Several hours into his inland journey, the terrain changed.
The ash thinned. The ground sloped downward. The air itself felt heavier—charged in a way Nolen had come to recognize over the past few days. Romy's readings spiked subtly as they moved closer.
This was it. The center of the anomaly.
Buried beneath layers of fractured stone and volcanic debris, Nolen discovered something that did not belong to nature.
A door.
It was sealed shut, its surface etched with ancient runes dulled by time. Most of the surrounding mechanisms had collapsed or eroded long ago, their enchantments fading into inert symbols. But not all of them.
"This place used to be protected," Romy noted. "Several defensive arrays have decayed over time, but one remains active. This aligns with the magnetic field we've been tracking."
Nolen stepped back instinctively.
Romy's reconstructed databases and fragmentary scans from the earlier ruins activated. She analyzed the runes one sequence at a time, cross-referencing patterns, residual energy, and structural intent.
"This door has been engineered to deter unauthorized entry," she stated. "I can deactivate it safely."
A brief pulse of light rippled across the stone as Romy interfaced with the wall.
The runes dimmed.
The door opened with a low, grinding sound.
The room beyond the door was small and purposefully arranged. Its walls featured detailed engravings of rituals, knowledge symbols, and scholar-like figures—consistent with the writings Nolen had seen deeper in the caverns earlier.
Romy examined each detail carefully, documenting the engravings completely.
"This place was intended for learning," she said. "Neither a treasury nor a tomb."
At the center stood an altar of polished metal, untouched by time. Its craftsmanship was leagues beyond the surrounding stone—sleek, symmetrical, and unmistakably deliberate.
Floating above it was a gemstone.
It pulsed softly, radiating a presence that made the air feel heavier.
Nolen felt it before he heard it.
A whisper—not sound, but intent—brushed against his thoughts.
His head swam.
"Something's wrong," he muttered, steadying himself.
Before he could step away, the chamber trembled.
Metal scraped against stone.
From the shadows rose the guardian.
A colossal golem of ancient metal unfolded itself from the chamber walls. Its body was layered with segmented plating, joints reinforced with rune-etched seams. Two crimson gemstones burned where eyes should be.
A war machine.
Built to endure.
Nolen didn't draw his weapon immediately. He adjusted his stance and steadied his breathing, recalling the construct he had already destroyed deeper in the ruins.
"Romy," he said quietly.
"I'm tracking it," she replied. "Heavy mass. Reinforced joints. Slow rotation. High impact potential." She relayed the information to Nolen.
The golem struck first.
Its fist came down like a falling cliff.
Nolen dodged at the last second. The impact shattered the stone floor, sending shockwaves through the chamber.
Even weakened, his training carried him.
He moved not fast, but precise.
The golem pressed the attack, each blow capable of pulverizing bone. Nolen stayed mobile, rolling, circling, waiting.
"Joint seams," Romy warned. "Forearms and chest plate."
Nolen lunged.
His magma-shark blade bit into the golem's arm. Sparks and molten fragments sprayed outward, but the construct did not slow.
A massive kick caught him in the side.
He crashed into the wall hard enough to crack stone.
Pain flared. Armor tore.
But he stood again.
"I've fought worse," he growled.
He had.
But never like this—without flight, without energy projection, without reserves.
This was attrition.
The fight dragged on. Minutes bled into hours.
Each strike chipped away at the golem. Each dodge drained Nolen further. His muscles screamed. His breathing grew ragged.
"Structural degradation at forty percent," Romy reported. "It's slowing."
"Good," Nolen said, forcing himself forward.
He waited for the opening—one mistake, one delayed strike.
When it came, he poured everything into a single blow.
The blade drove into a fracture at the golem's chest.
The crimson core shattered.
The construct froze—then collapsed into a cascade of broken metal.
Silence returned to the chamber.
Nolen dropped to one knee, gasping.
His armor was ruined. His body ached. But he was alive.
He approached the altar carefully.
The gemstone pulsed brighter as he reached out.
Energy surged.
Information—not power—flooded his senses.
Romy reacted instantly.
"Stop," she warned. "This is not a power source. It's a knowledge repository, and it's unstable."
Nolen's vision blurred.
"I can handle it… I think?" he said through clenched teeth.
"I need time to regulate the data flow," Romy replied firmly.
Reluctantly, he withdrew his hand.
Romy interfaced with the artifact, adapting its output using patterns she had observed throughout the ruins.
"It's safe now," she said at last. "Proceed slowly."
Nolen touched the gemstone again.
The chamber lit up.
Runes ignited across the walls, their meaning suddenly clear.
A voice echoed, not alive, but recorded.
"Welcome, young Hero.
You who have reached this place have been chosen."
Nolen couldn't respond. He was suspended in a trance-like state, his body weightless.
"This is the legacy of Zion—our knowledge, our magic, our understanding of the world."
Images poured in: scholar discussions, rune-based technology, a civilization built on structured magical learning.
They had waited for a hero.
One never came.
Only ruins remained.
Romy recorded everything.
Days passed.
Nolen pressed on without sleep, relying on the same endurance that once carried him through brutal Solarai training. He absorbed everything the altar could offer, uncertain how much still applied—but knowing it was better than ignorance.
When it ended, he stood alone in a chamber of echoes.
"This world treats knowledge like power," he said quietly.
"Yes," Romy replied. "But unlike magic, skills remain accessible to you. With translation complete, we can apply this information pragmatically."
Nolen exhaled.
"Then let's keep moving."
When Nolen stood to leave, the chamber felt different.
Quieter.
The glowing runes dimmed once more, settling into dormancy. Without the gemstone's resonance, the ruin returned to silence—cold stone, fractured symbols, abandoned purpose.
He searched the site thoroughly.
Sleeping alcoves.
A shattered sigil chamber.
Abandoned storage racks.
Fragments of a life built on learning.
Before leaving, he paused at the threshold and looked back at the altar chamber.
A place meant to teach heroes.
To prepare minds—not forge weapons.
"They waited for someone," he said quietly. "But no one came."
Romy didn't respond.
There was nothing to add.
Nolen turned away and climbed back toward the surface, the knowledge of a dead civilization now resting silently within him.
The world above waited.