Hidden Secrets

The night sky stretched endlessly above them, stars sharp and cold against the dark canvas. The Dragles flew low, wings slicing through the crisp air, their breath misting with every exhale. Below, the forest spread like a shadowed sea, endless and watchful. The ancient woods surrounding the Divine Cradle had always felt different—older, heavier. Even the wind whispered here, carrying secrets of gods long gone.

Aldric adjusted his grip on Dralore's reins. The beast moved restlessly beneath him, muscles tense, talons shifting mid-flight. He wasn't alone in his unease. Syn flew just ahead, Lysara's silhouette barely visible against the moonlit clouds. She didn't speak, but the stiffness of her posture told him she felt it too.

The Cradle lay ahead, hidden within the heart of this forest. The temple had been their first refuge, the place where they'd met the Prime. Where everything had begun.

Aldric's eyes narrowed as the tree line broke, revealing the faint outline of marble spires jutting through the canopy. The Divine Cradle. Ancient, silent, and waiting.

The sight stirred a memory. A conversation they'd had not long before taking flight.

It had been early morning, the sun barely cresting the horizon. They'd been sitting by the watchfire, the embers casting flickering shadows across their tired faces.

"We need something more," Aldric had said, eyes fixed on the horizon. "The Gate's walls will slow them, but it won't stop them. And we can't count on firebombs forever. Who knows what will happen if the harbinger comes themselves."

Lysara, sitting across from him, had stretched out her legs with a groan. "I know. But what else is there? We don't have an army. We have farmers with pitchforks and hunters. The only real force we have are those that deflected."

Aldric had rubbed his temples, frustrated. "Vadore had the Mother's Barrier. The corrupted couldn't cross it. Not even the Dark Templar could escape."

Her gaze had sharpened. "You're thinking of making one here?"

"Or extending it." He leaned forward. "The Mother's Barrier isn't just some ward. It's old magic. Ancient. And we've seen it work. If we can figure out how it was made—"

"It wasn't made lightly," Lysara had interrupted, voice cautious. "Those barriers weren't crafted by mortal hands alone. They were built when gods still walked among us. The Lightborn and the gods worked together to anchor them into the land itself." She shifted, her scales shimmering faintly in the dim firelight. "They only exist in the oldest Lightborn cities. And in the Veil."

"Vadore had one. The Cradle does too," Aldric had pressed. "We need to go back. If we can find clues about how the barrier was created—"

"We might be able to extend it," she finished, lips tightening. "Or create some similar."

He'd seen the uncertainty in her eyes then. The Divine Cradle wasn't just a temple to her. It was a reminder of her past, her people, and the war that never truly ended.

"We've got nothing to lose," Aldric had said softly.

Lysara had looked away, watching the embers crackle. "Yeah," she'd murmured. "Except time."

The memory faded as the Dragles dipped into a clearing. The forest canopy peeled back, revealing the temple below.

The Divine Cradle stood like a forgotten relic of a better age. Its marble dome, cracked and weathered, still gleamed faintly in the moonlight. The ring of spires surrounding it reached skyward like skeletal fingers. Vines coiled along the walls, their leaves silvered by starlight.

Aldric guided Dralore into a slow descent. The Dragle's talons scraped across the stone courtyard as it landed. Lysara touched down beside him, dismounting with practised ease.

The air was different here. Thicker. It clung to the skin, hummed beneath the surface. The same sensation Aldric remembered from the first time they'd stepped through these halls.

They moved toward the temple entrance. The wide stone archway yawned ahead, leading into the dark. Their footsteps echoed as they crossed the threshold.

Inside, the air turned colder. The great circular chamber stretched before them, the thirteen shrines still standing like silent watchers. The Prime's altar rose at the centre, dormant and dull. The constellations painted across the domed ceiling shimmered faintly, as though responding to their presence.

Aldric moved toward the Prime's shrine, his boots scraping across polished marble. He placed his palm against the cold surface.

"Prime," he said softly. "We're here. We need your help."

The stone remained cold.

Lysara crouched near the outer ring of shrines, running her fingers along the carved runes. "The barrier runes are intact," she said. "But they're weak. It feels like... like a lamp burning the last of its oil."

Aldric's brow furrowed. "If it's still here, why didn't it repel Karnax's corruption from reaching the Gate?"

"It's too far," Lysara said, tracing the curve of an ancient inscription. "These barriers weren't meant to stretch beyond the cities themselves. The magic is rooted in the land, like a tree drawing from deep wells. The further from the core, the weaker it gets."

He turned back to the Prime's altar. "So if we found that well... we could extend the reach?"

