Chapter 35
The threshold of the gateway looms before us, an ominous archway that whispers of secrets and shadows.
I take a deep breath and step forward, the others close on my heels as we begin our descent into the ruin’s gaping maw.
The air is cool and still, thick with the mustiness of undisturbed centuries.
Dust particles dance in the beam of my flashlight, and my heart thrums with a mix of thrill and trepidation.
How many fucking places like this are there littered around my realm? It’s unfathomable.
“Watch your step,” Dezi murmurs from behind me, his voice serious. “This place doesn’t look friendly to the unwary.”
Fiadh’s voice floats up, tinged with a forced lightness that doesn’t quite mask her unease. “Just as long as there are no spiders...” she mutters, shuddering.
Khol smirks, the ghost of a chuckle escaping him as he teases, “Come now, Sassy, a few webs add character to the place, don’t you think?”
Her muttered reply is lost as Dezi rolls his eyes at their banter and gestures to Tiernan. “Lights,” he commands succinctly.
Tiernan nods, his movements efficient as he passes out small flashlights to each of us. In moments, beams of artificial daylight pierce the oppressive darkness, revealing the craggy contours of the walls and the uncertain path ahead.
“I’ll take the ceiling,” I murmur to myself, lifting my gaze and my flashlight. I scan the overhead expanse for anything out of place—loose stones, hidden compartments, signs of life both welcome and otherwise.
“Floor is mine,” the leopard says firmly, sweeping his light across the ground, his eyes sharp for any telltale signs of traps or pitfalls.
“Right wall for me,” Khol chimes in, his attention fixed on the stone surface to our side, his smirk long gone, replaced by concentration.
“Then I will monitor the left side,” finishes Dezi, his own light joining mine in illuminating the ancient hallways.
“I got the path ahead then,” our girl adds quietly, the steady hand holding her flashlight betraying none of the tension I know she must be feeling.
As we move deeper into the ruin, the air changes.
It’s as if the very atmosphere is imbued with a weight of power, a silent strength that resonates through the stone and into my bones.
My skin prickles with the sensation, and I can’t shake the feeling that the ruin itself is aware of us, its newest visitors.
The magic here is untamed and ancient—powerful enough to keep anyone who isn’t seeking this place from finding it.
“This feels like walking through my history,” Dezi muses, his voice echoing slightly against the stone. “Catacombs like this were once a haven for my kind, as you all know.”
“Don’t forget tombs,” Tiernan adds, his voice low as he grins at us briefly. “Your lot loves hanging out with the recently and not-so-recently deceased.”
“He’s not Beetlejuice,” Fi mutters under her breath. “At least his people don’t have a form where it’s acceptable to lick your own butthole.”
“On that lovely note,” I snort, “We need to focus—and no, I can’t believe I’m saying that out loud.”
Tiernan sputters in response to us both, and Khol has to cover his mouth to keep from howling into the cavern.
No wonder our girl is always humming about clowns to the left and right.
Silence descends as we press on, a band of interlocked fates guided by the thin beams of our flashlights. Each step takes us further from the world we know and deeper into the unknown, where every shadow could hold a secret and every whisper of wind might speak of ancient, powerful things.
It only takes a few more minutes before Khol sees a doorway on his side.
As we approach, the beam of my flashlight dances over a sea of pottery, each piece etched with symbols that seem at odds with the next.
A Greek amphora shares shelf space with an Egyptian Canopic jar, and a Norse drinking horn perches beside a Mesoamerican ceremonial bowl.
It’s a jigsaw of pantheons, displaced in time and space.
None of this belongs together, much less in Faerie.
“Since when did Faerie turn into a museum for the divine?” Dezi says, his voice laced with confusion. He’s echoing my surprise and I can’t help but return his shock expression with one of my own.
“One full of oddly chosen items at that,” I reply, examining a Celtic torc that seems to thrum with latent energy.
“Maybe some crusty old Fae liked to collect souvenirs?” Fiadh suggests, but her tone is uneasy, not quite joking. “Your people are a bit like crows with your bargains and shiny distractions.”
I give her a non-plussed frown, shaking my head. “Not like this. It’s weird, even to me.”
We shuffle onward, our shoes scuffing the stone as we enter a chamber that feels more like an armory. Swords and shields from different ages line the walls: bronze spears beside Katana blades, medieval flails near Ottoman bows. Tiernan lifts a set of fang and claw guards, his brow furrowed.
