The scent of damp earth and ancient magic weighed heavy in the air. At the base of Thayrion's cottage, concealed beneath vines and forgotten stone, the long-dead dungeon pulsed with new life. Miasma churned like breath from the underworld, curling around their feet—thick, noxious, yet tamed under the protection of their elven barrier spells.
For generations, this cave was nothing but a hollow, a dead end. But tonight, the stone gave way to a passage once sealed by time itself.
Kaylean stood beside Thayrion, eyes wide. "This... This wasn’t here before."
Thayrion nodded slowly, his breath calm despite the dread coiling in his stomach. "The legends... they never were just stories."
But even under protection, the miasma gnawed at their clarity. Lightheadedness crept in. Visions. Whispers.
"We should open the door," Thayrion said, voice steady. "But I must return to gather my gear. My armor, my runes—everything essential."
Kaylean, ever loyal, stepped forward. "Then let me come with you. My blades are still in your cabin. The others will guard the gate."
The elven brethren nodded as one, forming a protective circle around the gate.
Back at the wooden cabin, warm firelight flickered across dust-laced memories. Thayrion pulled open a chest and took out a black-edged bow. His fingers trembled—not from fear, but reverence.
"I remember this," Kaylean murmured. "My father forged it for you... bled a drop of your blood into the bowstring. Said it would never miss its mark."
Thayrion grinned. "And he forged your dual blades so sharp, you cut shadows when you spar."
They shared a look—a bond sharpened by battles long past.
With swift movements, Thayrion donned the enchanted gauntlets, his boots, and his breastplate—silver-wrought mithril etched with runes only the old bloodlines remembered. He packed elvish bread, light runes, and the wind-element rune arrows.
Kaylean slid his blades into twin sheaths with a practiced ease.
"We ready, brother?" Kaylean asked.
Thayrion’s eyes gleamed. "Always. I was born to guard this village."
They clasped forearms in brotherhood.
Back at the gate, one elf approached the stone archway. His voice was hesitant, but bold. "The inscription... it speaks of bloodline. Of truth... and sacrifice."
Kaylean gave him a nod. "Speak freely."
"I believe it wants Thayrion’s blood. He is the last of the Vey’lan line. The guardian."
Without hesitation, Thayrion drew a dwarven-crafted blade, cut his fingertip, and pressed it to the runes.
The stone drank deep.
A low hum echoed from the gate. Glowing sigils bloomed like fireflies in moonlight. The stone split and opened slowly—centuries of silence breaking with a roar of wind.
A gust swept through the clearing. Light rune stones flickered to life, placed into sockets on gloves and armor.
They stepped into the dark.
The deeper they went, the heavier the silence. Thayrion’s heart pounded unnaturally fast. Sweat clung to his skin.
"You alright?" Kaylean asked.
"I just need a moment... it's like my blood remembers this place."
They continued, torches flickering against the carved walls. Suddenly—Thayrion halted.
"We split," he said. "Fifteen stay here. Guard the entrance. If something happens... protect Elharya."
Kaylean turned to the others. "Do you trust him?"
In unison, the elven warriors responded, "With our lives."
Half remained. The rest moved forward.
In a chamber cloaked in dust, broken weapons and skeletons littered the floor. An old wooden barricade blocked the next passage.
As they hacked it down, a growl echoed.
The torches dimmed.
"Positions!" Kaylean shouted.
From the dark, red eyes shimmered.
Then they came—dozens, maybe hundreds. Goblins. Their screeches like rusted blades on bone.
"Snipers, up! Use light runes!" Kaylean ordered.
Arrows sang. Blades flashed.
Thayrion donned his armor fully—every strike he landed sent goblins flying. One punch crushed ribs. Another caved in a skull.
He moved like a berserker bear, untamed. Kaylean, by contrast, danced through the chaos—his dual blades spinning in artful arcs, cutting through the horde with princely grace.
Rune-infused arrows tore through the dark. But the cost was steep. Mana drained. Breathing grew labored.
Still, none faltered.
Blood splattered stone. Bones cracked. Screams faded.
Silence returned.
Thayrion laughed, breathless. "Reminds you of Brezer Hill?"
Kaylean smiled. "Cave full of hobgoblins. You almost lost your ear."
They embraced, warriors who had survived death’s kiss more than once.
They regrouped, kneeling. Breathing. Alert.
Thayrion passed a flask of water from Elharya’s spring. It tasted of home.
They drank.
Then moved forward.
Unseen above them, hidden in shadow, a cloaked figure watched. Through arcane lenses—eyes of the altar.
"So... the guardian lives. Elharya's flame still flickers. Not for long."
Back at the gate, two elves departed—silent runners. They would reach the Elven Kingdom within the night, and bring word of what had awakened beneath Elharya.
A storm was coming. And they had only just opened the first door.
To be continued...
New chapter out now on 'Halal Bite & Soul' –
One bite, one du’a, one soul at a time.
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