The Cycle Begins

The path before them stretched into the mist, uncertain and shifting. Ryn tightened his grip on his thoughts, steadying himself against the lingering words of the mysterious figure. There is no refusal. Only delay.

‎The hooded figure exhaled sharply, glancing at Ryn. "You've drawn attention, and not the good kind."

‎The stranger smirked, as if the entire situation amused him. "That depends on how you define 'good.'"

‎Ryn ignored them both. The abyss within him pulsed faintly, a slow thrum beneath his skin. The markings left by the Echo still resonated, though their meaning remained elusive. He turned his gaze to the ground, where the frost from the Echo's presence had yet to fade entirely. Its patterns formed spirals—deliberate, intricate, purposeful.

‎The stranger knelt beside it, tracing a finger along one of the icy inscriptions. "These aren't just remnants. They're messages."

‎Ryn frowned. "Messages? From the Echo?"

‎"Or from something else entirely," the hooded figure muttered.

‎The frost pulsed once, then faded completely, leaving only damp earth behind.

‎Ryn straightened. "We need answers."

‎The stranger rose smoothly, dusting off his cloak. "Then let's find them."

‎They moved through the shifting fog, deeper into the woods where the trees loomed taller, their bark etched with timeworn engravings. Symbols that felt both ancient and familiar lined their surfaces, pulsing faintly with energy.

‎Ryn reached out, pressing his fingers against one. The moment he made contact, his mind fractured—

‎A city drowning in darkness. Towering spires crack under the weight of unseen forces. Figures clad in shimmering engravings battling an overwhelming tide of shadows. A voice calling his name, distant yet unbearably close.

‎The vision shattered. Ryn staggered back, breath ragged, his pulse hammering against his ribs.

‎The hooded figure steadied him. "What did you see?"

‎Ryn hesitated, then shook his head. "It doesn't matter. We keep moving."

‎The stranger chuckled. "Oh, but it does matter. Every step forward tightens the noose."

‎Ryn didn't respond. He had a feeling the stranger knew far more than he let on.

‎They walked in silence until the trees began to thin, revealing the faint outlines of an engraving station—an ancient site where inscriptions were carved into stone and infused with power.

‎Ryn felt the abyss stir within him again, whispering secrets just beyond his reach.

‎Whatever lay ahead, he knew one thing.

‎He was running out of time.

The engraving station loomed ahead, half-consumed by the passage of time. Its stone pillars were cracked, weathered by years of abandonment, yet the inscriptions remained untouched—glowing faintly, whispering with ancient energy. The air was thick with something unseen, something that made the abyss within Ryn stir more violently than before.

‎The hooded figure stepped forward first, his keen gaze scanning the surroundings. "It's still active," he murmured. "Something—or someone—has been using it."

‎The stranger smirked, stepping past him. "No surprise there. The real question is, what for?"

‎Ryn remained silent, his attention fixed on the engravings. They pulsed in slow, rhythmic intervals, as though breathing. He reached out, fingers barely grazing the stone, and—

‎Darkness. Voices overlapping, whispers tangled in echoes. Figures cloaked in shadow, their forms shifting with every step. A symbol—one he had never seen before—burned into his vision.

‎He jerked his hand back, gasping.

‎"That's twice now," the hooded figure noted, watching him carefully. "What did you see?"

‎Ryn swallowed, steadying himself. "People. Shadows. And a symbol I don't recognize."

‎The stranger folded his arms. "Describe it."

‎Ryn did, his words shaping the image as best as he could. The stranger's smirk faded, replaced by something more thoughtful.

‎"I know that mark," he said after a pause. "It belongs to those who guard what should never be found."

‎The hooded figure frowned. "You mean the Keepers?"

‎The stranger nodded. "If they're involved, then whatever's hidden here is dangerous."

‎Ryn exhaled, tension settling into his bones. He didn't need another warning to understand the weight of their discovery. The whispers of the abyss had already told him enough.

‎Something was here. Something old. Something that shouldn't be awakened.

‎And yet, the engravings continued to pulse, as if waiting for someone to listen.

Ryn clenched his fists as the weight of realization settled over him. The engraving station had not been abandoned—it had been watched. The pulsing inscriptions, the lingering energy in the air, the vision of the Keepers—all pointed to something alive within these ruins.

‎The hooded figure spoke first, his voice barely above a whisper. "If the Keepers are involved, we need to tread carefully. They don't take kindly to intrusions."

‎The stranger, ever the contrarian, smirked. "And yet, here we are. Wouldn't be the first time we've made enemies of those who hoard secrets."

‎Ryn ignored their exchange, his mind fixated on the pulsing inscriptions. The more he stared, the more the symbols rearranged themselves—no, not rearranged. Revealed themselves. It was as if they had been locked away, waiting for someone who could see beyond the surface.

‎He reached out again, this time allowing his engraving energy to flow through his fingertips. The moment his essence connected, the symbols ignited in brilliant silver light.

‎A surge of memories not his own.

‎A figure in dark robes, hands raised in ritual.

‎A binding inscription, chains of light wrapped around a hidden vault.

‎A whispered warning—_Do not let it break._

‎Ryn reeled back, his breath coming in short bursts. "There's something sealed here," he said, his voice unsteady.

‎The hooded figure stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "Sealed? What kind of inscription is capable of binding something within an engraving station?"

‎The stranger crossed his arms, intrigued. "More importantly, who—or what—needed to be sealed away?"

‎A gust of wind swept through the ruins, carrying with it a faint echo—a voice, ancient and fractured.

‎_You who bear the mark… you are not ready._

‎The inscription beneath Ryn's feet shifted. Symbols twisted, lines broke apart, revealing a deeper layer of engraving underneath. This was no ordinary station.

‎It was a prison.

‎The hooded figure swore under his breath. "We need to leave. Now."

‎Ryn, however, could not move. His body was locked in place as the abyss within him responded. The prison's seal was not just reacting to him—it was recognizing him.

‎The voice returned, sharper this time.

‎_The cycle begins anew._

‎Then the ground beneath them split open.

‎