Morning came reluctantly, the sun struggling to pierce through heavy clouds. From their vantage point in the watchtower, the group surveyed Valenhold, its grand architecture now crumbling and overtaken by nature.
Jace leaned against the ledge, squinting. "Doesn't look too bad from here. Just... empty."
Bram shook his head. "That's what worries me. A city this size doesn't just fall silent."
Kieran adjusted his sword belt. "We'll split into two teams—cover more ground that way. Jace, Bram, and Rag with me. Mira and Rolan, check the eastern quarter."
Mira nodded. "Meet back here by dusk. Stay alert."
Descending from the tower, the groups parted ways. Kieran led his team through the main boulevard, Rag sniffing ahead cautiously. The streets were eerily quiet, and the only sound was the distant creak of sagging rooftops.
Jace kicked a fallen signpost. "This place gives me the creeps."
Bram gestured to an overgrown courtyard. "Looks like it was a marketplace once. See those stalls?"
Kieran approached one, noticing faded carvings of flowers and fruit on the wood. His fingers brushed against a scattering of coins on the ground, as if dropped in haste.
Rag barked suddenly, ears perked. They followed his gaze to a shattered fountain where a trail of footprints led into a nearby alley.
Jace readied his axe. "Think it's survivors?"
Kieran shook his head. "Too fresh. Could be scouts."
Meanwhile, Mira and Rolan moved through the eastern district, noting the decayed state of the homes. Rolan paused near a shrine, eyes narrowing at the faded mural depicting Valenhold's guardians.
Mira traced the inscription. "It talks about a barrier that protected the city. If it failed, something powerful must've broken through."
Rolan frowned. "If the cult breached the barrier, it means they found a way to corrupt its heartstone. We need to find the central sanctuary."
Back on the main street, Kieran's team reached a crumbled inn, the door hanging from its hinges. Inside, overturned tables and broken glass hinted at a struggle.
Jace grunted. "Whatever hit this place wasn't gentle."
Suddenly, Rag growled, backing toward Kieran as a faint, ghostly wail echoed through the halls. The air grew cold, and Bram muttered a protective chant.
A spectral figure materialized—transparent, dressed in tattered armor, its hollow eyes fixed on them. Jace tightened his grip on his weapon, but Kieran gestured for caution.
The ghost spoke, voice strained and hollow. "Protect... the heartstone... failed..."
Kieran stepped closer. "Who did this?"
The spirit flickered, face twisted in pain. "Darkness... from within... trusted... betrayed..."
With a final, mournful sigh, the spirit dissipated, leaving behind a faint shimmer of light that settled onto Kieran's blade, making it glow faintly.
Bram raised an eyebrow. "That's new."
Kieran glanced at the weapon. "A blessing, maybe. Let's regroup and compare notes."
As the sun dipped lower, both groups met back at the watchtower. Rolan explained his theory about the heartstone, and Kieran recounted the encounter with the ghost.
Mira looked worried. "If the cult corrupted the heartstone, they might be planning to use it as a focal point for something bigger."
Rag whined softly, sensing the unease in the group. Kieran sheathed his sword, determination hardening his gaze. "Then we head to the sanctuary. Whatever they're planning, we stop it there."