Story 1085: Crucible of Nightmares

Deep beneath the smoldering ruins of Ashgrave, an ancient machine churned.

The Crucible of Nightmares was never meant to be found. Forged by forgotten hands, it was a living engine, fed by the fears and torments of a thousand vanished civilizations. It slept for centuries, buried under stone and ash, until the collapse of the world shook it awake.

The survivors who stumbled into its lair—tattered, desperate, led by the rumor of shelter—had no idea what awaited them. The first sign was the mist: thick, metallic, crawling along the cracked ground like living things. Then came the voices, soft at first, coiling into their dreams at night. Whispers of loved ones long dead, promises of warmth, safety, forgiveness.

They were lies, of course. Lies spun by the Crucible’s insatiable hunger.