The ruin didn't breathe.
It didn't glow.
It didn't whisper, pulse, or perform any dramatic ancient trick.
It simply existed—a stone arch strangled by roots, half-buried in earth, its markings dull and dusty in the late afternoon sun.
But Lyra's scanner vibrated against her palm like it wanted to escape her grip.
"That's… not normal," she muttered, tapping the screen.
The display flickered between clean readings and jagged spikes, the patterns rearranging faster than she could interpret. It reminded her of static on an old relic screen—except static didn't usually rearrange itself into shapes that almost looked meaningful.
Behind her, Jorek crouched, dragging gloved fingers across the ground. "This soil's been disturbed recently."
"By who?" Des asked. "We're in the middle of nowhere."
Jorek shrugged. "Roots don't break this clean on their own. Something moved here."
Lyra ignored the chill that threatened to crawl up her neck and forced herself to focus. "Let's not jump to conclusions. The old civilizations built half their junk underground. Roots shift when the ground shifts. Could be normal."
Des smirked. "You keep saying 'normal' like we didn't just find a ruin that rearranges its carvings."
"Correlation doesn't mean causation," Lyra said.
"That's exactly what someone doomed would say."
Mara cut in before their bickering could escalate. "Enough. We need observations, not jokes."
Des raised his hands. "Hey, humor's how I survive being terrified."
"No," Lyra corrected. "It's how we survive you."
Des clutched his chest dramatically. Mara rolled her eyes. Jorek sighed like he'd raised children his whole life.
The forest was quiet—a type of quiet that wasn't eerie, just… deep. The kind that came from being too far from towns, roads, or human noise. Only the rustle of leaves and distant bird calls broke the stillness.
Lyra knelt near the arch, goggles lowered over her eyes.
The carvings didn't shift now. They looked like any old ruin: worn symbols etched by hands that had never imagined her standing here with her tangled hair and blinking scanner.
She pressed a button and her scanner lit up a faint bluish grid over the stone surface.
"Okay," she said, voice steady. "Let's gather real data. Mara, status?"
Mara studied the perimeter. "No visible traps. No Madroot growths. No destabilized ground within four meters."
"Jorek?"
The older man hefted his pack and nodded. "Air pressure's steady. No wind shifts. Temperature change minimal."
"And Des?"
"I brought snacks."
Lyra nearly threw a rock at him. "That's your contribution?"
"I'm providing moral support."
"You're providing moral endangerment."
Mara laughed quietly. "Focus, children."
Lyra inhaled deeply and leaned closer to the arch.
The scanner grid wavered. Not much—just enough that Lyra frowned.
"What now?" Des whispered.
"Mirra fluctuations," she said. "Very inconsistent. Like an engine failing to start."
"An engine?"
"Something in here used to run on Mirra. Something big. It's dead now… or dying."
"Could it… wake up?" Des asked.
Lyra shot him a flat look. "This isn't a horror novel, Des."
"Yet you bring goggles everywhere."
"Because I like seeing."
Jorek peered at the right pillar. "This corner's newer than the rest. Different wear patterns."
Lyra turned. He was right. The right side had sharper lines, less erosion.
"Maybe someone tampered with it," she said. "Or maybe this part collapsed later."
Mara stepped under a leaning trunk to inspect the ground. "The soil's warmer here."
"How warm?" Lyra asked.
"Warm enough that it shouldn't be."
Lyra checked her scanner again. The spikes were gone—replaced by small, steady pulses.
"Mirra activity's stabilizing," she said. "But I can't tell if that's good or bad."
Des squatted next to her. "Could be a sign we should run."
Jorek answered before Lyra could. "Running when you don't know what you're running from is cowardice."
"And staying is bravery?" Des asked.
"No," Jorek said. "Staying is work."
Lyra snorted. She liked that definition.
She stood, wiping dirt on her gloves. "Right. Let's go inside."
Mara blinked. "Inside?"
"We're not breaking walls," Lyra clarified. "Just checking if there's an entrance on the other side. The structure's too large to be a standalone arch. It's part of something."
The group circled the ruin's base.
Roots wrapped around stone like stubborn veins. The ground sloped slightly downward. A few feet away, moss-covered steps dipped into darkness.
"There," Mara said softly.
Steps.
Actual steps.
Lyra's heart kicked. "Oh, that's promising."
Des peered down the dark passage. "Promising is not the word I'd use."
Jorek dropped a small glowrod. The soft blue light illuminated a corridor leading deeper.
"Looks stable," he said. "No collapses at least ten meters in."
Lyra hesitated.
Not because she was scared—she was used to danger. But ruins weren't like beasts. They didn't warn you. They didn't roar. They didn't growl. They simply waited until someone stepped wrong and then decided to ruin your day.
Still…
Her fingers tightened around her scanner. "We go carefully. One step at a time. If anything feels wrong, we stop."
They descended.
The air grew cooler, but not unpleasant. The walls were etched with the same carvings—curved, looping patterns that had once been precise but were now faded.
Jorek tested the integrity of each step with his boot. Mara monitored air quality. Des held a glowrod like it was a weapon.
Lyra scanned every inch.
About five minutes in, her scanner beeped—a slow, uncertain sound.
"Mirra surge," she whispered. "Very faint."
Jorek nodded. "Feels like old energy. Not enough to hurt us."
They reached a chamber.
A small one—barely the size of a room in a poor inn. Dust coated everything. Broken stone pieces lay scattered. No treasure. No relics. Just a pedestal in the center, cracked down the middle.
"What do you think this was?" Des asked.
Lyra touched the edge carefully. "An anchor point. Something was mounted here. Something important."
Mara circled the room. "No active mechanisms."
"Good. We avoid dying." Des pretended to wipe sweat dramatically.
Jorek crouched. "Footprints."
Lyra snapped her head around. "Footprints?"
"In the dust. Not ours."
Des went pale. "So someone else came here?"
"Not recently," Jorek said, brushing the prints gently. "These are old. Years old."
Lyra felt a strange tightening in her chest.
Someone had been here.
Someone had seen this place.
Someone had walked these same steps without leaving any warning or mark for others.
A professional ruin seeker?
A rogue scholar?
A Guild spy?
Or some wanderer who never came back?
She shook off the thought.
"Let's look deeper," she said. "Maybe there's another passage."
There wasn't.
After an hour of searching with scanners, glowrods, and arguments about rock shapes, they accepted the conclusion: the ruin's inner chamber was small and partially collapsed.
But oddly rich in Mirra residue.
And strangely warm underfoot.
And unbearably old.
Lyra exhaled. "That's all we can do today."
Mara nodded. "This ruin needs a larger team."
Jorek agreed. "Too unstable for just us."
Des raised a brow. "So what now?"
Lyra stood at the entrance of the chamber, eyes reflecting the faint blue light.
"We go back," she said. "We regroup. We recruit a bigger team. Not the Guild—seekers from Eastmarch, Darrinvale, Varen City. People who know how to keep quiet."
"And then?" Des asked.
Lyra smiled despite herself. "Then we come back and open whatever this place is—properly."
She pocketed her scanner, grabbed her gear, and climbed the steps back into daylight.
Behind her, the ruin remained silent.
Not threatening, not alive—just waiting.
When they emerged into the clearing, Lyra squinted at the sky.
"We'll return," she said softly.
The others nodded.
They turned away from the arch and began the long walk back, the forest swallowing their shapes between leaves and light.
They had found something big.
And they would return with the people needed to uncover it.
This story was only beginning.
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