Morning came in gray, same as always. I groaned as I sat up, neck bent at a stupid angle, muscles stiff. The 'bed' creaked, not really a bed, just a sagging frame with half a mattress stuffed into it.
I peeled the blanket back and looked down at my scarred torso, where a patch of fresh bandages stood out against the old, faded ones. The damned hound from yesterday had done a number on me, the wound still oozing red. I poked at it with a finger.
"You're not getting any better, are you?" I mumbled to the wound, my voice a tired rasp.
With a sigh that felt heavier than the day ahead, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and pushed myself to my feet.
My coat hung on the wall peg, black, travel-stained, patched twice over. I shrugged into it, rolling my shoulders until it settled right, then crouched by the corner chest.
Satchel first, straps stiff with dried mud. Then the lamp, faint blue still flickering inside, enough juice left for a few hours. Last, the blades.
The broad one was steel, mismatched hilt wrapped in leather that had once been red. The narrow one was scavenged bone-handled, pale and scarred from someone else's years before me.
I drew them both out, gave each a lazy spin. The broad cut smooth through the air; the narrow caught halfway, edge chipped.
"Damn..." I held the blade up to the light. "Forgot to fix you yesterday huh."
I slid them into the belt sheath anyway and pushed the shack door open. The hinge whined.
Outside, the hub was already alive. Mud squelched under boots, carts rattled past with their loads of scrap or beast hides, and the morning market clanged with the sound of pans and metal junk.
Smoke curled low, thick enough to sting my eyes, and someone was already swearing over a bad deal.
I cut through the crowd, lamp swaying at my hip, mud splashing up the hem of my coat. A kid sprinted past me with a bundle of sticks, nearly clipped my knee.
I muttered something half-hearted at his back but kept walking. The air smelled of sweat, iron, and the faint tang of Resonance leaking from the guild lamps bolted to posts.
By the time I reached Jorrin's forge, the heat hit me before the sight did. His place was as usual, half-open to the street, heat spilling into the chill morning air.
Sparks snapped as the coals flared, the place alive with the sound of metal clanging against metal. The forge was nothing but a roof on three posts, smoke rolling into the muddy street.
The man looked the same as always, broad shoulders hunched, beard ash-dusted, arms like tree trunks blackened from years of work. His hair had gone mostly gray, but nothing about him looked weaker for it.
The Sigil carved into the back of his hand glowed faintly, a mark that curved and split like a tongue of fire. He pressed it against a fan-wheel bolted to the side of the forge, and the wheel spun on its own, driving air into the coals with a steady roar.
He caught sight of me and barked a laugh. "Cael. Still breathing. Thought the hounds would've finished you by now."
His eyes went to the dagger in my hand. "Or maybe your weapons would've."
I set it on his bench. "Edge's chipped. Needs grinding."
Jorrin picked it up, grunting as though the dagger personally offended him. "What'd you do, dig a pit with this? Half a toothpick already."
He slid it under the wheel, and the stone shrieked as sparks scattered.
I leaned back against the post, arms crossed, watching the faint shimmer of his Sigil pulse every time the wheel slowed.
Each pulse kept the stone moving smooth, steady, like it had its own heartbeat. No strain in his arm, no sweat for the effort. Just that mark doing the heavy lifting. Casual. Natural. Something I'd never have.
"Word is there's a new leak to the west," Jorrin said, eyes on the blade as the sparks flew. "Big one. Some say it spat out ruins. You heading that way?"
"Yeah," I said. "Though I figure you lucky sigiled lot probably already picked the place clean before I even lace my boots."
Jorrin snorted, beard twitching. "If you're late, that's on you. Relics don't wait around for stragglers."
"Sure," I muttered, shifting against the post. "Easy to say when the Veins gave you a free lightshow on your hand."
He chuckled under his breath, teeth flashing through the beard. "Keep running your mouth, knife-boy, and I'll charge double."
The sparks hissed out as he eased the dagger free, sharper now, clean edge catching the forge light. He slid it back across the bench with two thick fingers. "Try not to snap this one in half."
I gave the blade a test swing, felt the balance, then slid it back into its sheath. "No promises."
The west trail bled out of the hub in a smear of mud, cart ruts still fresh from the morning rush.
I pulled my coat tighter and followed them past the last crooked shacks, past the line where smoke and chatter thinned into wind and silence.
Didn't take long to spot it.
The so-called "new ruin" looked like a sunken shrine had been punched halfway out of the ground, somebody's god's house, now nothing but a cracked stone roof and broken steps.
Already a mess of footprints around the mouth, tracks from boots and paws and something with too many claws.
"Damn…" I kicked at a broken step, sending chips scattering down the slope. "Those pricks really did strip you bare already, huh? Could've left something worth my time."