"Maybe," Lysara said. "But the source isn't here. It's deeper. The magic was always anchored underground."

Aldric ran a hand through his hair, frustration prickling beneath his skin. "We need to find that source."

His gaze drifted to the shrines, pausing on Tellik's. The guardian's sigil glimmered faintly beneath layers of dust. He stepped closer, brushing the stone surface with his fingertips. He gave is usual prayer to honour his guardian deity.

The runes hummed beneath his touch.

He inhaled sharply. "Lysara."

She was beside him in an instant. "What is it?"

"Feel this," Aldric said.

Lysara pressed her palm against the stone, her brow furrowed with concentration. The marble beneath her touch pulsed with faint warmth.

Her eyes widened. "It's... responding."

Aldric knelt beside her, pressing his hand to the stone. The sensation hit him immediately: a trembling, rhythmic pulse, ancient and deliberate. His vision blurred as images flooded his mind.

A vast tree with roots that pierced the deep into the ground. A figure kneeling in prayer at the base of the trunk, shadows creeping along the ground. The roots twisted downward, wrapping around something hidden—a symbol glowing faintly beneath layers of stone and time.

Then a picture of a rune.

The vision snapped away, leaving Aldric breathless. His hand jerked from the stone. "The Prime Shrine," he said, voice tight. "The rune's there. Hidden near the base."

Lysara opened her eyes. Her scales shimmered with a faint iridescence. "Tellik showed us," she said softly. "A warning. Or a... guide."

"'Mother watches, but the truth you should seek,'" Aldric murmured, repeating the words etched into his memory.

They turned toward the Prime Shrine.

The altar loomed in the centre of the chamber, its surface smooth and unyielding, the faint symbols of the gods arranged in their eternal circle. They approached cautiously, scanning the base.

"There," Lysara said, crouching. Her fingers brushed against a hairline groove in the marble—so faint it was almost imperceptible. "This is it."

Aldric knelt beside her. Together, they pressed their palms to the rune.

The marble grew cold beneath their touch. The runes around the room flickered once, twice, then brightened with sudden intensity. The low vibration beneath their feet turned into a steady, resonant hum.

The brazier at the heart of the chamber, long cold and lifeless, flared to life. Pale, golden flames surged upward, casting wild shadows against the walls. The air thickened, pressing down on them like invisible hands.

The stone beneath their feet shuddered. The marble trembled, sending fine cracks spiderwebbing outward from the shrine.

Aldric shifted his stance. "What did we just—"

The chamber answered before he could finish. The flames surged, growing taller, hotter. The shadows cast by the thirteen shrines twisted unnaturally, stretching across the floor like grasping fingers.

A voice filled the chamber, vast and ageless. It resonated from the walls, from the ground, from the marrow of their bones.

"Children of mine"

Aldric's breath caught in his throat. The last time he'd heard this voice, it had tasked them with a mission. This time, the tone was different—colder, sharper.

"You seek the truth and power..."

The fire twisted, forming abstract shapes in the air: jagged roots wrapping around a glowing core, a tree splitting through cracked earth, and a serpent coiling around the roots.

The ground trembled again, more forcefully this time.

"The roots run deeper than the mountain's heart. Beyond the scars of war. Seek the Anchor, where light met void and held firm."

Lysara's eyes locked with Aldric's, wide with unspoken dread. "The Anchor," she whispered. "That must be the source."

"Seek the Anchor... in the place where gods last knelt."

The fire flared to blinding intensity.

The marble beneath them groaned. The altar shifted with a grinding sound, stone scraping against stone. The floor at the base of the shrine split apart, revealing a spiral staircase descending into utter darkness.

The flames vanished, plunging the chamber into silence and shadow.

The cold breath of the dungeon wafted upward, carrying the faint, metallic tang of something ancient and wrong.

"Do you feel that?" he asked.

Lysara's scales dimmed to a dull grey. "Yeah," she said, voice tight. "That's not divine magic. That's corruption."

"Void-tainted air," Lysara whispered. Her expression was grim. "Why is it here?." She asked.

Aldric drew his sword. "Let's find out."

They descended, boots scuffing against slick stone steps. The air thickened with each step. The walls, once smooth marble, turned rough and uneven. Faint runes pulsed faintly along the sides, etched in patterns reminiscent of the sigils in Vadore—but here, their glow was dimmer, weaker.

The oppressive atmosphere coiled around them like a suffocating cloak. It gnawed at their senses, dulling instinct, making their steps feel heavier than they should have been. Aldric adjusted his shield strap, sweat prickling along his spine despite the chill.

