Arc 2 Chapter 4: Secrets of the Ruins

The pyramid loomed before them, its jagged silhouette framed by the morning light. Once a monument to an ancient civilization’s might, it now stood fractured—its apex broken, its stonework cracked and blackened by the explosion. Chunks of debris littered the ground, and the air carried the faint, acrid tang of charred earth. What had once been the last intact staircase was now nothing more than rubble.

An eerie stillness blanketed the area, broken only by the low hum of magic radiating from the altar at the pyramid’s peak. The sound seemed to vibrate through the air, faint but insistent, like the distant call of something ancient awakening.

Irelia halted at the base of the structure, her emerald eyes narrowing as she took in the climb ahead. She adjusted the straps of her gear, her fingers instinctively brushing over the hilt of her short sword. Her thoughts drifted to her daggers—the ones that had barely lasted a single day.

She could almost hear Thalric’s gruff voice in her head, thick with exasperation: Another set of daggers, gone? Do you think I forge these things just for you to turn them into rubble?

A sigh escaped her lips. She was already dreading the inevitable conversation when they returned to Ignisia. Thalric was an unmatched craftsman, but his patience with her destructive tendencies was wearing thin.

She gripped the hilt tighter, resolving to make this short sword last—at least longer than her daggers.

Nariel approached from behind, her sharp gaze sweeping over Irelia. She noticed the slight stiffness in her movements, the way she winced when shifting her weight—subtle, but telling. Her lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, she considered saying something, but the words never left her mouth.

The silence between them stretched as they stood at the base of the ruins, the towering pyramid looming above. Finally, Nariel broke it, her tone even but firm. “Are you sure you can do this?”

Irelia shot her a sideways glance, the corner of her mouth twitching into a smirk. “No,” she admitted easily. “But since when has that ever stopped me?”

Nariel exhaled sharply, the sound somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. She crossed her arms, her gaze flickering toward the pyramid’s fractured facade. “Reckless as ever.”

“Efficient as ever,” Irelia corrected, the smirk lingering as she turned back to the climb.

Nariel’s piercing blue eyes softened just slightly, though her voice still carried its usual sharp edge. “Just don’t let your efficiency get us killed.”

A fleeting flicker of admiration crossed Nariel’s face before she turned away, scanning the surrounding area for signs of movement. The silence was unnerving, but it was the kind of quiet that carried weight—an unspoken warning that danger wasn’t far.

Irelia adjusted her cloak, the motion tugging at her still-healing wounds. She masked another grimace, muttering under her breath, “No promises.”

Nariel huffed but said nothing.

With that, they began their ascent.

The climb up the crumbling pyramid proved to be as treacherous as it looked. The fractured stone underfoot shifted with each step, and the faint hum of magical energy from above seemed to intensify as they ascended. Irelia gritted her teeth, her fingers gripping the rough edge of a jagged stone for balance.

She adjusted her hand crossbow, slung awkwardly over her shoulder, and glanced down at the short sword strapped to her side. The weight felt unnatural—foreign. She missed the balance and familiarity of her daggers, even if their lifespan under her care had been pathetically short. Another set, destroyed in record time, she thought, half-annoyed, half-amused.

Behind her, Nariel moved with practiced ease, her silver armor catching the sunlight as she scanned the area for signs of movement. Her every step was deliberate, her balance flawless, as though she were navigating a royal ballroom instead of a ruined deathtrap. It grated on Irelia’s nerves, though she couldn’t deny the sense of security Nariel’s presence brought.

Halfway up, Irelia halted, pressing a hand against the weathered stone for support. Her breath came in uneven bursts, each inhale a sharp reminder of her battered body and drained mana reserves. The climb was demanding more from her than she cared to admit, but she clenched her jaw, refusing to let it show.

“You’re slowing down,” Nariel observed, her tone matter-of-fact as she stepped closer.

“I noticed,” Irelia shot back, her voice tinged with irritation. She pushed off the stone, straightening with a grimace. “I’m fine.”

