RESEARCH FACILITY... MORE THAN THEY THOUGHT

The streets of the Lower District echoed with the clatter of hooves as Aswad, Arslan's black warhorse, galloped steadily through the old passageways. Unlike the clean marble roads of the Upper District, here the bricks were chipped and stained by time and neglect. The people watched from doorways and balconies, whispering when they recognized the rider.

Arslan's dark cloak fluttered behind him, his eyes steady on the road ahead. The sky had begun to turn amber, and the evening chill crept into the breeze. But his mind was not on the cold — it was on the path ahead.

The former research facility lay on the outskirts of Lumisgrave, beyond the last working guard post. Once a marvel of arcane technology, it now stood forgotten — charred, hollow, and silent.

As he approached, the ruins revealed themselves in full.

Charred stone pillars reached upward like skeletal fingers. Half-melted steel frameworks clung to crumbling walls. The gate, once enchanted with layered seals, hung crooked and blackened. Burned-out sigils flickered faintly on the walls, remnants of protective runes long since overpowered.

The main arch bore a scorched plaque: "Lumisgrave Council of Arcane Research – Restricted Access."

As Arslan dismounted, Aswad let out a huff, uneasy.

> "He senses the residue..." Kar'Thæl murmured from within.

Arslan nodded. "The echoes of fire. Not all of it was magical."

He walked past the fallen debris, stepping over broken stone and metal. A deep silence clung to the place, disturbed only by the crunch of his boots against ash.

The moment Arslan stepped inside, darkness swallowed him whole.

Walls of soot, collapsed beams, glass frozen in a state of melted distortion — the facility felt like a grave. The air smelled of burnt paper, rust, and faint chemicals. Old lights hung dead from the ceiling, their crystals shattered.

Kar'Thæl's voice whispered into the silence.

> "This place is enormous... Where would your father's cabin have been? It all looks the same now — ruin and shadow."

Arslan held up a small glowstone from his belt pouch. Its dull light revealed rows of twisted hallways. Some doors hung open, others sealed shut with runes that no longer pulsed.

"We explore," Arslan said softly. "Somewhere in here… he left something."

He moved cautiously, every step releasing a flake of ash or the squeal of warped metal. His fingers traced along the wall as they passed door after door.

Suddenly, he stopped.

A worn plaque hung next to a warped door — once glass-covered, now stained and foggy.

It read: "WARNING: No one can enter other than High Facility Members."

> "Interesting..." Kar'Thæl muttered. "Want to try your luck, Arslan?"

Arslan didn't hesitate. He pushed the door.

It groaned, then gave way.

The air inside was colder, untouched.

The room had once been well-maintained — now, it was littered with broken shelves, shattered orb-holders, and scorched pages. At the back stood something massive: a vault door, twisted and broken open.

Not burned.

But ripped.

Gashes along the metal edges looked like claw marks — or something worse. The vault's locking mechanism had been pried apart with inhuman strength.

Kar'Thæl hissed in the shadows.

> "This wasn't the fire. Someobe broke it."

Arslan stepped forward slowly, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger out of instinct. He looked inside the broken vault.

Within, the air shimmered faintly.

Scattered across the floor were crystals — not many, and most were cracked or dulled by burn damage. But their shape was clear: hexagonal energy crystals, used in arcane storage, relic containment, and memory transcription.

He knelt and picked one up.

It was cold in his palm. As he turned it, the light caught an inner fracture running through its core.

Kar'Thæl's voice grew sharper.

> "So they did have them here. The same type we've seen in the Demon Sites. Your father's lab… they weren't innocent. They were experimenting with forbidden energies."

Arslan's gaze narrowed.

"Then they knew. About the Crystals. About something worse."

He walked further into the vault chamber, passing fallen sigil plates and melted bookshelves. Near the far corner, an iron-silver desk, half buried under debris, caught his eye.

He approached it slowly.

The drawers were fused shut — but with a firm pull, the top one gave way, creaking open.

Inside lay a bundle of scorched scrolls, tied loosely with metal wiring.

He picked up the scrolls, his fingers brushing over the soot-stained parchment.

He just stood there, scrolls in hand, surrounded by broken crystals, shattered vault doors, and the ashes of a truth long buried.