chapter 18.5

With every precaution taken and vigilance at its peak, Alcard and his six outcasts stood before the colossal stone gate, its ancient carvings whispering forgotten tales of a past long buried by time. The intricate symbols etched into the weathered surface pulsed faintly under the dim green glow of the bioluminescent moss that clung to the damp walls, casting eerie, shifting shadows across the chamber. Every detail of the carvings seemed to hint at something grand—something long concealed beneath the weight of history.

Alcard's gaze remained fixed on the towering gate, his thoughts racing with possibilities. Then, turning toward his team, his voice cut through the heavy silence with quiet authority. "Whatever lies beyond this door, we cannot afford to be careless." He gestured toward two outcasts, signaling them forward. "Push it open."

The moment their hands met the cold stone, a low, grating rumble filled the air as the ancient mechanism groaned in protest. Dust cascaded from the ceiling, disturbed after centuries of undisturbed slumber. Slowly, inexorably, the gate yielded, revealing a vast chamber beyond, enshrouded in an oppressive silence. The walls stretched high, adorned with more ancient engravings, their meanings lost to time. The cool, damp air carried an unnatural stillness, as though something unseen lurked within the shadows.

Alcard stepped forward, his footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor. His fingers instinctively hovered near the hilt of his sword as his eyes darted across the room, searching for movement. "No immediate threats," he muttered under his breath, but suspicion lingered in his tone. "Stay alert. This quiet is deceptive."

The chamber was far larger than it appeared from outside. Massive, gnarled roots twisted through the cracks in the walls and ceiling, coiling downward like petrified veins of an ancient, slumbering beast. Strange symbols carved into the pillars flanked the entrance, forming patterns of interwoven circles and cryptic scripts that none of them could decipher.

One of the outcasts, Garvin, moved toward a section of the wall, brushing his fingers against the carvings with a look of unease. "I see no altar, no relics, no treasure—nothing that would warrant protection by those golems outside." His voice, though hushed, carried a clear undertone of confusion.

Alcard's expression remained tense. "Then why was this place guarded?" he murmured, mostly to himself. His instincts screamed that something was amiss. No force as formidable as the golems would have been stationed here unless there was something truly significant hidden within these walls.

Minutes passed as they scoured the chamber, searching for anything that might provide answers. When nothing obvious revealed itself, Alcard made his decision. "All of you, return to the entrance and hold your position. I will investigate further."

One of the outcasts hesitated. "Alone?" he asked, doubt flickering in his voice. "That's not wise."

Alcard's gaze met his with unwavering resolve. "I need space to think. If anything goes wrong, do not enter unless I call for you."

Despite their reluctance, the outcasts obeyed, retreating toward the entrance as Alcard advanced deeper into the chamber. Just as he was about to take another step, a deafening, grinding noise erupted behind him.

The gate slammed shut.

The impact sent a gust of wind through the chamber, stirring the dust and making the glowing moss flicker. Outside, the outcasts shouted in alarm.

"Alcard!" one of them called, his voice muffled beyond the thick stone. "Are you alright?"

Alcard remained composed despite the sudden change in circumstance. He took a slow, steadying breath before replying. "I'm fine. Do not attempt to force it open. Hold your position."

Now, alone within the chamber, the atmosphere grew heavier. The silence wasn't just an absence of sound—it was as though the very air held its breath, waiting.

Then, the ground trembled.

Alcard instinctively widened his stance, his hand now gripping the hilt of his sword. From the center of the chamber, ancient cracks in the stone began to widen as thick, dark roots slithered forth, twisting together like grasping fingers. Slowly, something began to emerge from the depths.

A crystal.

Not just any crystal—an artifact unlike anything Alcard had ever seen.

Suspended in the air, it hovered above the newly formed podium of entwined roots, its surface gleaming with an otherworldly, greenish light. An eight-sided prism, perfect in its geometry, yet pulsing as though it possessed a heartbeat of its own. Every facet of the crystal shimmered, reflecting a glow that seemed to defy the chamber's darkness.

Alcard's breath hitched. "A fragment…" The word left his lips in a whisper.

He had heard of these before—relics of untold power, spoken of in myths and half-forgotten histories. Stories of kings and conquerors who sought them, of wars fought over their possession, and of how entire civilizations fell under their influence. But he had never believed them to be real.

And yet, here it was.

As if sensing his thoughts, the fragment's light pulsed brighter, its glow intensifying until the entire chamber was bathed in a green luminescence.

With its emergence, the very nature of the room changed. The air turned denser, charged with an unseen energy that made the fine hairs on Alcard's arms stand on end. The roots along the walls shuddered, and in the eerie glow, their movements became more pronounced—as though the ruins themselves had awakened.

Alcard's fingers tightened around his sword. He didn't know what force lay dormant within the fragment, but he knew enough to recognize that mere proximity to it was altering the very environment around him.

"What are you…?" he murmured, eyes locked onto the floating relic.

Outside, the outcasts continued their desperate attempts to open the sealed gate, unaware of the transformation happening within.

Inside, Alcard remained unmoving, his mind warring between instinct and curiosity.

This was no ordinary artifact. It wasn't merely a key to power—it was something more.

Something alive.

And whatever force it held, it was watching him.

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