The Gates of the Earth

(jeanyx pov)

The moment the ancient ruins of Oldstones came into view, the whispering stopped. The eerie visions that had plagued us vanished as though swallowed by the night. The tension that had gripped the crew finally broke, and I could hear a collective exhale of relief.

"Gods be good," Leif muttered, his voice shaky. He clutched his chest as if he could physically calm his pounding heart. "I can't believe we made it."

But I barely registered his words. My mind was elsewhere, my eyes locked on the twin moons in the sky.

In both my past life and this one, a double moon had always been a symbol of doom—an omen of apocalypse and the end of the world. Yet that interpretation didn't fit here. The ancient texts spoke of this passage as something used regularly by the First Men. It wasn't a warning of catastrophe, but a guide.

So what did it mean?

I frowned, deep in thought. A double moon was akin to a blue moon—rare, mythical, even spoken of sarcastically, as if it never truly happened. But something tugged at the edge of my memory. I had seen this before, not in prophecy or myth, but somewhere mundane, something that should have been insignificant… yet it wasn't.

Leaning against the ship's railing, I let my hands dangle in the water, the cold biting at my skin. A few minutes passed before I felt a nibble—small and quick. Reflexively, I grasped for it, fingers slipping over smooth scales. I turned, intending to use both hands, but then—

I froze.

There, on the water's surface, was the moon.

Its perfect reflection shimmered like a second celestial body, undisturbed except for the ripples from my fingers. And in that moment, memory struck like a hammer to stone.

The Smurfs.

It was a ridiculous thing to remember, yet it was so clear. In my past life, as a child, I had seen the live-action Smurfs movie. There was a scene—one I hadn't thought of in decades—where a character named Patrick had used a reflected moon as part of a logo. The visual had stuck with me, buried deep in my mind.

The double moon wasn't in the sky.

It was the moon and its reflection on the water.

Adrenaline surged through me as I spun around, my sudden movement drawing the attention of the crew. Without hesitation, I made my way to the stern of the ship, my gaze fixed not on the sky but on the horizon where the moon was setting.

"Jeanyx?" Rollo called, watching me warily.

I ignored him. Instead, I turned to Erik, the best navigator among us. "Follow the moon's reflection," I commanded.

He blinked. "What?"

"Follow where the moon sets. Not the sky. The water."

Confusion flickered across their faces, but as they turned to look, the realization dawned. The reflection stretched across the waves, and near the horizon, the two moons—the real and the mirrored—were nearly touching.

A perfect guide.

Erik hesitated only for a moment before gripping the rudder and adjusting our course.

The crew whispered among themselves, uncertain but trusting. And as the ship shifted direction, the air grew heavy again—not with fear, but with the weight of something ancient.

Something watching.

Something waiting.

And we were heading straight for it.

The longship drifted through the underground river, the only sound the gentle lapping of water against the hull. The cavern walls loomed high above us, their surfaces slick with moisture and covered in thick layers of moss. The scent of damp earth and decaying leaves filled the air, mingling with the faint, musty aroma of something much older—something untouched for centuries.

As we ventured deeper, the flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows on the walls, revealing what had been hidden for untold generations. At first, they seemed like nothing more than cracks in the stone, but as I studied them, my breath caught.

Runes.

They were ancient, carved with precision, their edges worn smooth by time. As the firelight danced across them, faint images began to emerge—figures of men, their arms raised toward the heavens, surrounding what could only be dragons. The creatures were primitive in design, their wings jagged, their bodies elongated like great serpents. But their presence was unmistakable.

"By the gods…" Erik murmured, running a calloused hand over the carvings.

"First Men," Floki whispered, his usual manic energy subdued by awe.

"No," came a voice from behind us. It was one of the younger warriors, a boy barely past his first battle. His gaze traced the delicate, swirling patterns that framed the figures. "This… this looks like the work of the Children of the Forest."

The words sent a ripple of unease through the crew. Even the most hardened warriors shifted uncomfortably, muttering prayers under their breath. The Children of the Forest—beings of legend, their existence little more than whispered tales told by old men by the fire. Yet here, in the depths of the river, their mark was undeniable.

Ragnar stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "Then why do the carvings speak of men?"

