Act I /Beneath the Surface

The evening air was thick with tension as Alexander stood before the war table, his fingers tapping lightly against the rough wood. The scout's report had left an uneasy feeling in his chest. The ruins were untouched for a reason, and Tyrell's warning about the tunnels gnawed at him.

But hesitation wouldn't solve their problems.

They needed resources. If there was anything valuable beneath those ruins, they had to claim it before someone else did.

He looked up as his core team gathered. Elias, Tyrell, Marcus, Gareth, and Silas. Each of them had heard the report, and now they awaited his decision.

"We're going back," Alexander said. "This time with a proper team. If there's anything useful in those tunnels, we take it. If there's a threat, we deal with it."

Silas studied him carefully. "And if we find something we weren't meant to?"

Alexander met his gaze. "Then we adapt."

No one argued. They had all seen too much to waste time on fear.

Preparation for the Expedition

"Who do you want leading the team?" Elias asked.

"Tyrell takes point," Alexander replied without hesitation. "He knows the terrain better than anyone."

Tyrell nodded. "I'll take six of my best men. Lightly armored, armed for close quarters. If it's tunnels, mobility is more important than heavy gear."

Alexander turned to Marcus. "I want two more warriors with them—just in case."

Marcus grunted. "I'll pick the best."

Gareth leaned forward. "If you find anything metal—tools, old weapons, even scrap—bring it back. Doesn't matter how rusted it is, I can work with it."

Alexander nodded. "We move at dawn. No unnecessary risks. If something feels off, you get out."

The plan was set.

The Descent

The next morning, the expedition set out.

The ruins loomed in the distance as the group approached—ancient stone structures, cracked and covered in vines. The air was thick, the silence unsettling. No birds, no wind, only the soft crunch of boots against dry soil.

Tyrell motioned for the group to halt near the entrance to the tunnels. A yawning black opening stretched into the earth, framed by worn stone pillars.

Alexander crouched near the edge, running his fingers over the ground. "No tracks."

"Nothing living comes here," one of the scouts muttered.

Tyrell adjusted his grip on his dagger. "Only one way to find out why."

With torches lit, they stepped inside.

The air was damp and stale, heavy with the scent of earth and decay. The tunnel sloped downward, its walls lined with ancient carvings—worn but still visible.

Silas knelt beside one of them, tracing the outline of a symbol with his fingers. "This wasn't just a shelter. This was something more."

"Think it's religious?" Marcus asked.

Silas didn't answer immediately. "Possibly. Or something worse."

They moved deeper.

The tunnel branched off in multiple directions, but Tyrell led them steadily forward, marking their path as they went. The deeper they traveled, the colder the air became.

Then they saw it.

At the end of the passage, half-buried beneath fallen stone, a rusted iron door.

Gareth stepped forward, brushing off some of the dust. "This metal's old, but it's sturdy. Whatever's behind this door, someone wanted to keep it shut."

Alexander inspected the hinges. They were weakened by time, but the door itself was solid.

"Do we open it?" Tyrell asked.

Alexander considered the risk. They had come for resources, not blind danger. But if there was anything of value behind that door, leaving it untouched wasn't an option.

He stepped back and nodded.

Gareth and Marcus moved forward, pressing against the iron. With a strained groan, the ancient door creaked open, revealing a chamber beyond—dark, silent, waiting.

Torches were raised.

What they saw inside made them all stop.

At the center of the chamber, resting atop a cracked stone altar, was a single chest—untouched by time.

And beside it, the remains of something that was once human.