The wind was calm as it drifted through the hidden valley, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and old stone.
Lucas walked along the riverbank, each step leaving a faint mark on the dark, moss-covered ground. The steady flow of water beside him glistened beneath the starlit dome above—a sky that never changed, never moved. No sun. No moon. Just the same haunting constellations.
Ahead, Lyss kept a measured pace, her gaze shifting between the path and the ruins scattered around them. She was focused, alert, but more talkative now than in the early days of their journey. The long trek together had chipped away at some of her reserved nature.
"This place just keeps going," Lucas muttered, brushing a hand through his hair. "Feels like we're walking through someone's dream."
Lyss cast a glance over her shoulder. "It's strange, yeah. But there's order in the structure. Old, but planned. Not random."
Lucas let out a low breath. "You think anyone actually built all this?"
"I think someone lived here," she replied. "And not that long ago."
He raised an eyebrow. "You sound sure."
She didn't answer right away, only nodded toward the horizon. "You can see the walls now."
Lucas followed her line of sight.
In the distance, towering above the landscape like the bones of a sleeping giant, stood the outer wall of the ancient city. Massive, weathered, yet still strong. The stone shimmered faintly under the false stars, its surface covered in ivy and cracks that stretched like veins across its face. Behind it, buildings rose in silhouette, some tall and proud, others hunched and forgotten.
"No people, though," Lucas said quietly. "No fires. No movement."
"Maybe they're hiding. Maybe they left."
"Or maybe they're just good at staying out of sight."
Lyss didn't respond, but the grip on her sword strap tightened slightly.
They walked in silence for a while. The air was cold but not bitter, the kind of chill that sank into your skin but didn't bite. The statues along the path seemed to watch them as they passed—warriors with empty eyes, kings holding weapons of stone. Their expressions were eroded by time, their features barely recognizable.
Lucas picked up a stone and tossed it into the river, watching the ripples fade.
"You know," he said after a moment, "I keep thinking we're about to turn a corner and wake up back in the real world."
Lyss looked over at him. "This is the real world."
He shrugged. "Feels more like a painting."
She gave the faintest hint of a smirk. "Then stop dragging your feet, or you'll be part of it."
He snorted. "Harsh."
The city ahead loomed larger now. The river bent toward its walls like a guide, a silver path leading into the unknown.
They fell into a rhythm.
Wake, walk, train, eat. Sleep, repeat.
The river was their lifeline now—its waters clean and cold, its winding path cutting through the endless ruins like a vein of silver. They followed it carefully, always staying within sight of its shimmering surface, always inching closer to the towering walls of the ancient city.
Each day was the same in structure, but never in feel. The ruins around them shifted—some days revealing shattered bridges half-swallowed by the earth, other days opening into wide courtyards lined with statues and forgotten altars.
Lucas spent much of the time lost in thought. When his legs moved automatically, his fingers toyed with the broken pocket watch tucked into his armor. The cracked glass shimmered under the strange stars above, the hands frozen between hours.
'Still dead, huh,' he thought, thumb brushing over the metal. 'Figures.'
It had fallen during one of his first encounters with Lyss, back when she knocked him on his ass and dragged him halfway across the continent. The dent on its side was small, but enough to kill the fragile gears inside.
"That belonged to someone?" Lyss asked one afternoon, catching him staring at it again.
Lucas blinked. "Yeah. My dad."
She gave a slow nod but didn't pry further.
The silence between them was no longer awkward. It was worn in, comfortable. Like a campfire in a cold room—quiet, but full of meaning.
They ate mostly fish, grilled fresh over small fires they made in sheltered nooks. Lyss had gotten better at carving them up, while Lucas found he was surprisingly decent at handling the cooking. Salt was still a fantasy, but hunger made everything taste better.
Their sparring sessions were short but brutal. Lyss never held back.
"Keep your stance tighter," she barked one morning, her sword flashing as it tapped the side of his ribs.
Lucas winced and stumbled back, raising his scythe. "Right, sure. Let me just magically erase all my bad habits."
"You're improving."
He looked at her. "Really?"
She gave a faint nod. "Slowly."
"Gee. Thanks."
But even with the constant bruises and blunt criticism, he found himself learning. Each clash of their weapons carved new instinct into his body. Each correction burned another mistake from his form. And Lyss, for all her sharp edges, always made sure he walked away in one piece.
They didn't speak of the city much during those days. It loomed ahead like a quiet judge, always in sight, always closer. But neither of them was in a rush to reach it.
Not yet.
The world around them had changed. They weren't wandering aimlessly anymore.
The ground beneath their feet began to change.
What had once been loose soil and patches of moss was now turning to fractured stone, broken and worn by time. Cracked flagstones formed a winding path that followed the river's edge, half-swallowed by the earth and creeping vines. The atmosphere shifted, too—less wild, more… deliberate. Controlled.
