Chapter 3: The Guardian’s Trial

The chamber trembled as the Guardian stepped forward, its blackened armor groaning with ancient weight. The mist that clung to its form shifted like living shadows, flickering with traces of blue light—the same eerie glow that burned in the eyes of the Wraithborn.

Rheon raised his sword, muscles tensing. "Stand ready."

Dain and Lorien flanked him, weapons drawn, while Elara whispered a spell under her breath, violet runes forming at her fingertips.

The Guardian's helmeted head tilted, as if observing them. Then, in a voice like grinding stone, it spoke:

"Who seeks the knowledge of the forgotten?"

The words echoed through the vault, each syllable vibrating in Rheon's chest.

Hadric stepped forward cautiously, gripping his holy symbol. "We are travelers in search of truth."

The Guardian's blue-lit gaze locked onto him. "Truth is earned, not taken."

Without further warning, it lunged.

Its speed was unnatural—one moment standing still, the next, it was upon them. Rheon barely raised his sword in time to block the Guardian's massive blade. The impact sent a shock through his arms, nearly forcing him to his knees.

Dain swung at its flank, but his sword glanced off the armor like it had struck stone. Lorien tried to move behind it, daggers flashing, but the Guardian twisted impossibly fast, backhanding him across the chamber.

Elara unleashed a burst of arcane fire. The violet flames struck the Guardian's chest, but instead of burning, they were absorbed into the armor.

Elara's eyes widened. "Magic won't work on it!"

Hadric reached out, chanting an incantation, his hands glowing with divine light. The Guardian hesitated, its glowing eyes flickering—as if the holy magic affected it.

Rheon took the chance. He pivoted, bringing his blade down in a controlled arc—not at the Guardian's body, but at the runes engraved on its chest.

The steel connected. The chamber pulsed with energy.

The Guardian froze. Its entire form convulsed, the blue light in its eyes flickering erratically. A deep, guttural sound escaped from within its armor—not a scream of pain, but of release.

The mist surrounding it began to unravel.

Rheon stepped back, breathing hard. "What's happening?"

Hadric's voice was steady. "It was bound. A relic of the last cycle, cursed to guard this vault. But your blade—"

Before he could finish, the Guardian collapsed to its knees.

A final, strained whisper escaped its unseen lips.

"Break the chain… end the cycle…"

Then, with one last pulse of blue energy, the armor crumbled into dust.

A heavy silence filled the chamber.

Lorien groaned from where he had landed. "Next time, let's not wake up ancient horrors, yeah?"

Rheon ignored him, turning to Hadric. "It knew." His voice was low, almost disbelieving. "It knew about the cycle."

Hadric nodded grimly. "And it wanted us to break it."

Elara stepped onto the dais where the Guardian had stood. Her eyes landed on the obsidian pedestal, now free of its protector. Symbols shifted across its surface, glowing faintly.

"This is it," she whispered. "The first piece of the Epoch Relic."

Rheon approached, his hand hovering over the runes. He could feel it—a pulse, a presence. A piece of something far greater.

Slowly, he pressed his palm to the pedestal.

The world vanished.

For a fleeting moment, Rheon was nowhere.

A vision took hold. A battlefield—cities burning, the sky split open by light and darkness. Himself, but not himself. A choice made long ago. A voice calling his name.

Then, as suddenly as it came, it was gone.

He staggered back, gasping.

Elara caught his arm. "What did you see?"

Rheon steadied himself, his mind racing.

"The past," he said. "Or the future."

Lorien sighed. "That's not ominous at all."

Dain sheathed his sword. "So what now?"

Rheon looked at the markings left on the pedestal. A map. Directions. The next step.

He exhaled.

"We find the next piece."

The Mark of the System

The vault chamber still hummed with residual energy from the battle. Dust settled where the Guardian had crumbled, and the pedestal's runes pulsed softly, their glow fading now that the first piece of the Epoch Relic had been revealed.

Rheon stood still, his pulse steadying, but his mind was far from calm. The vision still lingered. He had seen war, destruction—himself standing at the center of it all.

Was it a memory of a past cycle? A warning of what was to come?

Elara's voice brought him back. "Rheon."

He blinked, turning to her. "What?"

She studied him. "You were gone for a moment. What did you see?"

He hesitated. "A battlefield. A war I don't remember. And… myself, but different."

Hadric exhaled slowly. "Each cycle leaves echoes. The System remembers."

Lorien, who had been checking his injuries from the Guardian's strike, scoffed. "That's great and all, but can we not get lost in philosophy right now? What's our next move?"

Dain had already stepped up to the pedestal, his sharp eyes scanning the runes. He pointed to a section where the light had dimmed but the markings remained clear. "This is a map."

Elara traced the lines with her fingertips. "It points east. Beyond the highlands." Her voice grew somber. "Toward the Veilwood."

A cold silence followed.

Even Lorien, ever the skeptic, looked uneasy. "You're joking."

Hadric murmured a quiet prayer. "The Veilwood is cursed."

Rheon frowned. "Cursed or not, that's where the next piece of the relic is." He turned to the others. "We move at first light."

The System's Warning

The group left the vault, the weight of their discovery pressing upon them. They camped at the edge of Old Vandros, the ruined city watching them like a silent witness to history.

That night, Rheon couldn't sleep. He sat by the dying embers of their fire, staring into the darkness.

Then, something shifted.

The air grew thick, heavy. A strange hum filled the space around him, like a whisper beyond the range of human ears.

And then—a voice.

"You were not meant to wake."

Rheon shot to his feet, hand on his sword. His breath came faster, but there was no one there.

The voice came again, cold, mechanical. "The System must continue. The cycle cannot break."

His fingers clenched the hilt of his blade. "Who are you?"

No answer. But in the air before him, something appeared—

A symbol, burning white-hot, floating in the darkness.

A mark of the Epoch System.

It pulsed once, then vanished, leaving nothing but silence behind.

Rheon stood frozen, heart pounding.

For the first time, he realized—the System itself was watching him. And it did not want to be defied.

At First Light

When dawn broke, he told no one what had happened.

They mounted their horses, riding east. The journey ahead would take them into the Veilwood, a place where time itself was said to twist and reality fractured.

As they rode, Rheon's gaze drifted to the horizon.

If the System was watching, then whatever lay ahead was more dangerous than any of them had imagined.