DEMON SITE BUT NO MORE THAN A RUIN

The moon hung low over the Lake District, its pale reflection shimmering across the black waters. The air was unusually still, as if the world itself held its breath. Trees stood frozen, and even the usual croaks and chirps of nocturnal life had vanished. All that remained was silence… and anticipation.

Two figures appeared in the faint moonlight.

Arslan adjusted the dark cloak wrapped around his frame as he stepped down from the rocky slope, boots crunching against the gravel. Beside him, the spectral form of Kar'Thæl shimmered faintly, half-materialized in the world, his presence both cold and warm—like fire and frost breathing in rhythm.

"Is this the one near the lake?" Arslan whispered.

Kar'Thæl nodded, his eyes glowing faintly crimson. "Yes. This is the Demon Site that's appeared only days ago. The Council marked this place as dormant… but I sense something far deeper. Be cautious."

They descended the ridge into the earth's open scar—where jagged stone walls rose around a narrow crevice, leading underground like a serpent's throat. The entrance exhaled a faint, sulfurous warmth—unmistakably infernal.

SFX: Whispers of wind, the echo of footsteps over stone.

As they entered the chasm, the world behind them was swallowed by shadows.

A sudden clang echoed in the darkness. Arslan halted, hand on his blade's hilt.

"Just a loose rock," Kar'Thæl muttered. "The site is ancient… but not abandoned."

They lit a handflame—a floating orb of purple fire conjured by Kar'Thæl. Its dim light flickered off the slick stone walls, revealing dark inscriptions carved into the surface.

Strange symbols etched in a looping, angular language—neither human nor purely demonic.

"What are these?" Arslan asked, eyes narrowing.

"Old runes," Kar'Thæl replied. "Pre-Sundusk era. Possibly Shai'Kor dialect. This isn't just a Gate... it's a shrine. A memory. Or a warning."

Further down, the corridor opened into a cavernous dome. Stalactites drooped like fangs, and at the far end of the chamber stood what appeared to be a circle of fire, burning silently in a perfect ring atop the stone floor.

SFX: The low hum of flame, crackling softly but without heat.

Arslan stepped closer. The fire gave off no warmth, only a presence—like eyes watching from another world.

"Kar'Thæl…"

"I see it. These flames aren't normal. They're shaped like the symbol of the Vault."

Arslan knelt beside one and inspected it. His fingers hovered inches away. The flames hissed quietly but didn't move. Embedded in the ring's center were five glowing shards—crystals with molten cores that pulsed faintly, like hearts still beating.

Kar'Thæl's face darkened. "Fire Crystals of the Abyss. Rare. You only find them near sealed infernal sources... or the resting place of something ancient."

"And there's no demon here guarding them?"

"Either they fled, or something is waiting elsewhere."

They circled the chamber.

More drawings appeared along the edges—humanoids bowing before a twisted figure holding a staff. The figure's crown looked awfully familiar—clawed and horned, just like the one worn by the Demon Lords.

"This wasn't just a site," Arslan said grimly. "It was a worship chamber."

"And it still holds power," Kar'Thæl added. "But for who?"

They spent the next hour traversing side tunnels that spiraled deeper underground. Each room was empty—ruined altars, dried-up magic wells, and shattered remnants of what might have once been guardians. Some doors were locked by time, others buried in collapsed stone.

No voices.

No blood.

Just the quiet echo of their breath.

Finally, in the third hour, they stood in front of a sealed pillar of stone, shaped like a coffin stood upright. It pulsed with dark energy, but it didn't respond to touch or chant.

"Too strong to break," Arslan said. "And too ancient."

Kar'Thæl nodded. "This place has seen death… but not today. We came for answers, and what we found are warnings."

"And these," Arslan said, holding up the five Fire Crystals. Each one glowed with a different hue—red, orange, blue, violet, and a sickly green.

Kar'Thæl took one, examining it in the light of the spellfire. "These aren't for power. They're markers. Whoever left these… meant to return."

They left the Site, the silence trailing behind them like smoke. As they emerged back into moonlight, the winds returned—the world no longer felt breathless, but restless.

SFX: Wind rustles through trees. Far-off owls return to their call.

Arslan looked back once. "What do we tell the King?"

Kar'Thæl's voice was low, certain. "That war is not coming. It has already begun."

They disappeared into the darkness—two shadows returning from the mouth of something ancient, their hands holding fire, and their minds spinning with questions.