# Chapter 28: The Templar's Ghost
The fall was shorter than he expected, ending in a jarring impact that drove the air from his lungs. They were in a tunnel of packed earth and thick, gnarled roots, a place far older than the stonework above. The sounds of the Wardens were a distant, angry thunder. Liraya landed beside him with a grunt, immediately pulling him to his feet. "This way," she gasped, pointing into the oppressive dark. They hadn't gone ten yards before a wall of solid muscle blocked their path. A man, broad as a doorway and clad in the weathered remnants of Templar armor, stood in their way. A massive war hammer, its head etched with fading runes, rested on his shoulder. His face was a roadmap of old scars, his eyes like chips of granite. "The old places are not for trespassers," he rumbled, his voice a low growl that seemed to vibrate in the earth itself. "State your purpose, or be unmade."
Konto's vision swam, the edges blurring with a familiar, sickly static. The Somnolent Corruption was no longer a distant threat; it was a crawling, living thing behind his eyes. He leaned heavily on Liraya, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The man before them radiated an aura of immense, grounded power, a stark contrast to the chaotic energy of the dream-predators. This was something ancient, disciplined, and utterly implacable.
Liraya stepped forward, raising her empty hands in a gesture of peace. Her Aspect tattoos, usually a soft silver, were dim, her own reserves severely depleted. "We mean no harm. We're fleeing the Wardens. We fell from the sanctuary above."
The Templar's gaze flickered between them, lingering on Konto's haggard state. "The Wardens do not come this deep. And you reek of wild magic and nightmare taint. You are more than simple fugitives." He shifted his weight, the hammer moving slightly, a silent threat of immense force. "I will ask you once more. Why are you here?"
Konto forced himself to stand straight, pushing past the wave of nausea. "We're trying to stop a war," he rasped, his voice a dry scrape. "A war being fought in dreams. The man you call Arch-Mage is trying to become a god by sacrificing the city to a nightmare."
The giant's granite eyes narrowed. A flicker of something—surprise, perhaps, or recognition—crossed his face. "Blasphemy and madness. Moros is the protector of Aethelburg."
"He's its destroyer," Liraya countered, her voice sharp with conviction. "We saw the proof. In the sanctuary. Murals depicting the Oneiros Collective, a ritual to consume the city's dreams and elevate him. He's not protecting anyone. He's imprisoning everyone."
She pulled a small, palm-sized data slate from a hidden pocket in her jacket. With a few quick taps, she brought up a series of rough, charcoal sketches she had made from memory in the moments before their escape. They were crude but clear: the robed figures, the spiral stone, the apotheosis of Moros, the silent, dreaming populace. She held it out, the screen's faint light illuminating the man's scarred features.
He stared at the images for a long, silent moment. The air grew thick and heavy. The scent of damp earth and ozone filled Konto's lungs. He could feel the man's power, a deep, resonant hum like a sleeping volcano. This was a Guardian Knight, or something even older. A man who had taken vows that transcended the Magisterium's fickle laws.
"The Oneiros Collective," the man breathed, the name a curse on his lips. He finally looked up from the slate, his eyes burning with a new, dangerous light. "I know that name. Not from history books. From the whispers on the ley lines. A corruption I have been hunting for months."
He lowered the hammer, the head resting on the packed earth with a soft thud that still seemed to shake the tunnel. "My name is Gideon. I was a Templar of the Bulwark Order. When the Magisterium disbanded us for refusing to bend the knee to their new 'scientific' magic, I was given a choice: renounce my vows or be cast into the Undercity. I chose to keep my oath." He tapped the chest plate of his armor, where the sunburst sigil of the Templars had been crudely gouged out. "I swore to protect this city from threats both mundane and arcane. From things that fester in the dark. The Nightmare Plague… this is the source. I have tracked its energy signature, a stain on the city's soul, but I could never find its heart. You have stood in it."
Konto felt a sliver of hope pierce the fog of his pain. An ally. A real one. Not a client, not a contact, but a true believer. "The heart is Moros," Konto said, his voice gaining a fraction of its strength. "He's using the full moon to tap directly into the city's primary ley line nexus. The ritual we saw… it's the final key."
Gideon's expression hardened into a mask of grim resolve. "Then he must be stopped. An Arch-Mage who breaks the most sacred covenant—who seeks to unmake reality for his own glory—is the ultimate heresy. It is a corruption that must be purged." He looked them over again, his gaze assessing. "You are both broken. The dreamwalker is dying from the inside out. You cannot fight like this."
"We know," Liraya said, her voice tight with urgency. "But we're all there is. We have to get word out, find a way to fight back."