The question hung in the air as I traced the runes, my mind racing. I could feel it—a story hidden in the stone, waiting to be unraveled. Carefully, I began to read.

It told of an age long before Valyria, when the First Men still warred with the Children of the Forest. But amid the bloodshed, something changed. A group of men—leaders, visionaries—sought something greater than war. They sought power.

It spoke of a meeting, deep in the heart of the world, where the First Men came face-to-face with the earliest Valyrians—wanderers from the east, pale-haired and fire-touched. They were not yet the dragonlords of legend, merely seekers of knowledge. Together, with the guidance of the Children and the aid of early magic-wielders, they created something that had never before existed in this world.

Dragons.

I felt my pulse quicken. The inscription detailed their experiment—a horrifying ritual that cost the lives of tens of thousands. They had taken the monstrous firewyrms that lurked deep within the smoking caverns of Valyria and bred them with the savage wyverns of Sothoryos. The results were unpredictable, the failures grotesque. But eventually, through magic, blood, and sacrifice, the first true dragons were born.

I let out a slow breath. This was it—the origin of House Targaryen's legacy, of Valyria's dominance. But the story didn't end there.

Further down, another set of runes spoke of a different kind of creation—one that tied directly to me.

"The first forging of steel imbued with fire and blood…" I read aloud, my voice barely above a whisper. The runes depicted a blade—long, broad, as dark as the night sky yet gleaming with an inner fire. My fingers traced the shape, realization dawning like a thunderclap.

"The first Valyrian steel…" Floki murmured, eyes wide.

"No," I corrected, my breath shallow. "The first piece ever forged." I stepped back, taking in the full carving. "Ice."

The men fell silent. Even Ragnar looked shaken.

"The ancestral sword of House Stark," I continued. "The very first of its kind."

It made sense. Valyrian steel was forged with dragonfire, folded countless times, infused with magic. If dragons themselves were first created through magic and blood, then it stood to reason that their steel—the steel that could cut through almost anything—was birthed at the same time.

Ice wasn't just a Stark relic. It was the beginning of something far greater.

A deep silence settled over the crew as they took in the weight of the revelation. We weren't just sailing through a forgotten passage of the First Men. We were drifting through the cradle of dragons and steel, through a place that had shaped the world as we knew it.

And suddenly, I had a terrible feeling that something—or someone—had been waiting for our arrival.

The river wound through the cavern with eerie calm, the stillness broken only by the occasional drip of water echoing off the walls. The longship glided silently, the only sound the soft creak of the hull as it skimmed the water. After some time, the path ahead narrowed sharply, and the river came to a sudden dead end—a solid stone wall, smooth and impenetrable, blocking our way.

Jeanyx, eyes narrowed in concentration, stepped forward. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he cast the Revelio charm.

"Revelio," he intoned, his voice a low hum in the silence.

The air around the stone shifted, the magic flickering faintly before it took hold. A ghostly shimmer appeared in the wall, revealing something hidden beneath the surface. As the enchantment settled, the truth was laid bare: there was more to the river, another passage down below, though it was sealed by some form of ancient magic. The magic felt heavy, oppressive, as though it had been placed there to guard against something—or someone.

Ragnar and Floki exchanged uneasy glances. The air was thick with tension, and the scent of damp earth was more pungent now, as if the cavern itself was aware of our presence. Jeanyx turned toward the crew.

"Prepare yourselves," he said in a quiet voice. "We're going to push through."

Floki grunted, stepping toward the stone, his massive hands gripping the edges as he attempted to pry it open. But it was no use; the stone was solid, unyielding.

Jeanyx raised his wand and muttered under his breath. With an almost imperceptible gesture, a soft glow began to emit from the wall, tracing the lines of intricate runes—symbols that had not seen the light of day for centuries.

As the crew gathered around, the runes began to glow brighter, casting an eerie blue light across the cavern. The glow spread until it illuminated the entire stone door, revealing the carved image of a mythical beast. For a brief moment, the beast's eyes seemed to come alive—its great stone body trembling as if awakening from a deep slumber. The guardian roared to life, its stone form cracking and shifting, moving with an unsettling grace that no one had expected.