Nariel’s sharp blue eyes studied her for a moment before she extended a hand. “Let me help.”

Irelia stared at the outstretched hand as though it were a venomous snake. “I don’t need—”

“You’re injured, your mana’s spent, and you’re using a sword you clearly hate,” Nariel interrupted, her voice calm but firm. “Swallow your pride for once, Irelia.”

Irelia’s jaw tightened, fingers flexing instinctively over the hilt of her short sword. Pride warred with practicality, and for a moment, she nearly refused out of sheer stubbornness. But she wasn’t reckless enough to ignore her own limits. With a begrudging sigh, she took Nariel’s hand, allowing the knight to steady her as they navigated an unstable section of the pyramid.

“I hope you’re enjoying this,” Irelia muttered under her breath.

Nariel arched a brow, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips. “Immensely.”

They continued in near silence, save for the occasional creak of shifting stone beneath their boots. As they neared the summit, the hum of magic grew stronger, resonating through the air like an unrelenting chant, vibrating beneath their skin.

Stolen story; please report.

Nariel shot Irelia a sidelong glance, her expression unreadable. “If recklessness were an art, you’d be a master.”

Irelia snorted, despite the strain of the climb. “And if nagging were a virtue, you’d be a saint.”

Nariel let out a rare chuckle, the sound brief but genuine. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Irelia rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, her emerald gaze flicked upward, narrowing as she took in the faint glow emanating from the altar now within reach.

“Almost there.”

As they crested the final ledge, Irelia leaned heavily against the stone, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Every muscle in her body protested the climb, but she forced herself upright, eyes fixed ahead.

Nariel remained standing, her gaze sweeping the horizon and the ruins below, every movement sharp and deliberate. Her hand hovered near the hilt of her sword, her posture tense, ready.

“You good?” Nariel asked without taking her eyes off their surroundings.

“Peachy,” Irelia muttered, voice dry. She straightened slowly, her emerald-green eyes locking onto the altar at the pyramid’s peak. The glow of the runes carved into its surface pulsed brighter now, the hum of magic vibrating through her bones. Whatever awaited them here, it wouldn’t be simple—or safe.

Nariel’s voice was low and steady. “Stay alert. No telling what the cult left behind.”

Irelia nodded, her fingers brushing the hilt of her short sword. For once, she had no snarky reply. The weight of the moment settled over them both as they prepared to face whatever lay ahead.

The pyramid’s peak was silent, the hum of latent magic thrumming faintly through the air as if the stones themselves held their breath. The altar stood at its center, its surface etched with glowing runes that pulsed in rhythmic harmony. The energy radiating from it set Irelia’s teeth on edge, her fingertips tingling as they brushed the cold, unyielding surface.

Her gaze traced the intricate carvings, each line and curve familiar, unmistakable. The Arcane Renaissance, an era when runic magic had reached its peak, its techniques refined and elevated beyond anything before or since. But as her eyes drifted to the surrounding stonework—the heavy, weathered architecture—another realization settled over her. The Era of Renewal. A time when mortals had begun carving their own place in a world left broken by the fall of the Titans.

Two distinct periods, woven together. The implications sent a ripple of unease through her.

“This altar doesn’t belong here,” Irelia murmured, unease threading through her voice as her fingers hovered over the glowing runes.

Nariel, standing a few paces behind her, one hand resting on the hilt of her sword, tilted her head. “Care to elaborate?”

Irelia exhaled sharply, her emerald-green eyes narrowing. “It’s wrong. The pyramid—this whole structure—predates the altar by millennia, maybe longer. Whoever built this… they didn’t just add it. They repurposed the entire site.”

Nariel stepped closer, her piercing blue eyes flickering between Irelia and the runes. “Repurposed for what?”

Irelia hesitated, the weight of realization settling in her chest. “To siphon energy from living sacrifices.” Her voice was flat, heavy with finality. She straightened, brushing her hands against her cloak as though shaking off the altar’s residual magic. “This was never its original purpose.”

