Chapter 15 – Echoes of Eldermire

Just Before Dawn, The Ruins of Eldermire

The forest broke apart like a curtain being drawn, revealing the skeleton of the past.

Eldermire stood before them, massive, crumbling, and forgotten.

The ruins stretched across the rocky hillside, ancient stone towers collapsed into jagged remains, their skeletal frames swallowed by creeping ivy and the weight of time. The main structure—a once-great fortress—stood hollowed out, its walls cracked, its battlements broken.

Yet despite its decay… something lingered.

It was too quiet.

No birds. No wind through the trees. Even the usual buzz of insects had vanished.

Delwyn slowed, instinct prickling along her spine.

"This place is wrong," Mira muttered.

Delwyn glanced at her. The scout had proven her resilience back at the camp, but here? She looked uneasy.

Not afraid, exactly. Just alert.

Like a soldier expecting an ambush.

"Do you feel that?" Mira asked.

Delwyn did.

The air was thick, weighted with something she couldn't name. Not magic. Not quite. But close.

She turned to Vaelor, who had stopped a few paces ahead, his sharp eyes scanning the ruins.

"You've been here before," Delwyn murmured. "You want to tell me why you're so damn quiet now?"

Vaelor didn't answer immediately.

Then, finally, he exhaled. "Because last time I was here, this place was just ruins."

Delwyn narrowed her eyes. "And now?"

"Now it isn't empty."

****

They moved forward cautiously, the ground uneven beneath their boots.

Vaelor took the lead, weaving through collapsed stone arches and overgrown pathways, his movements precise—like he had walked this path before.

Delwyn followed, scanning the ground.

No footprints. No signs of movement. Yet the weight of being watched never left her.

The prisoners trailed behind, silent but wary, their exhaustion dulled by the unease of this place. Even the wind felt different here—too still, too expectant.

Mira muttered under her breath, "I swear the ruins weren't this big in the stories."

"They weren't," Vaelor murmured.

Delwyn shot him a glance. "You want to expand on that?"

Vaelor's gaze flicked toward the far end of the fortress, where a jagged stone stairway led deeper underground. "The last time I was here, that wasn't."

Delwyn frowned. "You're telling me the ground built itself a stairway?"

Vaelor didn't smile. "I'm telling you something is shifting."

Delwyn rolled her shoulders, tension creeping into her muscles. "Brilliant. Just what I needed. A ruin that rearranges itself."

Vaelor let out a breath that might have been a laugh. "Glad you're enjoying yourself."

"Oh, I'm having a fantastic time," Delwyn muttered. "Wandering into a cursed ruin, with half-broken allies – no offence, no plan, and probably a demon under our feet. It's exactly how I wanted my night to go."

Vaelor gave her a look.

Mira, despite herself, smirked. "You two always like this?"

"Unfortunately," Vaelor murmured.

Delwyn shrugged. "He grows on you."

Mira scoffed. "Like a fungus."

Vaelor exhaled sharply. "Can we focus?"

Delwyn smirked, but the moment passed quickly.

Because the entrance loomed before them.

****

They slipped beneath the ruined archway, entering the hollowed remains of Eldermire's great hall.

Massive pillars lined the walls, cracked and splintered with age. The high ceiling had partially collapsed, letting in the soft glow of the dying moon.

Yet the dust was undisturbed.

Delwyn ran a gloved hand over a fallen stone, frowning. The dust should have settled naturally—years of wind and decay. But instead…

It looked like something had shifted recently.

Something had moved.

She didn't like that.

She turned to Vaelor, who was running his fingers along a series of markings on the wall—ancient symbols carved deep into the stone.

"Do those mean anything to you?" she asked.

Vaelor hesitated.

Then—"They should."

Delwyn raised an eyebrow. "That's cryptic as hell."

Vaelor exhaled, tracing one of the sigils with his thumb. "Because I've seen these before."

Mira tilted her head. "Where?"

Vaelor's jaw tightened. "In Blackreach."

Delwyn's stomach dropped.

Because she too had seen something similar. Below Blackreach.

The ones that pulsed with unnatural energy. The ones that felt wrong just looking at them.

Delwyn let out a slow breath. "Then we're not the first ones down here."

Vaelor turned to her, his expression unreadable.

"No," he murmured. "We aren't."

Delwyn stepped forward, scanning the hall. There was no furniture left, no signs of life. Only the ancient carvings, the massive cracked stonework, and the overwhelming feeling that they were not alone.

Then—her boot hit something solid.

She stopped. Looked down.

And frowned.

Beneath her, half-buried in the dirt, was a rusted weapon.

She knelt, brushing away the dust, revealing the broken remains of a longsword.

Mira peered over her shoulder. "That's not from an ancient ruin."

Delwyn turned the hilt over in her palm. The emblem on the pommel was familiar. Too familiar.

Her blood ran cold.

It was Varfaún steel.

Recently forged. Recently broken.

Mira swore under her breath. "That means—"

Delwyn stood sharply. "Someone else has been here."

She turned to Vaelor. "How sure are you that this place was abandoned?"

Vaelor's face was unreadable, but his grip on his dagger tightened.

"As sure as I was five minutes ago."

A gust of wind rushed through the ruined hall.

The torches lining the far side of the chamber flickered—then went out.

And in the darkness, something shifted.

A whisper of movement.

A presence unseen.

The ruins of Eldermire were not empty.

"I don't think we're alone."