The crew staggered back, startled. The stone effigy was no mere carving. The creature was alive, its massive stone claws scraping the ground as it loomed over them. Its eyes were glowing, filled with an ancient fury that seemed to challenge anyone brave enough to enter.

The Guardian.

Jeanyx raised his wand, his face set in grim determination. This was no simple lock—no easy puzzle. This was a test. And they would need more than brute strength to overcome it.

"Protego!" Jeanyx shouted, casting a protective shield just in time to deflect the beast's first strike. The stone claws swiped through the air, but the shield held firm, shimmering with magical energy. The crew watched in awe as the stones clattered against the invisible barrier, sparks flying.

The beast let out an earth-shaking roar, its stone body charging at Jeanyx with terrifying speed. Without hesitation, Jeanyx cast "Arresto Momentum", slowing the creature's massive form mid-lunge. The guardian skidded forward, its stone feet grinding against the cavern floor as it struggled to regain its balance.

Jeanyx used the opportunity to spring into action. With another flick of his wrist, he shouted, "Bombarda Maxima!" The cavern shuddered violently as a massive explosion erupted from the tip of his wand, sending a shockwave through the air. The blast struck the guardian in the chest, sending chunks of stone flying in all directions. The creature staggered but did not fall. It wasn't enough.

With the guardian still on its feet, Jeanyx quickly assessed the situation. The creature was formidable, its body nearly impervious to most spells. But Jeanyx knew its weakness. Magic. Ancient magic.

He raised his wand higher, calling on the deepest reserves of his power. "Incendio Duo!" A fierce, concentrated jet of fire shot from his wand, aimed directly at the guardian's eyes. The flames hit their mark, causing the guardian to recoil with an unnatural howl of pain, the stone around its eyes cracking and splintering. The flames burned through the magical wards that held the beast together, leaving it vulnerable.

But the guardian was not finished. With a furious roar, it charged again, its claws raised high for another strike. Jeanyx was ready. He quickly cast "Expelliarmus", disarming the guardian's stone claws and sending them flying through the air, clattering against the stone walls. But the beast still lunged, its massive, jagged mouth wide open to consume its prey.

Jeanyx's heart pounded in his chest. He was running out of time. The creature's next strike could be fatal.

With a final, decisive move, Jeanyx thrust his wand forward, shouting with all his might, "Fiendfyre!"

The cursed fire exploded from his wand, enveloping the guardian in an inferno of magical flame. The flames twisted and turned into the shapes of mythical beasts—dragons, wolves, serpents—each of them devouring the stone guardian. The creature shrieked in agony as the fire burned through its stone body, melting it from the inside out. Finally, with a deafening crash, the guardian crumbled, its massive form disintegrating into dust and rubble.

Jeanyx stood panting, his wand still crackling with magical energy. The cavern was silent once more, save for the faint echo of the water still running in the distance. The crew, though battered, let out collective breaths of relief. The way was clear.

For a moment, there was only awe—the realization that they had faced and overcome something ancient and powerful.

Jeanyx wiped his brow, glancing back at the crew. "The passage is open," he said quietly, though the weight of their victory hung heavily in the air. The guardian was defeated, but they had only scratched the surface of what lay ahead in the darkness.

As the massive stone door groaned open, a gust of cold wind rushed past the crew, chilling the air and sending a shiver down each of their spines. The ancient stone chamber they had just fought through felt like a distant memory as the dark passage beyond beckoned them forward. The light from their wands flickered feebly against the overwhelming blackness that lay ahead, an abyss that seemed to swallow everything whole. It was as if the very air beyond the stone threshold had absorbed the warmth of their world, leaving only an oppressive cold that clung to their bones.

Jeanyx stood at the threshold, his face set in a mixture of contemplation and caution. His wand still crackled with the remnants of the Fiendfyre, a constant reminder of the immense power he had just unleashed. But even that power, as potent as it was, felt small in the face of the unknown stretching before them. He could feel the weight of the silence—the kind of silence that gnawed at the edges of one's sanity, the kind that whispered of forgotten horrors and untold dangers. The deeper they ventured, the more he realized the true extent of the peril they faced.