“Never thought I’d find shifter gear in a place like this,” he mutters, turning the guards over in his hands. The metal glints ominously under the flashlight’s glare.
“Nor I,” I say, feeling the weight of history pressing in on us from all sides. “Shifters trust my people even less than the rest of the supes. You’re all too blunt and direct to deal with us.”
Tier chuckles. “Or you’re too fucking tricksy and it bores us to death playing word games over shit like whose round it is.”
Fiadh gives us a stern look and Dezi joins her, quieting our banter as we move on again.
Our path leads us to yet another room, this one sparkling with riches that should be locked in vaults or displayed in galleries, not gathering dust in forgotten Faerie ruins.
Dezi’s eyes catch the glint of jewels set in an amulet, and he steps forward, muttering about this being a lost vampiric artifact.
“Dezi, don’t,” Fiadh warns sharply, grabbing his arm. “Remember Aladdin? Cave of Wonders?”
“Last I checked, animated films aren’t exactly doctrine,” Dezi retorts with a wry twist of his lips. But he halts, eyeing the treasure with newfound caution.
“Want to test that theory?” Fiadh asks, arching an eyebrow. “I’m sure being entombed forever would be super cool.” Dezi shrugs, conceding her point and she grins, skipping ahead a little.
The antechamber we enter next is expansive, its ceiling lost to shadows above. My light reveals intricate carvings and vibrant paintings that depict races I’ve never seen referenced in any book or scroll. The artwork tells stories, though of what, I cannot guess.
This place is such a jumble of various pantheons that I can’t grasp who or what built it.
“Great,” Khol groans, eyeing the checkered floor around the altar. “I smell puzzles.”
“Most likely,” Fiadh agrees, stepping closer to examine the murals, her hand hovering just above the painted scenes as if feeling their essence.
“Careful now,” I warn. “No telling what kind of tricks this place has up its sleeve, especially if you’re right and some greedy ass Fae was hoarding shit here.”
“Duh,” she replies without looking back. Her confidence is reassuring, even as it nudges me to be extra vigilant.
The altar stands silent, surrounded by vases that feel deliberately placed. I glance at Fiadh, who nods. We both understand—this is a game of intellect and consequence.
“Look for clues, but take it slowly,” I suggest, and we disperse, each of us scouring the walls, hunting for the key that will unlock the secrets of this ancient, enigmatic chamber.
Khol’s footsteps echo softly as he circles the perimeter, his eyes scanning every inch of stone.
Tiernan is a shadow flitting between the murals, tracing the outlines of figures and symbols with a careful finger.
Fiadh stands still in the center, her eyes closed, lips moving silently as she calls on her magic.
I can almost see the threads of her power weaving through the air, delicate and probing.
But nothing is happening, and I have no idea why.
“Anything?” Khol’s voice cuts through the silence, tense but hopeful.
Fiadh shushes him without opening her eyes. A faint glow emanates from her hands, casting dancing lights over the walls. It’s subtle, but it’s there—the shimmer of hidden enchantments responding to her call.
I move closer to the altar, studying the vases.
They’re plain compared to the rest of the room’s grandeur, but that in itself feels like a clue.
Elemental symbols are etched into their surfaces—fire, water, earth, air—each corresponding to a different direction.
My gaze shifts to the paintings, where these elements are depicted in harmony and discord, shaping the world of the unknown races.
“Fiadh,” I say softly, “the vases have elemental markings.”
Her eyes flutter open, the glow fading as she realizes the significance of my words. “Align them,” she says, “with the cardinal points, perhaps?”
“Could be,” I muse. The idea feels right, like a piece clicking into place. However, in this game, every move must be measured, and every decision weighed. We’re not dealing with locks and keys; we’re treading on the whims of magic far older than any of us can fathom.
Khol joins us, peering at the vases with newfound interest. “Elemental powers... that fits with the theme of this whole place,” he remarks, his usual skepticism edged with a note of excitement.
“Let’s try it,” Tiernan suggests, glancing over from his inspection of the murals. “Carefully. We don’t want to trigger the wrong kind of reaction.”
“Agreed.” Fiadh nods and steps forward, her confidence a beacon in the shadowed room. We each take a vase, getting ready to place them wherever we need to.
