The spiraling stairwell seemed to stretch into eternity.
Each step Alex took was echoed by the groaning of ancient machinery, gears churning somewhere in the walls—still functional after thousands of years. The blue mist that drifted from below wasn't natural. It pulsed faintly with mana, but not like any he had felt before. This was denser, heavier. Alive.
Nyssa trailed just behind him, her eyes darting constantly, hands never far from her daggers. "This place feels… wrong."
"No. It feels preserved," Soren corrected, brushing his hand along the smooth stone wall. "As if it was waiting for someone."
After what felt like hours, they reached the bottom.
An arched gate, massive and circular, stood embedded in the rock. Symbols carved into it shifted and realigned as they approached. In the center was a handprint, glowing faintly—half human, half Saint in shape.
Alex stared at it.
"Try it," said Nyssa.
He hesitated, then pressed his hand against it.
The gate responded instantly.
It spun with a deep rumble, layers of interlocking stone opening like an iris. A gust of frigid air burst outward, smelling of dust, metal, and forgotten power.
They entered.
Inside was a chamber of wonders. The walls were covered in glowing runes and floating glyphs. Holographic projections blinked to life—images of towering cities, Saints and humans working side by side, and then… flames. War. Collapse.
In the center of the room was a sarcophagus, surrounded by five large crystal pylons flickering with mana. Suspended above it was a figure—encased in light, unmoving, yet unmistakably alive.
A man.
Or something like one.
His ears were pointed, his skin slightly translucent, and veins of mana coursed just beneath the surface. He floated in stasis, arms folded across his chest, wearing armor unlike any seen in the current age.
"What... is he?" whispered Nyssa.
Alex stepped forward, staring in awe. "A Saint… but different. Like he predates them."
Soren examined the crystals. "This must be what the empire's been after. This man—this Ancient—is the key."
As if in response, one of the pylons flared. A voice echoed through the chamber, old and layered:
"Designated successor detected. Accessing core memories…"
Alex's mind was pierced with blinding visions. Cities of light. A council of six. The sealing of Zeta. A final prophecy:
> "The child of two worlds shall awaken the last guardian. If he fails… the void returns."
Alex staggered back, gasping.
Soren caught him. "What did you see?"
"Everything," Alex whispered. "The Saints weren't always rulers. They were created… to guard something. But they turned on their purpose."
He looked back at the suspended figure.
"This man tried to stop them. They sealed him here. And now… I'm supposed to finish what he started."
Suddenly, alarms blared—ancient, yet functional. A red light pulsed from the ceiling.
Nyssa drew her blades. "Company?"
"No," said Soren grimly, checking his scanner. "Something worse. The Empire knows we're here."
Above them, the first tremor hit.
The walls shook as explosive charges detonated somewhere in the cathedral ruins.
"They're collapsing the entrance," Alex said, voice steady despite the rising panic.
Nyssa's eyes met his. "Then we find another way out. Or we make one."
The chamber began to quake as hidden doors opened to the sides, revealing a labyrinth of tunnels.
The path forward was set.
And the Empire had just declared war.