Lucas narrowed his eyes as he took a step onto a large, flat slab carved with faint lines. Not runes, not symbols. Just the fading mark of tools, perhaps centuries old.
They were entering something man-made.
Or at least… once made.
Lyss walked a step ahead, her eyes scanning the edges of the ruined path. The buildings had become more frequent. Large, blocky structures of pale stone—homes, maybe, or guardposts—lined the riverside. Their doors hung loose on broken hinges. Their windows were black, hollow. Roofs collapsed in on themselves from weight and neglect.
But they were here.
Structures meant for people.
Lucas ran a hand along the crumbling wall of one building as they passed. His fingers came away gray with dust. He glanced around, noting the sheer scale of the place. The stone was heavy, layered with age, but the design wasn't crude. It was crafted. Intentional.
"This place…" he muttered.
Lyss didn't stop walking. "It used to be alive."
He didn't respond, but the weight of her words settled into his chest.
There were no signs of battle. No blood. No corpses. Just… silence.
That was the strangest part.
It wasn't a ruin. It was an echo.
And the deeper they walked, the louder the silence became.
The further they advanced, the more signs of a once-thriving civilization emerged—though not in the way Lucas expected.
The buildings grew taller, more refined. Decorative arches spanned the streets. Crumbling balconies leaned out over narrow alleys, and here and there, the remains of fountains stood dry and silent. The stone beneath their boots had once been polished, though time had worn it down to rough edges and scattered debris.
But it was the statues that caught Lucas's eye.
Dozens of them.
They lined the edges of plazas, stood at the entrance to buildings, or rested within the remains of gardens now overrun by weeds. Some were armored men and women, proud and regal, holding swords or staffs in their hands. Others were of children, frozen in moments of joy or curiosity.
All of them… human.
He stepped closer to one—an elderly man in long robes, his hands clasped behind his back, gaze cast upward as if he were watching the stars.
"They were human," Lucas muttered, brushing a layer of dust from the statue's base. "This whole place… was theirs."
Lucas tilted his head, eyes narrowing. The statue's features were worn, but not broken. Whoever had made this had taken their time. It wasn't a battlefield. It was a graveyard of memory.
'How many places like this are still hidden out there?'
The statues continued to appear as they walked—watching silently from their stone perches, frozen in time.
Guardians of a forgotten corner of The Crucible.
Lucas crouched atop the stone base of a large statue, one foot braced against the weathered leg of a long-forgotten figure. His hands gripped the edges for support as he scanned the city's skyline.
"There it is," he muttered.
Lyss stood a few meters behind him, arms crossed and eyes narrowed as she followed his gaze. Between the towers and decayed buildings, a faint golden glow pulsed behind the outline of a distant structure. Not the same one as before.
"It moved," Lucas said, more to himself than her. "That's the same light we saw when we stepped off the platform. I'm sure of it. But now it's coming from somewhere else."
Lyss didn't respond immediately. Her expression remained unreadable, but there was a subtle tension in her posture now.
"Think someone's moving it?" she asked.
Lucas dropped back down beside her, his boots landing softly against the dusty stone. "I don't know. But it doesn't feel… natural."
The light pulsed again. Brief. Subtle. Then gone.
Neither of them said anything for a while.
Then Lyss turned away. "We'll check it out eventually. But not today."
Lucas agreed with a quiet nod. His fingers brushed the watch in his coat pocket again, and this time he didn't take it out.
Somehow, the broken little thing felt heavier than ever.
They found shelter just outside the ancient city walls, near the edge of the ruins where the river curved into a small stone basin. A half-collapsed outpost provided them with a bit of cover from the wind, though it did little to ease the creeping chill that came with nightfall.
Lucas sat near the fire they'd built, absently flipping the broken pocket watch open and closed. The flames danced in his black eyes as he stared into the embers.
Lyss leaned against the stone wall a few feet away, arms crossed, her expression calm but distant. The tension from earlier had mostly faded, though she still glanced toward the towering city more often than not.
"We'll take turns sleeping," she said eventually. "Two-hour shifts. I'll go first."
Lucas didn't argue.
He pulled his coat tighter and nodded. "Fine."
It wasn't worth discussing. Not here. Not now.
The wind carried the faint scent of old stone and wet moss. The stars above the false sky shimmered with cold light, and beyond the crumbling ruins, the shadow of the great castle loomed, still and silent.
Lucas stretched his legs and lay back against a patch of dry ground, staring up at the stars with a tired sigh.
'Almost there… whatever the hell there is.'
He didn't know what they'd find inside the city—or what waited near that strange, pulsing light.
But for now, he closed his eyes, letting the fire's warmth push back the cold creeping into his bones.
Tomorrow, they'd move.
Tonight, they'd survive.