Chapter 384: Translations (2)
An arch rose before them, carved from a stone so pale it seemed to glow faintly under the torchlight. Its surface was untouched by the erosion that had devoured the rest of the ruins.
Etchings spiraled across the arch in deliberate patterns, circles nested within circles, jagged crescents curling around serpentine lines. The serpent spiral was there again, but changed. Here, its fangs pointed outward, not inward. A ward, not a devouring.
The humans stopped short. Some muttered prayers, others pressed fingers to charms strung about their necks. The commander drew a sharp breath, eyes narrowing.
"This... is no village," he said grimly. "This is a tomb."
"No," Nysha murmured, shadows curling faintly around her ankles. Her crimson eyes traced the arch, the runes biting into her gaze. "Not a tomb. A temple."
The torchlight caught the hollows of her face, making her seem carved from the same stone. "They worshiped here."
The soldiers shifted uneasily.
Lindarion said nothing at first. He moved forward, each step echoing across the cavern floor. His gaze locked on the runes, tracing their spiral.
[System Notice: Structure identified.]
[Classification: Sanctuary.]
[Warning: Sealed sector—access restricted.]
[Anomaly: Blood resonance detected.]
His teeth clenched. ’Again with this resonance...’
Ashwing stirred against his shoulder, claws scraping faintly against the plate of his armor. The little dragon’s eyes glowed faintly, silver reflected in the etchings.
Lindarion pressed a hand against the arch. Cold. Too cold. The stone bit into his palm as though alive.
The system flickered again.
[Override attempt: ██ ███]
[Seal fragmentation: 1 of 6.]
His breath hitched for the briefest instant. One of six. A sequence.
Nysha’s gaze cut toward him, too sharp not to notice the flicker in his eyes. But before she could speak, the commander barked.
"Prince! Do not touch it!" His voice cracked with unease. "These walls reek of curses. The men—"
"They will hold," Lindarion cut him off. His tone was flat, carved of ice.
The commander swallowed his retort and turned back to his soldiers, barking for silence.
Lindarion stepped through the arch.
The chamber beyond swallowed them whole.
It was vast, shaped not like a cavern but a hall. Pillars soared into darkness, carved with the same spirals and dragon-headed motifs. The floor was smooth, untouched by time, as if the stone itself resisted decay.
The torchlight barely reached the far walls, yet the space hummed with faint illumination, the carvings pulsing softly like veins beneath skin.
The soldiers followed reluctantly, their steps echoing louder than they wished. The sound felt profane in the silence, like a shout in a shrine.
"This is wrong," one whispered. "No ruin stays clean. This place... it’s alive."
Another muttered, "We shouldn’t be here."
The commander silenced them with a growl, though his own eyes betrayed unease.
Lindarion moved steadily, gaze sweeping the hall. His pulse quickened despite himself. There was power here—power buried, sleeping, waiting.
[System Alert: Data surge detected.]
[Translation—initiating.]
Across the walls, the spirals seemed to ripple, light threading through grooves like liquid silver. And words flickered across his vision.
—The blood of sky and scale shall guard.
—The covenant binds the serpent.
—Six seals. One sanctuary.
—Break the chain, and the vessel awakens.
His grip tightened on his sword. Vessel.
Ashwing growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against his chest. Lindarion’s hand instinctively steadied him, though his own core throbbed in response.
Nysha drew closer, her shadows restless. "You see it too," she murmured.
Lindarion glanced at her. "I see walls."
Her lips curved into a shadow of a smile, humorless. "You lie poorly."
Before he could respond, the hall deepened.
At the far end rose an altar. A dais of pale stone, its steps etched with spirals so deep they seemed to bleed shadow. Behind it loomed a statue, ten meters tall, wings unfurled, scales etched in meticulous precision. A demi-human, carved in perfect likeness, caught between dragon and man.
Its eyes, inlaid with faintly glowing stone, followed them.
The soldiers recoiled as one. One dropped his torch, muttering feverish prayers.
"It watches—"
The commander’s snarl cut through. "Hold your tongues!" But even he avoided the statue’s gaze.
Lindarion’s gaze locked on the altar. His chest tightened.
[System Notice: Core resonance—unstable.]
[Seal 1 of 6 proximity confirmed.]
[Warning: Interaction may destabilize host.]
The words burned across his vision before fading into static.
He exhaled slowly, forcing the tightness from his frame. He couldn’t falter here. Not before soldiers who watched his every breath for cracks. Not before Nysha’s eyes, sharp as daggers.
"Secure the perimeter," he ordered at last, voice carrying like steel. "We rest here before moving south."
The commander looked at him as though he had ordered them to sleep inside a tomb. But he bowed his head. "As you command, Prince."
The men scattered reluctantly, setting torches into sconces, laying down gear with clumsy hands. Their fear thickened the air, but obedience held them.
Nysha lingered at his side, crimson eyes on the altar. "You’re not afraid."
"I don’t waste breath on fear."
"You should," she said softly. "This place isn’t dead."
Ashwing growled in agreement.
Lindarion’s eyes narrowed at the statue. His core thrummed in his chest, the warmth of Selene’s bond stirring faintly as if she felt the weight pressing down even in sleep.
But he did not call her. Not yet.
For now, the temple breathed, waiting. And he would breathe with it.
—
The torches sputtered, their flames bending strangely as if the very air carried its own draft.
The humans worked in silence, though every clang of metal and shuffle of boots echoed far too loud. The temple walls drank the noise, only to return it hollow, distorted, as though another host of footsteps moved alongside them just out of sight.
When the fires were placed in their sconces, the carvings along the pillars revealed themselves fully. Coiling dragons. Winged figures with human faces and clawed hands. Serpents biting their own tails. Spirals broken and reforged.
The commander spat once into the dust. "Blasphemy carved in stone." His voice was hard, but Lindarion heard the unease beneath it.
Lindarion said nothing. His gaze traced one particular set of carvings, six winged figures, each holding a different weapon: a blade of fire, a spear of lightning, a staff carved with stars, a chalice pouring blood, chains that coiled like serpents, and an hourglass cracked down the center.
[System Notice: Identifiers located.]
[Designation: Six Keepers.]
[Status: ███████ corrupted.]
[Warning: Memory fragments misaligned.]
The words jittered across his vision before dissolving into static. His chest tightened.
Ashwing hissed low in his ear, claws digging against his shoulder plate. His scales pulsed faintly, silver light flickering in rhythm with the etchings.