I swung the lamp up, letting it chase the shadows along the entry. The steps were slick, some weird resin or beast blood still fresh in the cracks.
Had to watch my footing, or else I'd end up as the next stain on the wall.
Down below, the stonework twisted off at a sharp angle, almost like the whole building had been dropped in crooked. Inside was the usual mess; ash-dark stone, Resonance scars across the walls, the stink of old beasts.
And bodies.
Three of them, already cooling. Wolf-shapes, maybe twice the size of me, with patchy violet fur and jaws lined with too many teeth. Each one gutted clean by someone else's steel.
I crouched near the closest, poked at its flank with the bone dagger. No hum, no shimmer. Dead scrap. Whoever cleared them out had already taken anything valuable.
"Figures," I muttered, pushing back up. My lamp threw pale light across the cracked floor.
A ruin like this could've been a jackpot. Instead, I was late again.
Still, scraps were scraps.
I stepped deeper, lamp swinging low. The air inside was colder than outside, heavy with that faint Vein-stink that clung to all fractures.
The ceiling had half-collapsed, one corner open to the sky, but the rest of the hall was shadow, toppled pillars, rubble heaps, shattered stone that looked less like age and more like the place had been crushed.
Something about it felt…off.
I tilted the lamp, watched the light crawl along the cracks. The walls weren't just split, they sagged, bent in on themselves like the place had been half-crushed and frozen that way.
"This isn't just ruin rot," I said under my breath. "Looks like someone tried snapping the place in half."
I kicked a loose brick out of the way. It clattered across the floor, echoed longer than it should've. That made me stop.
I crouched, pressed my palm flat to the stone. The ground didn't feel solid, it carried the hollow thrum of empty space beneath.
"…You're hiding something."
The dagger's point scraped a faint seam, nearly invisible under the dust. A circle of old runes revealed themselves when I leaned in close, dull but still pulsing weak with Resonance.
Not natural wear. A seal.
"Bet the scav gang didn't even notice you. Lucky me." I couldn't help but grin at the sudden discovery.
I shoved against the seam. The stone groaned, cracked, and the circle split wide.
Dust coughed out in a cloud, and a set of stairs folded open beneath me, black as a throat.
Cold air spilled up, sharp with rust and something sour that bit the back of my tongue.
"Jackpot's always in the cellar…" I pulled my coat tight to shield away from the cold.
The steps yawned down, carved smooth, nothing like the ruin above. Cleaner. Hidden. Waiting.
No bootprints in the dust. No scuffs, no sign of anyone touching it.
"…Looks like this part's mine."
I set my heel on the first stair.
The cold off the stairwell hit me first; sharper, older, like the kind you get in cellars that haven't seen daylight in years.
I hooked the lamp higher, squinting into the dark as the steps wound down. The walls pressed close on both sides, stone stacked without mortar, old but not rotted.
It was cleaner than above, dust lying smooth over everything, no sign anyone had ever come this way. Not even scav rats.
Halfway down, the lamp picked up lines carved into the wall. Symbols cut into the stone.
Not the scavenger crap I was used to. Proper carvings. Circles within circles, lines crossing sharp like a map, figures bent in prayer.
Not words, not any letters I knew. The figures had no faces, just smooth stone where the eyes should've been.
"Why do these always gotta look like nightmares drawn by a drunk?" I muttered, tracing a half-broken symbol that looked like an eye with a chain wrapped around it.
The lamp threw shadows, and for a second the whole pattern seemed to crawl. I shook my head, kept moving.
The air got heavier. Cold sweat crept under my collar. By the time the stairwell spilled me into a chamber, the lamp flame looked thin, like it didn't want to light this place at all.
The room stretched wide, pillars crooked, ceiling sagging low in places. Rubble scattered the floor, bones mixed in like gravel.
And in the middle, crouched over something, was a beast.
It wasn't one of the wolves from upstairs. Bigger. Shoulders scraping the underside of the ceiling when it rose, violet fur matted with old blood.
Its head turned too far, ears twitching, rows of teeth flexing like a saw blade.
"...Course someone left the watchdog behind."
The thing sniffed, hackles up. My lamp made it snarl, a wet, broken sound that rolled through the chamber.
I set the lamp on a chunk of stone and loosened my shoulders. Both blades slid free, steel whispering out of their sheaths.
It came fast. No circling, no testing me. Straight charge, claws dragging sparks where they scraped the stone.
I pivoted right, broad blade catching the swipe. My arm rattled from the force, but I shoved it wide and drove the bone dagger up into its ribs.
Felt the scrape of bone. Pulled out before it could trap me.
It shrieked, turned its whole body like it wanted to crush me into paste. I ducked low, coat ripping as its claws missed by a breath.
My heel slipped on dust, but I rolled, came up behind its flank.
Slash, pull back. Another slash, shallow across the haunch. It bled thick, dark, stinking like rot.
