The storm struck suddenly, catching everyone off guard. There was no warning in the sky, no distant grumble of thunder or gathering clouds to hint at trouble. One moment, the peaceful stillness of Hollowmere remained untouched, and the next, the air itself seemed to tear apart with violence. It was as if the sky had taken a deep breath and then let out a deafening scream all at once. The sudden shift created an almost tangible tension in the air, sharp and eerie. The trees, which moments before stood quietly, suddenly bent and swayed wildly as if pushed by an invisible force. Leaves tore free from their branches, swirling through the air in chaotic spirals. The howling wind bombarded the forest with relentless fury, turning the peaceful woods into a whirlwind of motion and noise.
Rylan was quick to react. The instant the storm hit, he was already on his feet, his eyes scanning the treetops and the path ahead. His instincts kicked in immediately; he knew that survival in such chaos depended on quick decisions. "Shelter," he shouted loudly, raising his voice to cut through the storm's roar. His tone was urgent, commanding, as if he understood that hesitation could cost them dearly. "Now!" His words left no doubt—time was running out, and they had to find cover fast before the storm's full wrath was unleashed.
Ash moved swiftly, grabbing the supplies without hesitation. He didn't question or argue; he simply knew that their priority was safety. He snatched their packs and gear, ready to keep moving when needed. Mira clutched her sketchbook tightly, the edges digging into her chest. She shielded it with her body, knowing that rain was beginning to pour heavily, drenching everything in seconds. Her focus was on keeping her drawings safe, even as the downpour threatened to ruin her work. Meanwhile, Lina was already scanning their surroundings, her eyes quickly searching for the best route away from the chaos. She hurried toward the edge of the camp, pulling aside tangled vines obstructing her path.
"Follow me," she shouted over the wind, her voice barely audible above the storm's howling. "There's a narrow break in the trees, like a little opening. It's a stone recess—something that looks almost like a shrine. It's deeper inside than it appears. We might find shelter there." Without waiting for confirmation, the others hurried behind her. They slipped and stumbled over roots slick with mud and leaves scattered across the ground. Branches scraped against their faces as they rushed toward the small clearing. The cage of roots and dirt that Lina pointed out was just enough to serve as a natural shield from the storm's fury.
Ahead, a small cluster of ruins caught their attention. Half-buried in moss and dirt, these collapsed remnants of what once might have been a building or monument hid beneath the chaos. An archway, toppled and broken, revealed a faint opening underneath. It looked like part of an old stone structure that had crumbled with time and nature's relentless march. As they approached, they saw a narrow tunnel carved right beneath the fallen arch, almost like a secret passage hiding in plain sight. It looked ancient, its stones weathered but still solid enough to hold in the storm's fury.
Varyon was the first to duck inside the tunnel. His movements were quick, and he checked for safety as he entered. His voice echoed softly: "Dry," he called out. "Mostly." His words reassured the others that it might be their best chance for protection, even if the space was tight and dark. They hurried after him, crowding into the small opening with frantic urgency, knowing the storm's pounding was unlikely to stop anytime soon. Inside, the space felt confined but secure. The stone walls were old, reinforced over centuries by thick roots that had grown into every crack and crevice. The roots, twisted and rugged, helped hold the structure together, giving the impression that nature and old stone had formed an unlikely alliance.
The low ceiling pressed down above them, making the interior feel even smaller. Yet, for now, it was dry and dark—shelter from the storm's rage. It was their temporary refuge, a quiet place hidden within the chaos, offering a small promise of safety amid the fury outside. Despite the rough appearance, it was enough to keep them alive a little longer. Rylan leaned against the wall, catching his breath after running under the storm's assault. Mira fell beside him, dripping with rain, silent but alert. Her mind was racing with thoughts of what they just discovered, processing that their homemade camp was suddenly replaced with something much older and possibly dangerous.
Ash took a cautious position near the entrance, his blade resting across his knees. His face was grim, eyes alert for any threat. "So," he muttered, voice strained against the pounding storm outside. "Nature hates us. Good to know." His sarcasm was sharp, but underneath simple exhaustion. He knew this storm was no ordinary weather event. It felt almost deliberate, like it was reacting to their presence or their recent actions in some way. Lina sat near the far end of the chamber. Her hand pressed against the moss-covered wall, feeling its damp coolness. She spoke softly, her voice tense. "It's not just nature. This storm isn't weather anymore. It's a reaction—something happening because of us."
"What could cause such a storm?" Ash asked, frowning as he looked around.
Rylan's expression darkened. "It's the mark," he whispered, his voice barely audible in the gloom. "It's reacting to us. Whatever we did or saw, it's about the mark. It's angry, or at least it's alive in some way. That's what's making the storm go crazy."
Suddenly, a sharp crack shattered the silence inside the small chamber. It was not a distant rumble from above—this came from beneath their feet. The sound was sharp and jarring, echoing in the tight space. Almost simultaneously, the stone beneath them groaned loud enough to shake. The ground shifted subtly, as though the earth was awakening beneath their weight. Before anyone could react, the back wall of the chamber collapsed inward with a cascade of rubble and dust. The roots that had supported it curled backwards like retreating fingers, revealing a hidden passage coated in shadows. It was carved into the stone, not a natural opening, and it beckoned with a silent threat.
