The narrow stairs creaked underfoot as Arwen stepped into the ruins. Moss covered the walls, and the air smelled damp. It felt like no one had been here in a long time.
Suddenly, a chill crawled across the back of his neck. It was strange—eerie in a way that felt almost otherworldly.
Skele padded ahead, silent and steady. Now and then, he glanced back at Arwen. Checking on him. Keeping close. His faint glow lit the path, like he was trying to ease the tension neither of them mentioned.
Arwen kept one hand on the wall and the other on his sword hilt.
He'd cleared this place before. In Runebound Online, the Ruins of Whispertrail were just a crumbling chapel south of Elloria. A minor fetch quest sent players here to retrieve a keepsake left behind by a fallen guard's friend. Most players grabbed the item and left.
But Arwen had lingered.
He liked reading NPC dialogue. Every line, even the awkward ones. Sometimes the devs slipped in easter eggs—tiny details meant for players who paid attention.
Arwen always thought that was what set him apart. While others rushed through quests, he read everything. Item descriptions, background lore, even obscure environmental clues. Anything that might lead to something hidden.
That's how he'd found the hidden glyph. And the stairway leading down.
Back then, it felt like a neat secret. A reward for being thorough.
Now, it felt different.
The magic wasn't just background flavor anymore.
It was aware.
Watching.
The stairs leveled out into a corridor supported by narrow arches. As Arwen stepped forward, faint runes flickered to life above—pale blue, like moonlight caught in glass.
He brushed his fingers across one. The shape sparked a memory.
ᛒ — Berkano
[The rune of Containment. Guadianship. Bound Duty.]
The air shifted.
From somewhere ahead, metal scraped against stone—slow, rhythmic.
Then came the rattle of bones. Figures stepped from the shadows.
Skeleton knights—half-armored, blades drawn, eyes burning the same cold blue as the runes. Behind them, wisps floated like torn soul fragments, drifting without purpose.
Arwen drew his blade, eyes narrowing.
The knights moved in stiff, practiced motions—like they were still following orders long after forgetting who gave them. The faded insignias on their rusted tabards matched the old crest above the archway behind them.
A memory clicked.
These weren't random undead.
They had been guards—tied to this place. Left behind to protect something long forgotten, now drifting without purpose.
The knights moved in jerky sync, like broken puppets still obeying a routine long after forgetting why.
Arwen drew his blade, and Skele charge forward at the same time coated itself with a burst of fog.
'Mist' spread wide like a veil, cloaking the enemy's sight.
Arwen then hold the pendant he received from his mother.
The pendant is etched with Rune of Inguz.
ᛜ — Inguz
[The rune of Dormant Strength, Potential, Transformation.]
As he charged, the rune flared. A soft red light spread from the pendant, coating his blade.
He recalled how runes worked. Each one came from an ancient Nordic script—more than letters, they were symbols packed with meaning.
In Runebound Online, they weren't just lore. Each rune carried an effect tied to its symbolism. Some acted like spells. Others surged briefly to enhance reflexes, sharpen perception, or push through fatigue. Used right, they turned the tide of battle.
The fight didn't last long.
Skele darted past a drifting ghost, baiting it straight into a pressure plate. The trap snapped shut with a hiss of old magic. Before the ghost could recover, Skele turned and slammed through a nearby slime with a full-body charge—'Bone Rush', his newest trick after the level-up.
[Level Up]
[Arwen: Level 7]
[Skele: Level 7 | Affinity: 17/20]
Arwen gave a short nod as Skele padded back to his side, bone tail flicking. He adjusted his grip on the sword, the corner of his mouth twitching, just once.
* * *
The next chamber opened into a wide hall, the stonework smoother than the rest. At the far end stood a raised platform—and on it, a pair of boots shimmered faintly with runelight.
Swift Boots.'Increased movement speed, and air-bone duration'
Arwen squinted. "You've got to be kidding."
In the game, these belonged to the Corrupted Pope—the shadowy figure behind Duskwither's creation. Barely mentioned in the lore. Just scraps of flavor text and half-deleted quest hooks.
Still, Arwen decided to not enter the room.
Treasure that obvious? Never a good sign.
There were probably traps—and he wasn't exactly equipped to disarm anything right now.
He backed off. Better to come back after dealing with Duskwither.
* * *
They then reached a circular chamber with a ritual fire pit in the center—long extinguished, but still ringed with old ash and scorched stone.
On the far wall stretched a mural.
Charcoal lines—rough but deliberate. Dozens of hooded figures stood around a burning pillar. At its center towered a massive bull-shaped beast, its horns curling upward like infernal crowns. The fire didn't consume it—it fed it.
The creature stared outward. Eyes painted as black pits.
Even as a mural, it felt like it was watching.
Arwen stepped closer, eyes narrowing.
This wasn't in the game.
He scanned the lines again—the hooded figures, the pillar of flame, the beast with curling horns.
'The Cult of Flames'
Nothing about this had ever been mentioned. Not in quests. Not in cut content.
Arwen took out his journal and sketched the mural. Not perfect, but enough to study later.
Beneath it, he scrawled:
Unknown cult. Fire-based. Possible link to Duskwither's creation.
He lingered for a moment, eyes tracing every charcoal line—the hooded figures, the fire, the towering beast.
Something about it lodged in his mind. Uneasy. Unfinished.
Without a word, he flipped his journal shut and turned away.
He'd be back. This wasn't something he could ignore.
* * *
They moved deeper into the ruin, where the stone grew darker and the carvings older. Faint runes traced the walls—half-erased by time, but still humming with forgotten magic.
The air grew dense. Not cold, just… still.
As if the ruin had been waiting.
Eventually, the corridor widened. The path sloped downward, and the air turned sharp.
Faint glyphs lined the walls—barely glowing at first, then pulsing brighter as they neared the sealed door.
A gate. Familiar, but altered.
This was it.
Arwen stepped forward, placing his hand on the center glyph.
Mana sparked beneath his fingers.
ᛇ — Eiwaz
ᛒ — Berkano
ᛜ — Ingwaz
[Death and rebirth. Binding. Transformation.]
These runes weren't meant to keep intruders out.
They were meant to bind something in place.
To hold it together—because letting it loose would be worse.
The stone beneath his palm warmed. Threads of light spread from the glyphs, crawling across the door like veins, pulsing softly in the gloom.
The wall shuddered.
Then, slowly—grinding, groaning—the door began to open.
Mist spilled out, cool and thick, like breath from a long-forgotten tomb.
They stepped into the chamber.
The ceiling above had fractured long ago, and thin shafts of sunlight cut through the shadows in dusty beams. The floor was strewn with shattered armor and rusted weapons. Bones lay where they'd fallen—unceremonious, undisturbed.
And at the center—
A swirling mass of black mist, hovering above the stone like a suspended stormcloud.
A flicker of text blinked across Arwen's vision.
[Duskwither]
[Rank: Unique]
[Level: ??]
[Status: Sealed]
The air turned cold.
The ruin shuddered.
A low groan echoed through the stone—like the walls themselves were exhaling.