The spiral staircase wound downward, deeper than either of them had expected. The stone walls enclosed them in silence, the only sound the steady rhythm of their footsteps against ancient stone. The further they descended, the heavier the air became—not with heat, but with something else. Something old.
Irelia exhaled slowly, feeling the shift in the atmosphere. There was no more molten rock, no unbearable fire pressing down on them, yet the weight of the ruins settled thick in her chest. This was different.
It wasn't just power lingering here.
It was memory.
They weren't just walking through a ruin.
They were walking through a grave.
At the bottom of the stairs, the passageway unfurled before them—a long tunnel carved into the very heart of the mountain. Warmth radiated from the walls, not oppressive like the Ifrit's chamber, but steady, rhythmic. A heartbeat in the stone.
Irelia exhaled, rolling the stiffness from her shoulders. "Feels like we're walking inside something alive."
Nariel ran her uninjured hand over the tunnel's surface, feeling the faint hum beneath her fingertips. "This place isn't dead. Not completely."
Their attention was drawn to the walls, where intricate murals stretched across the length of the tunnel, illuminated by faint lines of molten gold running through the carvings.
Creatures of flame filled the space—majestic phoenixes mid-flight, hellhounds prowling with molten eyes, Ifrits wreathed in smoke. But they weren't alone.
Further along the mural, other beings appeared—some monstrous, some humanoid, all born from fire.
Nariel frowned, trailing her fingers over one of the depictions. "These aren't just legends."
Irelia studied the mural beside her, eyes narrowing. "They were real."
The realization settled between them. These creatures weren't merely myths or stories passed down through the ages. They were alive once. Brought into existence by something greater.
By Pyraxis.
The deeper they walked, the more the heat around them pulsed—not the suffocating kind that sought to consume, but a steady warmth, a presence woven into the very foundation of this place.
The air thrummed with energy, with something old, something lingering.
Irelia inhaled slowly, fingers resting against the hilt of her short sword.
This place had been sealed for millennia.
So why did it feel like something was still watching?
At the end of the tunnel, the passage widened into an antechamber bathed in dim, flickering light. The walls curved inward, drawing their eyes to the towering structure before them—a massive gate of blackened stone, inlaid with veins of molten gold that pulsed faintly, as though the metal itself was still alive with fire's touch.
The gate was unlike anything they had seen before. Intricately carved into the surface was the image of a colossal figure, wreathed in flame, his outstretched hands holding the fire-born creatures they had seen on the murals.
Phoenixes soared above him, their wings spread wide in eternal flight. Ifrits coiled around his arms, flames spilling from their bodies. Hellhounds prowled at his feet, their molten eyes unblinking. And beyond them, other beings—some humanoid, some monstrous—knelt in reverence.
Pyraxis.
Irelia swallowed, stepping closer. The sheer weight of the gate's presence pressed against her, not in hostility, but in something older, deeper—an expectation.
Nariel, standing beside her, reached out and ran her gloved fingers over the ancient runes etched into the stone. They glowed faintly as she traced their shape, her voice quiet as she read the inscription aloud:
"Pyraxis, Titan of Fire—our eternal guardian and savior, may his flame never fade in the embrace of the inferno."
The words settled between them, heavy with meaning.
Nariel glanced at Irelia, waiting for a response, but Irelia was frozen.
She stared at the image of Pyraxis, at the way his hands were outstretched—was it in creation or destruction? Or both?
Something about the gate tugged at the back of her mind, an echo of familiarity she couldn't place.
She had seen this before.
Not here, not in these ruins, but somewhere in her mind, in the scattered remnants of visions she barely understood.
A spark flickered in her chest, a pull toward something she wasn't sure she wanted to understand.
"Irelia?"
Nariel's voice grounded her. Irelia blinked, exhaling sharply before rolling her shoulders back. "I'm fine."
Nariel gave her a look that said she didn't believe her but didn't press.
There were no visible traps, no mechanical locks—only the heavy stone doors, ancient and unmoving.
Yet they both felt it.
This gate wasn't meant to be opened by just anyone.
With a deep breath, Irelia stepped forward.
She placed both hands against the surface of the gate.
And pushed.
The doors rumbled, the ancient mechanisms groaning as unseen forces responded to her touch. The molten gold flared to life, a pulse of energy surging through the stone like embers catching flame.
Slowly, the gates began to open, revealing the dark sanctum beyond.
A final threshold.
The true heart of the ruins.
As the heavy doors groaned open, Irelia and Nariel stepped into a vast, circular chamber, untouched by time. The moment their feet crossed the threshold, the rune-etched braziers lining the domed ceiling flared to life, casting golden light that bathed the room in a soft, ethereal glow. The air was thick with an ancient presence, a silent reverence woven into every stone, every engraving.
At the center of the chamber, a towering statue of Pyraxis stood in solemn grandeur. Crafted from obsidian and gold, it captured the Titan of Fire's majestic form—his massive form wreathed in flame, one hand extended upward, palm open, as if offering something to the heavens.