Nariel’s tone sharpened. “Then what was it meant for?”

For a long moment, Irelia stared at the altar, her jaw tightening. “Something far less horrifying… or far worse.” Her gaze drifted to the base of the structure, where faded carvings of swirling flames and phoenixes lined the ancient stone. “Whatever this was before, someone tampered with it—and they knew exactly what they were doing.”

Nariel crossed her arms, her expression darkening. “The cult?”

“Perhaps, if they’ve been around long enough,” Irelia muttered, her attention shifting to the glowing carvings along the walls. Her fingers traced the delicate etchings of fire, stopping at the towering figure wreathed in shadow and flame. The presence exuded both destruction and renewal, its very form echoing something primal.

Her breath caught as her eyes locked onto a specific rune—a shape so familiar it sent a shiver down her spine.

A memory surfaced, not in words but in sensation—the press of a quill against parchment, the slow, deliberate etching of that same rune onto the cover of a book. Flames of Renew. The title burned into her mind, bright and undeniable. It was the third book of her trilogy.

But as she tried to remember its story, her thoughts unraveled into fragmented images.

The first book… an outcast. A half-elf, banished from both human and elven society. Runes—yes, something about the creation of runes. And the second… another outcast. An orc? Searching. For what? No—for who? A lost kingdom? A hidden sanctuary?

But the third... Flames of Renew. The title echoed in her mind like an unanswered call. She grasped at the memory, desperate for meaning, but it slipped through her fingers like smoke. The story, the characters, the purpose behind its name—it was all gone. Only a hollow ache remained in its place.

Irelia’s hand dropped to her side, trembling slightly. “This... isn’t possible,” she whispered, more to herself than to Nariel.

Nariel, noticing her sudden stillness, stepped closer. “Irelia? What is it?”

Her breath steadied as she forced the unease down, masking it with cold detachment. “Nothing,” she said, a little too sharply. She flexed her hand, willing the tremor to fade. “The runes... they’re more intricate than I expected.”

Nariel’s gaze lingered on her, suspicion flickering in her piercing blue eyes, but she didn’t press. “What do they say?”

Irelia turned back to the carvings, grounding herself in the familiar logic of runes and analysis. “They’re tied to Pyraxis—fire and rebirth.” Her fingers skimmed the etched lines, following the intricate spirals of glowing script. “But this isn’t just religious symbolism. The runes aren’t ornamental; they’re part of a larger system—woven directly into the altar and the structure itself.”

Nariel folded her arms, her tone measured. “And their purpose? Any insight into what the cult is looking for?”

Irelia’s brow furrowed as she traced the markings further down, watching the glow fade into the depths of the stone. A sense of unease curled in her gut. “Not yet. But whatever they’re after, this place isn’t just a site for rituals.” Her gaze followed the spiraling runes, leading toward a descending path. “Something’s below us.”

She stepped back, gesturing toward a spiraling set of inscriptions leading down into darkness. “We’ll have to go deeper to find out.” She gestured toward a set of runes that spiraled downward into the stone, forming a pathway to a darker chamber below. “If there are answers, they’re down there.”

The air felt heavier, thick with lingering power. The runes pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat, urging them forward. Irelia hesitated, her thoughts still tangled in the memory of that symbol—the rune from Flames of Renew. Why do I know this?

Nariel’s voice cut through the tension, firm but steady. “Whatever we find, we face it together.”

Irelia glanced at her, catching the unwavering certainty in her expression. Something inside her loosened, if only for a moment. She nodded. “Let’s move. The longer we wait, the more ground the cult gains.”

The hum of magic followed them as they descended, its resonance curling in the air like a whisper of something ancient and waiting. As Irelia stepped forward, the rune she had recognized flared softly beneath her fingers, the glow almost... familiar.

She forced herself to look away.

There would be time for answers later.