Tiernan’s voice cuts through the silence, “There’s a rhythm to these carvings, like dance steps almost. I can feel it in my heartbeat—which is weird a shit” He traces his fingers along the grooves chiseled into the stone.
Fiadh joins him, her slender hand following his, her brow furrowed in concentration.
“See here?” She points to a series of symbols that spiral outwards. “This could be a sequence we need to follow—a literal path of elements.”
“Elemental ballet,” Khol chuckles softly, though his eyes are serious as they scan the room. He chose a vase with an air symbol etched into it, the lines swirling like a gentle tornado. Carefully, he places it on a tile that matches the carving Tiernan highlighted.
Nothing stirs, no traps spring—silence reigns.
“Good,” Dezi says from behind us, his voice hushed but clear. “Now, fire should follow air, according to the old myths.”
I pick up the last vase, feeling the cool ceramic against my palms. Earth—the foundation of all. With a measured step, I lower the vase onto its designated tile. There’s a beat of silence, then the faintest click echoes around us, like the tumblers of a lock falling into place.
The floor trembles beneath our feet, dust motes dancing in the beams of our flashlights. With a grind of stone against stone, the checkered tiles shift, creating a mosaic in motion. We step back instinctively, our breaths held tight in our chests as the ancient gears of the ruin come to life.
“Watch your step,” Tiernan murmurs, his gaze fixed on the emerging pattern below us.
As if by magic—or perhaps mechanics lost to time—a staircase reveals itself, descending into the gaping maw of darkness. The stairway beckons, each step an invitation to secrets long buried.
That’s not at all ominous.
“Looks like we’re going further down the rabbit hole,” Khol says, his smirk barely visible in the dim light.
“Or into the dragon’s den,” Fiadh adds, her voice tinged with a mix of excitement and dread.
“The dragon went with Fluffy, lass. We’re heading into a snake den, given present company,” I say, stepping forward, “but we can’t turn back now.”
“Get fucked, Sparklepants,” Khol grumbles, but he nods and turns to Dezi, who also agrees.
Looks like we’re doing this.
One by one, we make the descent, the click of our boots echoing off the walls.
The chill of the underground wraps around us, a tangible reminder of the mysteries that await.
Our flashlights cut through the darkness, revealing the worn edges of each step, the remnants of an age when these stones were first carved.
“Keep your eyes peeled,” Dezi says, his voice steady despite the eerie atmosphere. “We don’t know what’s lurking down here.”
I nod, my senses heightened by discomfort.
The air is thick with the power of this place, a silent testament to its history.
Each step takes us deeper into the unknown, yet there’s a determination in our group that refuses to be quenched.
When we reach the bottom, the ground levels out into a corridor that stretches into the abyss.
The weight of the earth above us is immense, yet the path forward is clear.
A hush falls over us as we fan out into the corridor, each step deliberate, our breaths shallow. The walls, lined with bas-reliefs of forgotten lore, seem to whisper secrets just beyond our understanding.
Fiadh’s fingers skim over the stone, her brow furrowed in concentration, sensing for magic that might lurk within.
Khol’s keen eyes trace patterns in the dust, searching for the hidden dangers we expect.
Dezi’s methodical approach is the heartbeat of our operations, and Tiernan’s steady distribution of tools and torches keeps us anchored in reality.
I contemplate the artifacts above, the puzzles we’ve solved, the sheer scope of cultures and eras they represent.
It’s a mosaic of history, one that tells a story far greater than any of us alone.
How does it all connect? What thread binds the thieves’ guild’s sly maneuvers, the arcane politics of Faerie’s councils, and Briarvale’s guarded secrets?
And most of all, how does the girl’s enigmatic lineage fit into this sprawling enigma?
I doubt we’re going to find any of that out today, but it’s plaguing me.
A soft clinking sound pulls me back from my musings. Dezi holds up a fragment of pottery, his expression pensive. “Every piece has its place in the puzzle,” he murmurs, almost to himself. His words echo my own thoughts, and I nod, feeling the weight of our shared purpose.
“Keep moving,” I suggest, gesturing to the corridor’s end, where the darkness seems less absolute. There’s a subtle shift in the air, a sense of anticipation that tingles across my skin. “We didn’t come this far to let some bullshit ruins best us.”
Fiadh grins as she bumps my shoulder with hers. “Spoken like a real Prince, Revvie. You might still be worthy of that crown.”
She has no idea how much I hope she’s right.