For a moment, Jeanyx stood motionless, his eyes scanning the shadows that seemed to shift in the darkness, as if the tunnel itself were alive. The wind howled in the distance, its eerie whispers carrying with it a sense of foreboding. He didn't speak, but his thoughts were loud in his mind. What could lie in the depths? His instincts told him that whatever had been sealed behind these stone walls had remained untouched for a reason. Something powerful had protected this place for centuries, and now it was their turn to face whatever that was.

Floki, his usual bravado tempered by the chilling wind, shifted uneasily beside him. His voice broke the silence, low and wary.

"I've got a bad feeling about this, Jeanyx. What's waiting for us in there?"

Jeanyx turned his gaze toward Floki, his expression unreadable. "Whatever it is, we face it together. That's the only thing we can control." His voice was steady, though his words didn't quite reach the depths of his heart. We're all at risk here. He knew that. Yet, there was no other choice. Their mission had brought them here, and there was no turning back.

Ragnar, always the first to charge into danger, stepped forward with a determined look in his eyes, though even he could not mask the unease that lingered beneath his rugged exterior. "Aye, let's move. Whatever it is, we've dealt with worse, haven't we?" He didn't wait for an answer, his heavy boots echoing against the stone as he led the way into the darkness, the faint glow of his wand barely illuminating the path ahead.

The rest of the crew followed in his wake, their steps tentative at first, unsure of what awaited them in the inky blackness. Jeanyx was last, pausing for a moment longer at the entrance to the tunnel. His wand still pulsed with a faint light, but even that seemed to struggle against the heavy darkness that pressed in on all sides. It was unnerving, as though the tunnel itself rejected their presence, pushing them to turn back, to abandon their quest before it was too late.

But Jeanyx was not one to turn away from a challenge. He stepped into the tunnel, his breath slow but steady, his eyes narrowed as he scanned the endless black before him. The chill wind that had first greeted them now felt like a steady presence, following them as they walked deeper into the abyss. The air was thick, heavy with a strange, stagnant energy, as though it had not been disturbed for centuries.

As they moved forward, the sound of their footsteps was muffled, swallowed by the oppressive stillness of the tunnel. Even the distant wind seemed to lose its voice, leaving only the sound of their own breathing. It was as if the world outside had ceased to exist, leaving them alone in a place forgotten by time.

Jeanyx's mind raced as he led the crew deeper into the unknown. Every shadow seemed to shift, every crevice seemed to whisper secrets he could not understand. His grip on his wand tightened, the steady pulse of his magic the only thing that grounded him. What did the guardian protect? he wondered. What has been locked away in this forsaken place?

The rest of the crew was quiet now, each of them lost in their own thoughts, their own fears. They had faced danger before, but this was different. There was something ancient about this place—a power that felt beyond their understanding. The flickering light from their wands cast long, distorted shadows on the walls, making the tunnel appear to stretch endlessly in all directions. No one dared speak.

With every step, the air seemed to grow colder, and the shadows deeper. The farther they went, the more the sense of dread intensified, settling over them like a heavy cloak. Jeanyx's mind raced with the possibilities. The magic here was unlike anything they had encountered before. It was old—older than any spell he had learned, older than the guardians who had once roamed these halls. What if we're not meant to survive this? The thought flitted across his mind, unbidden and unwelcome. He pushed it away, willing his resolve to remain intact.

Behind him, he could feel the crew's unease growing. The mix of wonder and dread was palpable now, each of them sensing that the true trial had only just begun. The tunnel stretched on, winding and twisting deeper into the earth, the walls pressing closer with every step. The chill wind continued to howl, a constant reminder of the unknown waiting ahead.

Jeanyx glanced over his shoulder at his crew. They were all in this together, for better or worse. And though their faces were filled with apprehension, there was also a shared sense of purpose. They were on the brink of something monumental—something that could change the course of their journey forever.

The darkness stretched on, endless and oppressive, but Jeanyx held his head high. Whatever awaited them in the depths of this ancient tunnel, he knew they would face it as one. With a steadying breath, he pressed forward, the weight of their mission heavy in his chest. And as the crew followed behind him, the tunnel closed in around them, the chill wind whispering of dangers yet to come.

There was no turning back.