The forest loomed before them, dense with twisted trees whose leaves shimmered faintly as though lit from within. The ground was soft with moss that glowed underfoot, and strange cries echoed from unseen creatures deeper inside.
Edric pushed through the underbrush, sword drawn, his armor dented from the battle on the shore. Behind him, Elira scribbled notes furiously despite the tremble in her hands, while Ronan moved like a predator, scanning every shadow.
Hours passed in tense silence until the trees thinned—and the three of them stumbled into a clearing.
Elira gasped, her pen freezing mid-sentence.
Before them stretched the ruins of a city, its stone walls cracked and swallowed by vines, its towers leaning like broken teeth against the misty sky. Strange glyphs ran along the stone, glowing faintly with the same essence-light that pulsed in the forest leaves.
"Oh gods above…" Elira whispered, dropping to her knees before a shattered archway. Her hands traced the symbols reverently. "This… this isn't recent. These ruins are ancient. Older than anything recorded in Driftport's libraries. Older than the empires we know." Her eyes gleamed with awe. "We're standing in the remnants of a lost civilization."
Edric frowned, scanning the ruins. "If they were so advanced, where are they now?" His grip tightened on his sword. "I don't trust empty kingdoms. Something destroyed this place, and it could still be here."
Ronan crouched near a toppled statue, brushing dirt from its surface. The carving depicted a tall, human-like figure with elongated limbs and strange markings etched into its skin. "Looks like they weren't entirely like us," he muttered. "Not surprised. This place changes things."
Elira scribbled frantically in her journal. "Look at the symmetry! The way the glyphs flow—they're not random. They're part of a system, a language. If I can decode even a fragment…" She trailed off, her voice trembling with excitement. "This could change history."
Edric's jaw tightened. "History won't matter if we don't survive." He gestured to the broken towers. "These ruins are proof of that. Something powerful lived here. And something even stronger destroyed it."
Ronan's eyes scanned the treeline, every instinct on edge. "Or maybe they're not gone." His tone was low, cautious. "Maybe they're watching."
A chill swept through the clearing. The ruins seemed to hum faintly, as if alive. Wind whispered through the hollow corridors, carrying voices that weren't there. For a moment, all three felt it—eyes upon them, ancient and unseen.
Elira shivered but forced herself to keep writing. "If this place is dangerous, then it's also important. We need to learn from it."
Edric looked at her, then at Ronan. "Fine. But we move carefully. No wandering, no chasing shadows. We treat these ruins as an enemy's fortress until proven otherwise."
Ronan smirked faintly. "Paranoid. I like it."
As night fell, they set up a meager camp within the broken walls. The glow of the glyphs cast long shadows across the ruins, and strange noises echoed from the mist beyond. None of them slept easily.
The Shrouded Continent had given them their first glimpse of its secrets—and it was only the beginning.