Team: Zoltan, Sanae, Asami.
Location: Southern Edge of Verdenholt Ruins.
Mission Time: 9:44 AM — Clouded, Windy.
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They touched down in silence, boots crunching against a frostbitten patch of moss. The Southern side of Verdenholt looked quieter than the rest—no visible movement, no distant sounds. Just the sigh of the wind rolling across skeletal trees, their blackened bark twisted like gnarled fingers toward the gray sky.
The trio stood just beyond a crumbling perimeter wall, moss and rune-moss long faded. A watchtower loomed nearby, its upper half broken off like someone had snapped it in half. The air smelled faintly of soot, like something had burned here—but the ground was too cold for fire.
Zoltan exhaled slowly, mist escaping his lips. "Cozy little corner of hell, isn't it?" he muttered, red eyes scanning the treeline. His voice was low, sardonic—but not without edge. He tugged his coat tighter around him, white hair catching the cold breeze like stray threads of moonlight.
"Could've at least warmed up the place," Asami said flatly, kicking a chunk of loose stone. She was all sharp edges this morning—high collar, minimal words, eyes flicking left to right like she was waiting for the ruins to breathe. "Feels like something's watching."
Sanae knelt beside a long-dead vine crawling over the wall, her fingers brushing against faint etchings beneath. "This place is older than it looks... The erosion's too natural. It wasn't destroyed by battle—it just... decayed."
Zoltan tilted his head. "Decayed... or rotted?"
Sanae didn't answer. She stood, brushing her skirt free of frost.
They moved in silence for a while, sweeping the perimeter. Every so often, Sanae would pause and sketch a mark into her small logbook—a habit she'd picked up to help track magical irregularities. Asami kept near her, eyes narrowed at every faint glimmer of movement. Zoltan lingered further back, trailing his fingers along old stone, lost in some private thought.
Eventually, Asami spoke. "Nothing's showing on my scanner. No irregularities, no corrupted mana signatures... not even the usual ley pulse."
"That's not normal," Sanae muttered, brow furrowed. "There should be something. Even the air here feels..." She paused. "Muted. Like something's dampening it."
"Or suppressing it," Zoltan said, gaze distant. "You feel that too, huh?"
Sanae nodded. "It's like being underwater, magically speaking. Nothing's flowing. Not even ambient ether."
A faint whistle of wind passed between them, like something exhaling through broken teeth.
Zoltan stepped forward, kicking a small chunk of stone near the base of the tower. It bounced once—and then stopped mid-air, hovering.
"...Okay." He stepped back. "That's new."
The stone floated for another breath, then dropped like a puppet whose strings were cut.
Sanae immediately pulled out her mana reader, twisting the dial. The needle spun, then slammed into the red zone—just for a blink—before returning to neutral.
"I caught that," she said. "It spiked, just for a second. Right where the stone dropped."
Asami's hand was already on her sword. "Do we pull back?"
Zoltan's mouth curled into a lazy grin. "Why? Scared?"
She rolled her eyes. "No. I just don't like playing with cursed gravity."
"I'm logging the coordinates," Sanae said, drawing a large circle in her book. "We need to let the others know something's here, even if it's dormant."
Just then, a low creaking groan echoed from within the ruins—like a door swinging open on rusted hinges. All three froze.
"...That wasn't the wind," Zoltan muttered.
Sanae was already activating her communicator crystal. "Team South to Class Link—possible movement near the old forgehouse on the Southern side. Coordinates incoming."
Asami narrowed her eyes. "Want me to scout ahead?"
Zoltan gave a slight nod. "Let's keep eyes on it. But we don't engage unless it attacks first."
They moved toward the noise, past the toppled remains of what may have once been a smithy. The forge itself was collapsed, its chimney split clean down the middle like lightning had struck it.
But beyond that—deep within a slanted, half-buried barracks building—a faint blue glow flickered. Not flame. Not mana.
Something else.
Zoltan stopped them with a raised hand. "Okay," he said, eyes narrowing. "I'm officially creeped out."
Sanae gave a strained smile. "Took you long enough."
Asami drew her blade halfway from its sheath. The steel didn't ring. It simply whispered.
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