The wind carried the scent of old stone and dried moss.
By noon, the forest had thinned into pale hills, and the ruins appeared ahead—massive, broken silhouettes against a field of silver grass. The walls leaned like tired giants, their surfaces carved with weathered runes half-swallowed by vines.
Elira slowed as they reached the outer path. Her hand brushed against the pendant's locator; its faint blue light pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat.
"This is it," she murmured. "Dust Ruin."
Kael's boots crunched on gravel. "Doesn't look welcoming."
"It isn't supposed to," Mira said, scanning the runes. "These symbols—some are sealing marks. Someone wanted this place to stay buried."
They passed beneath a fractured archway where light filtered through in narrow, trembling beams. The air grew colder, and the sound of their footsteps began to echo—too loud for the narrow corridor they entered. The deeper they went, the more the silence seemed to breathe around them.
Elira ran her fingers across the stone walls. "This isn't just a ruin," she said softly. "It feels like… something's waiting."
Mira glanced up. "Maybe Darius's clue wasn't just about finding a place. Maybe it's about what this place remembers."
Kael frowned. "Then we should remember how to leave."
Despite the unease, they pressed on. The hall opened into a vast chamber lit by faint, floating crystals. Broken statues lay scattered, their faces eroded but strangely expressive—fear, sorrow, prayer. In the center stood an altar cracked through the middle, a thin mist spilling from it like smoke.
Then the air shifted.
A sound—soft and low, like silk tearing—rippled across the chamber.
Mira turned sharply. "Did you hear that?"
A faint trail of silver mist wound its way through the hall, curling between the pillars. Out of it stepped a woman dressed in veiled robes of gray and white, her hair flowing as if under water. Her eyes glowed faintly—ancient, watching.
"You've brought trouble," she said, her voice calm yet resonant. "It walks in your shadow."
Elira's grip tightened around her sword. "We're looking for the truth about our parents."
"Truth…" the woman repeated, the faintest humorless smile curving her lips. "That's a word for those who have not yet been found."
Mira took a cautious step forward. "And you are?"
"I am the Keeper," she said simply. "This monastery is not empty—it is sleeping. And you have woken it."
The temperature dropped. Their breaths turned to mist. Shadows along the walls began to tremble—then peel away, stretching upward into human shapes made of smoke and light. Their whispers rose, thin and sharp, as the floor beneath them quivered.
Kael's jaw tightened. "Friends of yours?"
"They are the echoes," said the Keeper. "They protect what remains."
The first echo lunged.
Elira's instincts moved before thought could catch up.
"Light, pierce the dark; Darkness, cloak the blade—Lumeveil, awaken!"
The divine sword blazed to life, its edge rippling between radiant silver and black flame.
Mira's voice followed immediately.
"Let the flood burn and the frost shatter—Aurefrost!"
Twin orbs of flame and frost spun into her palms, painting her in a glow of red and blue.
Kael drew himself tall, voice a deep growl.
"Stand with me, Draga—Armor of the steadfast, fist of the storm!"
Lightning wrapped around him as earthen plates locked into place. Draga's spirit roared, thunder answering from somewhere unseen.
The echoes screamed as they charged—a wave of living shadow.
Elira struck first.
"Sanctaria Light!"
A radiant circle burst from her sword, erasing the first line of echoes in a sear of holy fire.
Without pause, she turned her blade—dark light coiling along its edge.
"Eclipsaria!"
Two strikes, swift as heartbeat. Shadows tore and fell apart.
Beside her, Mira's spell burst like a storm.
"Crimson Deluge!"
A torrent of boiling water and fire swept forward, hissing as it burned through the swarm. She spun her hands.
"Glacier Break!"
Ice erupted from the stone floor, freezing what remained in jagged crystal.
Kael waited for the largest echo to rush him. His armor glowed.
"Pulse Vault!"
The impact cracked the air—then,
"Iron Lockstep!"
The ground itself locked around the shadows, trapping them for the final strike.
The last echo shattered under a sweep of Elira's sword. The hall fell still—only drifting ash and the hum of fading magic remained.
The Keeper hadn't moved. Her eyes were calm, unreadable, but there was something almost sorrowful in them.
"You fight well," she said softly. "But skill alone will not grant you shelter. This place demands a vow."
Elira steadied her breath. "What vow?"
The Keeper looked between them, her gaze sharp enough to cut through silence.
"To guard the truth that sleeps beneath these stones," she said. Then her voice deepened, almost reverent.
"Even… from yourselves."
Her words echoed through the empty monastery, quiet but unshakable.
None of them spoke. The air was still again, but something unseen had changed—like the ruin itself was listening.