"These runes," Lysara said, running her fingers along the uneven stone. "They're not just old... they're conflicted. Divine and void magic layered together."

"Working against each other?"

"No." Her eyes narrowed as she traced the grooves. "Working together."

The thought chilled him more than the air. "I thought that was impossible."

"So did I," she murmured. "Until now."

The staircase spiralled downward another ten paces before emptying into a circular antechamber. The walls curved inward like the ribs of some vast creature, each section lined with runes. At the far end, a narrow archway yawned open, revealing another corridor shrouded in thick darkness.

Aldric took a cautious step forward. The moment his boot touched the floor, the temperature plummeted.

The shadows along the walls stirred.

"Lysara—"

"I see them," she said, already raising her staff.

The shapes detached themselves from the stone, coiling upward like smoke given purpose. Pale, translucent figures formed from the shadows, hollow-eyed and skeletal. They drifted toward them with a slow, deliberate grace, their movements weightless, like tattered cloth caught in an unseen wind.

Spectres.

Minor incorporeal void beings, weaker than the wraiths they'd fought in Frae but still dangerous in confined spaces.

But something about these felt... different.

The spectres made no sound. No guttural growl. No mindless screech like the void-twisted creatures they'd faced before. They hovered in place, featureless faces tilted toward Aldric and Lysara.

Waiting.

"Why aren't they attacking?" Aldric whispered.

"I don't know," Lysara said. "But whatever they are, they don't feel... right."

The nearest spectre shifted slightly, drifting closer. Aldric raised his sword, angling his shield forward.

The creature stopped.

Then lunged.The spectre crossed the distance in a blur, too fast for something without a body. Aldric slammed his shield upward just in time. The creature's incorporeal form hit the surface like ice meeting steel, hissing with a high-pitched crackle. The impact jarred his arm to the shoulder.

The others moved simultaneously.

Three surged toward Lysara. She whispered a prayer, and her staff flared with light. The first spectre recoiled with a shriek, smoke-like tendrils writhing away from the radiance.

"They don't like that," she said through gritted teeth. "Holy magic still works."

"Good," Aldric growled. "Let's show them what it feels like."

The spectre he blocked darted around the shield, its tendrils stretching for his throat. He swung his sword in a tight arc. The steel passed through the creature's form, meeting little resistance, but the divine blessing etched into the blade ignited as it cut. The spectre screeched, its form unravelling into wisps of smoke.

Lysara lashed out with her staff, striking one spectre across what should have been its chest. The weapon flared with pale gold light, burning straight through the creature. It disintegrated into mist with a sound like cracking ice.

The remaining two circled them warily now, drifting just beyond reach.

"They're... learning," Aldric said, chest heaving.

The two spectres stopped circling. Their hollow faces tilted in unison.

Then they spoke.

Not in words, but in a single layered whisper that scratched against the mind like splinters under the skin.

"You...should not...be here." It was in the old tongue.

Aldric's breath caught. The voice wasn't mindless, like the corrupted they'd fought before. It carried weight. Intention.

"We don't want to be here either," Lysara said, tightening her grip on the staff. "But we need to know why you're here."

The spectres hovered in silence for a moment.

Then one shifted closer, just enough that Aldric could see faint impressions of shapes within its form—faces, blurred and indistinct, as though a hundred spirits had been pressed into a single fragile shell.

"The...roots...are poisoned."

Lysara's jaw clenched. "By what?"

The second spectre turned its empty gaze toward her.

"By you."

Aldric reacted instinctively. He lunged forward and slashed through the nearest spectre. His sword flared with divine light as it connected. The creature wailed and disintegrated into smoke.

The remaining spectre drifted backward toward the archway.

"The anchor...wakes. The price...must be paid"

Then it vanished into the corridor beyond.

Silence flooded the chamber.

Aldric steadied his breathing, lowering his sword. "The anchor," he said, glancing at Lysara. "The Prime mentioned it too."

"Yeah," Lysara said, voice unsteady. Her hand rested on her chest, over her heart. "But they said the roots are poisoned because of me."

Aldric gritted his teeth. "They're void-spawn. They lie. Or maybe they meant Lightborn in general"

"Maybe." She swallowed. "But it didn't feel like a lie."

The air shifted again. The chill deepened.

The archway the spectre had retreated through groaned, the stone grinding against itself as ancient mechanisms stirred.

Slowly, the marble threshold split apart, revealing another staircase descending into darkness.

Aldric raised his sword. "A dungeon."

Lysara straightened beside him, shoulders squared. "Yeah," she said, voice firmer now. "Let's find out what it's hiding.