An hour ago, Ronan had stood on the left side of the ruins, his brow furrowed. A strange pull gnawed at his senses, originating from deep within. His Silver Flame flickered faintly in response, drawn to something unseen. The sensation was unsettling, like a whisper in the dark urging him forward.
"Why does it feel like this?" Ronan murmured under his breath, his eyes scanning the broken stones and twisted vines around him. "It's not just curiosity… this is something else."
Determined to investigate, Ronan pressed on. The weight of the silence around him was almost oppressive, but he steeled his resolve. After a few minutes of careful searching, his gaze caught something unusual amid the debris. Partially concealed beneath the rubble was a narrow stone staircase spiralling downward into darkness.
Ronan stepped closer, brushing away the moss-covered fragments. He peered into the gloom, but the void swallowed his sight.
"No light," he muttered. "I can't see a thing."
He clenched his fists, the pull from his flame growing stronger. Whatever lay beneath was calling him. But the unknown was dangerous. He couldn't afford recklessness.
"Let's see if it's safe first."
Weaving his fingers into a precise hand sign, Ronan activated his Keen Eye skill. A surge of mana coursed through him, heightening his perception. The dark veil lifted slightly as his vision sharpened. The damp walls of the staircase came into focus, etched with faint runes long forgotten.
"No traps," he concluded, though his muscles remained tense. Even without visible threats, something about the air down there unsettled him.
With a steady breath, he conjured a small fireball. The orange light danced along the stone walls, casting eerie shadows that slithered with each flicker. The flame hovered beside him, illuminating his path as he descended.
Step by step, the air grew colder. The silence was unnerving, interrupted only by the soft crackling of the flame. Ronan's boots echoed against the ancient stone, each sound magnified in the empty corridor.
Finally, he reached the bottom. A vast underground cellar spread before him, shrouded in dim light. The walls were cracked, and the once-grand pillars that lined the chamber were now crumbling. Dust particles swirled lazily in the still air. Despite the decay, no sign of recent disturbance lingered.
Ronan swept his gaze across the chamber.
"Strange… there's nothing here," he thought. "No artefacts, no markings. What was this place used for?"
Yet, the pull of his Silver Flame had not ceased. If anything, it grew stronger.
Ronan continued his exploration. The eerie silence of the ruins weighed heavily upon him. His Keen Eye ability remained active, scanning for anomalies. That's when it hit him—a faint pull, like a whisper in his mind. The Silver Flame within him stirred, its presence pulsing in response.
"What is this feeling…?" Ronan murmured, following the sensation.
The tug grew stronger. His footsteps echoed as he descended a narrow stairwell. The air thickened with an ancient, stagnant aura. At the bottom, he found it—a door embedded in the floor, half-buried beneath years of dust.
"A hidden chamber?"
Ronan knelt, brushing away the grime before prying it open. Darkness loomed below. Without hesitation, he conjured a fireball, its light pushing back the shadows. The chamber revealed rows of ancient prison cells, their iron bars rusted and broken. Dust swirled with every step he took.
"Prison cells…?" Ronan muttered. "Why would a place like this exist beneath the ruins?"
He pressed forward, inspecting each cell. Chains hung from the walls, remnants of suffering long past. As he passed by one, a faint noise echoed.
Ronan froze. His dagger flashed into his hand, instinct taking over. The noise came again, distant yet clear. He followed it, his heartbeat quickening. Another massive door blocked his path. Ronan tried the handle—locked. He scanned it with a Keen Eye, but no signs of magic traps emerged.
"No choice then."
Ronan put lots of mana into his Flame Fist skill and hit the massive stone door, and after a few more tries, he was able to break the door. The stone door shattered.
Ronan's breath caught.
Inside, translucent blue figures hovered. Dozens of them, their shapes faint and blurred. Hollow eyes fixated on him, sorrow radiating from their forms. Some recoiled, but others drifted forward.
"What… the hell are you?" Ronan demanded, his voice steady though tension gripped him.
A pulse of Silver Flame wrapped around him, an instinctual reaction. The souls recoiled further, their whispers rising in fear.
"Don't scare him," one of them spoke, its voice layered with anguish. "Perhaps he can help us."
Ronan remained cautious, dagger in hand. "Help you? What are you?"
"We are like you," the figure replied. "Except we are dead. Our bodies are long gone; only our souls remain."
"Souls?" Ronan's brows furrowed. "Why are you still here?"
"Cursed," the voice said bitterly. "Bound to this place. We cannot pass on, nor escape."
"How long have you been here?"
A second spirit answered, its voice hollow. "Centuries. Perhaps five hundred years. Or a thousand. Time is meaningless to us."
Ronan's eyes narrowed. "That shouldn't be possible. Souls deteriorate. You should've… faded."
One spirit chuckled, a bitter sound. "You know much for your age. But this chamber is unlike any other. It overflows with soul energy—an endless well. It preserves us."
The Silver Flame within Ronan flickered once more. Understanding dawned upon him.
"That's why my flame is reacting," he muttered. "It's drawn to Soul Energy."
A third spirit's expression darkened. "We need your help. Are you willing to aid us?"
The air thickened. The weight of their desperation clung to him. But Ronan's mind remained sharp.
"I'll listen," he said, his tone unyielding. "But I have questions. Before I agree to anything, I need to know what I'm dealing with."
A sudden burst of anger flared from one of the souls. "Do not test your luck, brat! We could kill you and take your body with ease."
But Ronan stood firm, his Silver Flames flaring ever so slightly.
"If you could do that,' he said coldly, 'then why am I still standing?"
The spirits fell silent.
"Answer my questions," Ronan continued, his voice unwavering. "Or whatever deal you're hoping for dies here."
A dark, lingering silence followed. Yet behind it, a glimmer of respect gleamed in the spirit's hollow eyes.
"Very well," it said. "Ask your questions, living one. And perhaps, we may both find what we seek."