The stairs ended in an underground hall — circular, cavernous, pillars cracked and choked by tree roots pressing through stone.
In the center stood a massive stone door — sealed shut, covered in layered runic inscriptions and foreign glyphs.
A broken campsite lay nearby — extinguished charcoal, rusted armor, rotted bedrolls.
"Another expedition site?" Oliver muttered.
"No," Elisha whispered, pointing to a tattered banner still hanging on the wall — its faded crest unmistakable. "This was… the first expedition. The one from my ancestor's time."
Oliver approached the stone door.
Runes flickered.
As he touched them — they shifted.
Like they recognized him.
His eyes widened. "These respond to… languages. It's locked behind a linguistic cipher."
Elisha blinked. "So… you can open it?"
He looked reluctant. "Probably. But once it opens — whatever's inside wakes up too."
Before she could reply—
CRACK!
A rumble echoed above them.
Dust fell from the ceiling.