They stared in awe as the debris fell away. The walls of this secret corridor bore faint, barely visible markings—strange symbols etched into the stone. Some looked like spirals, others like abstract figures. The flickering lantern light cast wavering shadows on the symbols, making them twitch and dance. One symbol, in particular, caught Mira's eye. It resembled the sigil that had appeared at their camp, etched deep into the stone. It was almost as if this chamber was meant for something—and that something was linked to the mark, the storm, and perhaps even their own fate.
Mira stepped forward, her curiosity overriding her caution. She gazed at the carved symbols as if pulled by an invisible force. "This is a sealed chamber," she whispered. "It's been closed off for a long time. Burned into the stone, waiting to be uncovered."
"No," Lina said softly. Her voice was cautious and tinged with concern. "It's not just buried. It's been hidden away from everything for centuries. Someone wanted it kept secret. Why?"
Ash tightened his grip on his knife, eyes narrowing. "Whatever it is, we're going deeper. No hesitation. We might find answers—if we dare."
Varyon was already stepping past the others, moving toward the dark opening. His face set with purpose, as if he had made up his mind long before they reached this point. "It was meant for us," he said quietly. "They left this for us. We're meant to find it."
Ash cursed softly under his breath but followed. The air was heavy with an unspoken question—what lay beyond that dark corridor? And why was this chamber, filled with strange symbols and carved into the stone, reacting now? The storm outside, the symbols beneath—everything suggested that whatever waited in the depths was linked to the storm's fury. It was no coincidence. All signs pointed to this as the next step in their strange journey and the answers they desperately needed.
The tunnel suddenly sloped downward in a steep decline, twisting sharply like the inside of a coiled serpent. The walls pressed close together, making it feel like the earth itself was closing in around them. As Rylan moved deeper, he noticed the air grew colder and heavier, as if it had aged with time. There was a strange weight to it, something that seeped into his bones. He could feel it not just on the surface but deep inside him, almost like the very air here had been waiting, silent and still, for someone to breathe life into it once more. It was as if the space had been sealed away for ages, and now that they were here, it was eager to reclaim what was lost — breathing out memories from a long-forgotten past.
Eventually, the tunnel widened into a spacious underground chamber. It was round and dome-shaped, carved from rough stone with a sense of ancient purpose. The ceiling arched high above, supported by thick walls that seemed to absorb sound and light alike. Along the outer wall was a ring of seven empty pedestals, each standing tall and silent, as if waiting for figures from history to come alive on them. They told no stories on their own, but their emptiness added a haunting quality, like witnesses to something long gone. In the very center of the room sat a stone basin. It was cracked and dry, its surface marred by age and neglect, suggesting it had once held water or some other liquid — perhaps something sacred or powerful. Now, it was silent, an empty shell, yet Rylan could feel something beneath its surface — a pulse, a vibration that connected to something deeper.
Mira stepped forward with careful, deliberate movements. She reached out, brushing dust from the nearest pedestal as if trying to revive the memory etched into its surface. Her fingers hovered over an inscription as if reading words only she could understand. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke. "This is one of the original circles," she said softly. "The real ones. The ones formed when everything was new, before the darkness hid them away. These marks aren't just symbols; they're the foundation of everything that came after."
Rylan moved to the basin, drawn by an instinct he couldn't explain. His hand hovered over the cracked rim, and then he reached out to touch it. The instant his skin made contact, the entire world shifted dramatically. The chamber faded, dissolving into a different place altogether. Instead of stone and silence, he found himself standing amidst a scene that burned with heat. It was not the kind of fire one can put out with water, but rather glowing embers that floated in the air like tiny stars, swirling around him in a silent dance. These weren't ordinary sparks but remnants of ancient flames, lingering in the space like echoes of a long-buried memory.
Around him, the pedestals had burst to life with figures robed in shining armor, their visors down, helmets gleaming. They were knights guarding secrets they could never reveal. One of them leaned forward, turning slightly to face him. His armor was gleaming gold, etched with intricate patterns resembling flames curling around his chest and shoulders. The glow made his figure seem almost divine, frozen in a moment of silent watchfulness. As Rylan stared into his eyes, he saw a reflection — a reminder of what he was trying to forget. The knight's voice echoed inside his mind. "You were the last," he said plainly. "And you were the first to fall." The words carried a weight that pressed against Rylan's chest, filling him with more pain than he wanted to admit. Then, just as suddenly as he appeared, the knight was gone—vanishing into the smoke like a fading whisper.
Rylan staggered backward, struggling to catch his breath. His heart hammered inside his chest, pounding so loudly it seemed it might burst out. Mira reached out to steady him, her arm firm but gentle. Rylan couldn't find his voice; the experience left him shaken, lost for words. He simply stood there for a long moment, eyes fixed on the space where the vision had been. Then, slowly, he managed to speak. His voice was rough and low. "They died here. All of them." The weight of it hit him hard. The memory of fallen soldiers, warriors lost to time. They had fought in this very chamber, and their echoes still haunted its walls. His voice cracked as he finished, "All of them."
Lina looked around the silent chamber, her eyes searching every corner as if expecting to find some answer. She shook her head slowly, confusion and disbelief written all over her face. "Then why are we here again?" she asked, her tone sharp with questions. The place held the weight of history, yet she couldn't see its purpose anymore. Ash let out a bitter laugh, a sound filled with frustration and certainty. "Because we didn't stay dead," he said plainly, a cold reminder of the harsh truth. They had survived when others had fallen — they had escaped death's grip. That was the reason they returned, to uncover what history had buried and to face whatever still lingered in the depths of this cursed place.