The gates of Mzinchaleft groaned as they opened. Bronze metal, untouched by rust, moved with a grinding weight that shook the snow from the mountain ledge. The sound was not just noise—it was a warning. A door this large was never meant for men like us.
Cold air swept out from the dark beyond. It carried dust and something older than dust, a stale scent that clung to the back of my throat. Zavir stepped forward without hesitation. His boots crossed the threshold first. Mine followed, though every instinct begged me to stop.
The world changed as soon as we entered. The mountain's wind fell silent, smothered by the stone. The sound of our steps echoed too loudly, bouncing against metal walls lined with sharp edges and strange, geometric carvings. Torches burned in brackets—fresh ones, left by bandits. Their flames licked at the bronze, casting the shadows of machines that hadn't moved in centuries.
The hum was louder inside. A low vibration that seemed to seep through the soles of my boots, through my bones, until I wasn't sure if it was real or if the ruin itself was breathing.
Zavir raised a hand. I stopped. He crouched low, eyes fixed ahead. I followed his gaze and saw them.
Two bandits slouched by a fire just beyond the corridor. Their laughter echoed strangely against the walls, distorted by the ruin's hollow throat. They had dragged crates into a circle, turned Dwemer stone into a camp. The sight made something in me twist—this place had outlasted empires, yet here were men using it as shelter, staining it with their noise.
Zavir didn't wait long. He moved like a shadow, hugging the wall until he was behind them. His blade flashed once, twice. By the time their voices stopped, their blood already stained the bronze floor.
I stayed back. I had thought I would have to help, that my sword would be tested again. But the fight ended before it even began.
Zavir looked at me, then at the corpses. "Stay alert. This was only the edge."
I nodded, though my throat was dry. My hands gripped my sword until my knuckles ached.
We pressed deeper.
The ruin opened wider as we went, the corridors turning into vast halls supported by pillars of bronze and stone. The air grew colder still, so cold that my breath looked like smoke even inside. The torches grew fewer, their light swallowed by the size of the space. Shadows stretched longer than they should have.
Sometimes I thought I heard the scrape of metal in the distance. Not footsteps. Not bandits. Something else. But whenever I stopped to listen, the sound was gone.
We came across another group of bandits near a broken stairwell. This time there were three. They were armed, alert, already waiting for intruders.
Zavir motioned for me to circle left. His eyes told me what his voice didn't—you fight this time.
My legs felt heavy as stone. My stomach churned, the memory of red snow flashing behind my eyes. But I moved anyway, creeping along the shadow of a wall until I was close enough to strike.
The fight was chaos. Steel clashed against steel, sparks snapping in the dark. Zavir held two of them at bay, his strikes sharp and deliberate. The third came for me.
His blade nearly tore through mine in the first strike. My arms buckled. He pressed harder, a sneer across his scarred face. My body screamed to give up.
But I didn't. I twisted, forcing his blade aside, and slashed at his leg. He roared, stumbled, and swung back wildly. I ducked, the wind of his blade rushing over my head. My sword found his throat before I even thought about it.
The blood sprayed against my gloves, hot even in the ruin's chill. He dropped, clutching at the wound, gurgling until the sound faded into nothing.
I staggered back, chest heaving. My sword dripped. My body trembled. I wanted to throw up, to run, to wake from this dream that wasn't a dream.
Zavir looked over as he slid his blade free of the last bandit. His eyes lingered on me, on the way I stood still amid the corpse at my feet, and he gave the faintest nod. "Efficient," he said simply, as though my silence was nothing more than composure.
I didn't answer. I only wiped the blade, the motion mechanical, practiced now. Too practiced.
The hum of the ruin filled the silence after. Deeper now. Closer.
We left the bodies behind.
The corridors twisted like a maze, doors leading into rooms filled with strange machines that had not moved in centuries. Gears larger than wagons, pipes that vanished into the walls, glowing orbs that flickered faintly as if they remembered power.
Every corner felt like it was watching us. Every shadow looked like it could move.
And through it all, the memory of that voice lingered in my skull. Praise Meridia… you have leveled up! It hadn't spoken since outside, but the echo of it clung to me. A reminder. A curse. Every time I cut a man down, I half expected it to ring again.
Hours seemed to pass, though it might have only been minutes. The ruin was endless. Each hall looked the same as the last, yet each step felt heavier than the one before.
Finally, we stopped in a vast chamber where a bridge of bronze crossed a pit too deep to see the bottom of. Steam rose from cracks in the floor, and the air smelled faintly of oil.
Zavir scanned the shadows. His voice was low. "We're close to their camp. They've made this ruin theirs, but it won't hold forever."
I swallowed hard. My grip tightened on the sword.
I didn't feel like I was conquering this place. I felt like it was swallowing me.
And still, we walked forward.