The room bore no signs of traps or disturbance. It was not a battleground, nor a prison. It was a shrine.
A place of remembrance.
The chamber was silent, save for the soft flickering of the rune-lit braziers. Murals stretched along the circular walls, wrapping around them like a history forgotten by time. The engravings were ancient, yet pristine—as if untouched by decay, as if waiting to be seen.
Ignoring Nariel's gaze Irelia stepped forward first, her fingers grazing the surface of the first panel. The stone beneath her fingertips was cool despite the lingering warmth of the chamber. Each line, each carved detail, had been crafted with a precision that felt reverent.
Nariel joined her, standing at her side, her eyes sharp as she studied the images. "These murals aren't just stories," she murmured. "They're records."
"Of what?" Irelia asked, though she already knew the answer.
Nariel exhaled, gaze flickering across the centuries-old carvings. "The truth."
The first mural depicted a colossal, celestial figure, arms outstretched, weaving something vast and intricate. He was surrounded by swirls of light and energy, the very fabric of creation.
Itharion, God of Creation.
Beneath him, the earth and the heavens took form—mountains rising from the depths, rivers carving through valleys, stars igniting in the sky. From his will, two kinds of guardians were born: the Gods, meant to rule over the heavens, and the Titans, meant to shape and protect the world below.
Irelia tilted her head, tracing the depiction of the Titans. "They weren't just mindless forces. They had a purpose."
Nariel nodded, her arms crossed. "But if that's true, then what changed?"
The answer was waiting in the next panel.
The second mural was different. It lacked the harmony of the first. The Titans, once united in their duty, were now divided. Some still stood as protectors, their colossal forms cradling mountains, guiding rivers, shielding mortals from storms. But others…
Others turned their backs on their purpose.
Irelia's gaze narrowed as she examined the engravings—Titans with hardened expressions, looking down at the mortal races not with kindness, but with contempt.
"They grew tired," Nariel murmured. "Of protecting. Of serving."
Irelia scoffed. "They wanted more."
Her eyes landed on a group of Titans standing apart from the others, their postures rigid, their hands raised not in creation, but in command. They sought dominion, not guardianship. And so, the first lines of war were drawn.
Here, the engraving grew violent.
The Titans who chose to protect the world clashed against those who sought to claim it. The land shattered beneath their battles. Mountains crumbled, entire seas evaporated, and great cities were swallowed by the earth.
The chaos spread unchecked, and as the war dragged on, the world itself began to collapse.
Then, at the very center of the panel, a single Titan stood apart. Unlike the others, he was kneeling, his massive hands pressed into the earth as though holding something together. His face was obscured by cracks in the stone, but the message was clear—
Sutir, the Titan of Bridges.
A Titan who did not fight. A Titan who sacrificed himself to stop the world from being torn asunder.
Nariel let out a slow breath, her voice quiet. "He gave his life."
Irelia nodded, swallowing thickly. The engraving showed how his body became the land bridge that now connected the continents of Thalrion and Kaerith. A final act to hold the broken world together.
"But even that wasn't enough," Irelia murmured.
Nariel's gaze moved to the next mural, her shoulders tensing. "No. It wasn't."
The fourth mural was unlike the others.
It was filled with fire.
Not just destruction, not just battle—something more.
At the heart of it stood Pyraxis. His form, more massive than any of the other Titans, was wreathed in flame. But he was not fighting. He was standing still.
And the world around him was dying.
Nariel's eyes widened slightly. "He didn't fight either."
Irelia's throat felt dry as she studied the Titan's expression. Unlike the others, his features were not twisted in rage or sorrow. There was acceptance.
The world was on the brink, destruction looming on all sides. But Pyraxis did not resist it.
He became something else.
"He didn't just sacrifice himself," Irelia whispered. "He… divided himself."
Nariel inhaled sharply, stepping closer as she took in the final carving of this panel. Pyraxis, his enormous form splintering, breaking apart into radiant, phoenix-like flames.
The final panel was smaller than the others. More delicate.
Pyraxis was gone. In his place, the world stood whole once more.
Scattered across the land, embedded in temples, hidden in sacred places—small, luminous orbs.
Irelia couldn't help but compare them to the phoenix eggs she is seen in several paintings in her childhood home.
She reached out and touched the carving gently. "They weren't just relics."
Nariel nodded, her voice quiet. "They were anchors."
"Anchors to keep the world stable." Irelia traced the flames swirling around the Eggs. "To prevent it from falling apart again."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Nariel exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "And the cult… they're collecting them."
Irelia's fingers curled into a fist. "They're tampering with something they don't understand."
Nariel's eyes darkened. "Or worse—they do understand."
Irelia hated the thought.
Because if the Ashen Veil did know what these Eggs were—if they knew Pyraxis had given everything to keep the world from shattering—
Then their goal wasn't just power.
It was undoing his sacrifice.
And the world would burn for it.