with ancient grooves, like something meant to interface with machines long lost.
Theron stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "Someone's already been here."
He gestured to the scattered footprints, scorch marks, and faint traces of frost.
"Ice magic," Galen confirmed. "Recent."
"Lyra," Veyra said. "And Saria. They came through here."
As if in response, the door let out a low hum—subtle, but undeniable.
A resonance, pulsing through the air like a signal.
"The seal's weakened," Elric said, approaching the structure with reverence. "It reacted to someone. It might still be active."
Then came another sound—from deep within the door.
Boom.
A distant shockwave. Faint—but unmistakable.
A fight.
All four turned to each other, and for once, Veyra looked genuinely concerned.
"That energy… it's Saria. She's burning hot."
"And Lyra's frost signature is climbing rapidly," Galen added. "She's overclocking. They must be in combat."
Theron gripped his weapon. "We go in. Now."
"What if we trigger something?" Elric warned. "We don't know if we're opening a tomb or a weapon."
Theron stepped toward the gate without hesitation.
"They're fighting alone. We're not leaving them."
The moment he touched the edge of the threshold, the door pulsed.
Runes aligned.
Mechanisms unseen groaned.
And the seal parted—just enough to allow them through.
Together, the four guild masters stepped inside.
The final descent had begun.
End of chapter.
Thank you for reading.
{A/N: Sorry for the irregular updates, I've been busy with work, but I'll do my best to keep posting.}