Didn't slow it down.
The beast whipped its head back, caught me with the edge of its skull. I slammed against a pillar hard enough my teeth rang.
Chest screaming, I staggered up, spat blood. My hand clenched tighter on the daggers.
"Not much left for you down here either, huh? Sorry, buddy."
I lunged again, jamming the broad blade sideways between its teeth. Sparks as fang met steel.
Its breath was hot and foul against my face. I shoved with everything I had, the bone dagger stabbing blind into its neck.
Once. Twice. Three times.
The thing convulsed, choking on its own blood, then collapsed sideways. The blade tore out of my hand as its weight dropped.
I stood over it, chest heaving, ears ringing with blood rush. Arms burning. Coat shredded.
"Still breathing," I rasped, spitting on the floor. "Guess that makes us different."
I glanced down at my left side. The movement tore at the fresh bandage I'd put on earlier, the one covering the scrape from the hound yesterday.
A warm, wet stripe of blood instantly soaked through my coat. "Perfect…"
I yanked my blades free, wiped them clean on its mangy fur, and went for the lamp, hand still shaking.
The beast's blood smoked where it pooled on the stone, sharp and metallic in the air.
The chamber stretched darker beyond the dead beast, pillars crowding in, more walls etched with symbols.
I stepped past it, careful. The passage narrowed, the lamp chasing seams in the wall.
One seam ran deeper than the rest, a thin vein of darker stone. Cold bit my fingertip when I brushed it, and the floor answered with a hum.
The slab under my heel clicked.
"Oh, come on. Seriously? I just got done with the watchdog."
A row of runes flared, sharp as a slit-lamp, and for a heartbeat the air filled with hard light that fell like teeth.
I rolled, shoulder smashing rock, and a shard nicked the sleeve of my coat instead of my throat.
Heat seared my ear. The lamp guttered to the size of a pebble.
"Alright, alright. Message received!" I barked, laugh thin, nerves bleeding through.
Two faceless carvings two pillars over inhaled together, and the pressure folded in on me.
My lungs wanted to quit.
I stabbed the broad blade into the nearer statue and slammed until the stone cracked; dust filled my mouth and the room exhaled.
The place wasn't just built to kill, it was built to mock anyone dumb enough to pry.
I spat grit, staggered forward. "Yeah, well, you're not the first to try."
The corridor narrowed into a throat. Niches lined the walls, each with junk left like offerings, bowls, warped glass, pottery.
My feet remembered the floor's rhythm; the runes blinked in a slow beat, and I moved between them, step for step, like walking inside a drum.
Then footsteps laid themselves on the stone.
Not the skitter of scavengers; measured, heavy, each one setting like a nail.
I froze, heart high in my throat, and flattened behind a toppled pillar until the cut of the rubble bit my back.
The shadow rounded the mouth of the chamber and moved like a place where light went to die.
Not human, a robe that ate the lamp's glow.
Chains hung from its wrists, and the hem left a black, wet trail that smelled of old ink and iron.
I could see the faint river of ink along the floor where the robe trailed, dark and wet and smelling like the inside of old books.
One of its arms reached out and the chains at its wrists unfurled into the air, snaking once, twice, testing the room like a beast tasting the wind.
It paused, head tilted as if listening to the stone itself, and for a second the faceless carvings seemed ashamed.
Then it slid past the altar without touching it, and the ruin closed around its passing.
I didn't move. Not when the sound of it drained into the tiles, not even when the silence came back too heavy.
I only crept out once my breath stopped shaking, each step placed careful.
At the far wall a panel shifted under my hand, a click, a seam splitting open like it had been waiting.
Past it, a narrow stair forked down. No echoes below. No tracks.
The chamber beneath smelled of rust and old cloth. A dais sat in the middle, and on it waited a box, nothing like the junk above.
Not blackened, not broken. Covered in metal that swallowed light whole.
Across the lid, etched deep, a lotus bloomed, petals cut sharp as blades.
I slowed, lamp lifted higher.
It didn't look like it had been carved or buried here. More like it had been set down after the ruin was already dead, the stone shaping itself around it, unwilling to touch.
For a second I just stared. My chest tightened, but not from fear. "...What the hell are you?"
The seam wasn't a latch. Tiny grooves crossed it like puzzlework, channels made to slide and turn in a pattern I didn't know.
A mechanism. A lock meant for hands patient enough to solve it, or foolish enough to try.
I knelt close, lamp shaking a little in my hand.
Whoever made this thing didn't want casual hands on it. It wasn't just valuable. It was waiting for the right thief.
I set my palm flat against the lotus and felt the faintest hum answer me.
"The one time I find something worth more than piss-stained coin…" I whispered, teeth clenched, "and there's a damn chain-draped freak wandering the halls."