"Fighting back requires more than will," Gideon rumbled. "It requires strength. Sanctuary. And knowledge." He turned, his massive frame blocking the way back. "Follow me. There is a place nearby. A place where the Wardens' eyes cannot reach and the dream-stains are thin. You can rest. And we can plan."
He didn't wait for an answer, simply started walking into the darkness. Liraya helped Konto, and they followed, their footsteps echoing in the narrow passage. The tunnel sloped downward, the air growing cooler, carrying the clean scent of flowing water. The oppressive weight of the foundations seemed to lift, replaced by a sense of ancient, quiet peace.
After a few minutes of walking, the tunnel opened into a breathtaking cavern. It was a natural grotto, hidden deep beneath the city. A crystal-clear underground stream cut through the center, its banks lined with glowing moss that cast a soft, ethereal blue light on the scene. Stalactites hung from the ceiling like the teeth of some great, sleeping beast, and the air was filled with the gentle sound of dripping water. In the center of the cavern, built into the natural rock, was a small, sturdy structure of stone and dark wood—a hermit's lodge, a bastion of order in the heart of chaos.
"This is my refuge," Gideon said, his voice softer in the serene space. "One of the old Templar waystations, forgotten by all but me."
He led them inside. The interior was simple and functional. A stone hearth held a banked fire, casting a warm, flickering light. Weapons were mounted on the walls—not just the hammer, but swords, axes, and crossbows, all gleaming with meticulous care. A large wooden table dominated the center of the room, covered in hand-drawn maps of the foundations and notes scrawled in a precise, archaic script.
Gideon gestured to a pair of simple wooden chairs. "Sit. I have broth." He moved to a small kitchen area, his movements surprisingly graceful for a man of his size.
Konto sank into the chair, every muscle screaming in protest. The warmth of the hearth seeped into his bones, and for the first time in hours, the constant, gnawing pain in his head receded to a dull throb. He watched Gideon, this ghost of a forgotten order, and felt a profound sense of relief. They weren't alone anymore.
Liraya remained standing, her analytical mind already working. "You said you've been tracking the plague's energy. What have you found?"
Gideon ladled steaming broth into two wooden bowls and brought them to the table. "It is not a disease. It is a will. A directed intelligence. It spreads like a miasma, seeking out minds with strong psychic or arcane potential. It doesn't just infect them; it… changes them. Twists their desires into nightmares, then feeds on the resulting fear. I have found its echoes in dozens of places, but they all lead back to one source: the Aegis Spire."
He pushed a bowl toward Konto. "Drink. It will not cure your corruption, but it will strengthen your body to fight it."
Konto took the bowl. The broth was rich and savory, tasting of herbs and roasted root vegetables. With each spoonful, he could feel a sliver of strength returning to his limbs. "The Wardens are working with him," Konto said between mouthfuls. "They were herding us. They had monsters with them, creatures made of shadow and teeth."
"Somnolent Corruption given form," Gideon nodded grimly. "When a dreamwalker or a Weaver falls too far, their mind dissolves and becomes a predator in the dreamscape. Moros has found a way to pull them into the waking world. A grave violation of the natural order."
Liraya leaned against the table, her eyes tracing the maps. "He's not just pulling them through. He's creating them. The ritual in the sanctuary… it requires a sacrifice. A powerful psychic. He's using them to fuel his ascension."
The fire crackled, casting dancing shadows on Gideon's scarred face. He looked from Liraya to Konto, his expression unreadable. "Then the time for observation is over. The time for a crusade is at hand." He placed his massive hand flat on the map, his finger covering the location of the Aegis Spire. "My order is gone. My name is forgotten. But my oath remains. I will not stand by while a madman unmakes the world I swore to protect."
He looked directly at Konto, his gaze intense and unwavering. "You have seen the heart of the darkness. You carry its stain. You are the key to understanding it. I am the shield that will allow you to strike it. Together, we will remind the Arch-Mage that there are still powers in this city that bow to no man."
Konto met the Templar's gaze. He saw no pity there, only a shared, unyielding purpose. For the first time since this nightmare began, he felt the stirrings of something more than just survival. He felt the possibility of victory. "What do we do first?" he asked, his voice now steady.
Gideon's lips curved into a grim smile. "First, you rest. You cannot fight a god when you are already half a ghost." He pointed to a narrow cot in the corner of the room. "Then, we gather our allies. A war cannot be won by three, no matter how determined. I know people. Outcasts. Remnants. Others who were cast aside by the Magisterium. It is time to remind them of their vows."
He straightened up, his full, imposing height filling the small lodge. "The Nightmare Plague ends with us. Here. In the dark places where the city's true history is written. We will be the ghost that haunts Moros's perfect world."