A full day had passed.

Ryn spent most of it inside the cave.

Not sleeping much, he couldn't afford to. He cycled his Essence in slow patterns, reinforcing what little stability he'd manage to achieve. The cold flow dulled pain enough that he could breathe normally again.

Enough that he could stand and walk around.

Healing came slowly. The fractures along his back knit slowly, held together more by will than actual ability. His spine still protested whenever he shifted his weight, but it'll have to do.

What didn't improve was the tugging feeling.

It was there when he woke, if you could call it waking. There when he rested his head against the stone. Even there when he tried to circulate his Essence more aggressively, hoping the focus would drown it out.

It didn't.

If anything, it grew clearer in the quiet.

A faint pressure at the edge of his thoughts, tugging forward, nudging him in a single direction.

Ryn frowned as he adjusted the flow again, then stopped altogether, realizing that every attempt was useless to begin with.

He had to get moving now. Any more wasted time would only worry Amelia—and who knew if he was already on a time crunch.

Ryn gathered his things quickly, looping the cord of the empty vial back around his neck out of habit more than reason. When he stepped out of the cave, the sensation strengthened slightly, settling into a clear sense of direction.

He sighed, then started walking.

His body still hurt, but Ryn had to deal with it.

As he moved through the rough terrain of the mountainous valleys, memories surfaced in the quiet stretches between each step.

Ryn'd walked the roads alone often in his first life.

Cities and towns that had been evacuated when the Evernight arrived, along with the eerie quiet of it all, was too familiar.

Back then, everything had already been destroyed by the time he reached these places.

And he hadn't had the power to change that.

But now—

…with everything that's happened.

Ryn clenched his jaw as he followed the pull deeper into the valleys.

Who was to say this time would be any different?

The valleys narrowed as he went deeper.

Stone walls rose on either side, jagged and uneven, funneling wind downward. No matter where he turned, it would follow.

The ground shifted from loose dirt to weathered rocks, old paths swallowed by time as grass grew over them.

That was when Ryn noticed the first marking.

He slowed.

At first, it looked like nothing more than a fracture in the stone, a natural crack formed by pressure and age. But the longer he stared, the more deliberate it became. The lines weren't random.

Ryn stepped closer.

There, etched shallowly into the rock face, was a symbol he hadn't seen in years.

His breath stilled.

"…You've got to be kidding me."

Ryn reached out, fingers hovering just short of the stone.

Up close, the carving was unmistakable. The grooves were deliberate, intersecting at points that felt intentional. More like a marker. Something meant to be found by those who knew what they were looking for.

And it was the same.

The same symbol carved into the ocean monument back in Lumen.

For a long moment, Ryn just stared.

He'd always thought that monument was a one-off. A relic left behind by some ancient group that had stumbled upon the Isles by chance.

Looks like he'd been wrong.

Very wrong.

But why would a symbol like this be here of all places?

This wasn't a crossroads or kingdom. Not a place of significance that he could tell. Just a narrow valley wedged between mountains.

And worse than that—

Why was his body telling him to go this way?

Every step he took in the direction of the symbol felt correct. His breathing eased slightly.

Curiosity won out—not just about the ancient people who'd left this behind, but about how they were connected to the black goop now tangled up in his Essence.

His gaze drifted lower.

A broad slab sat flush against the cliffside, edges barely visible unless you were standing this close.

A door.

Ryn took a slow step back, eyes tracing the outline now that he knew it was there. The proportions were unmistakable.

Just barely tall enough for people and wide enough for passage.

He let out a quiet breath.

"Well," he muttered, "if there's a door…"

His eyes swept the stone surface again.

"…there has to be a handle somewhere."

Ryn stepped closer and placed a hand against the stone.

It was smooth.

Intentionally worn down, probably through hard work in carving. He traced the outline carefully, testing for pressure, for any cracks that might widen under force.

Still nothing.

"…Of course," he muttered.

No gears clicked whatsoever. The door didn't tremble or sink inward like he'd half-expected. It remained exactly as it was, indifferent to whatever he was doing.

Ryn leaned back, studying it again.

A part of his brain really thought he could use his raw strength, but he wiped the delusional thought away immediately.

Ryn's gaze drifted upward again.

The symbol loomed above the door, its grooves catching the light just enough to stand out against the rock.

He reached up without really thinking about it.

His fingers traced along the grooves, following their path out of habit more than intent. The stone was cool beneath his touch.

And beneath it all, his Essence continued to circulate.

Or so he thought.

An unconscious release, just a thin thread of his Essence leaked outward as just adjusted his stance.

Yet, the reaction was immediate.

The grooves beneath his fingers lit up instantly, turning a bright blue before the sound of gears hit his ears.

Ryn staggered back as the slab trembled, dust shaking loose from the cliffside. The door didn't explode outward or collapse inward, retreating into the mountain as if responding due to muscle memory.

Cold air spilled out from the opening, the rest filled with darkness and eerie drips of water.

Ryn hesitated only a moment before stepping through.

The passage widened gradually, the rough stone giving way to carved surfaces the deeper he went. Walls smoothed by deliberate shaping curved outward, reinforced with arching supports that hadn't collapsed despite the weight of the mountain above them.

Then the tunnel ended.

Ryn stepped out onto stone.

His breath caught as he stared at the view.

The space before him opened into something vast, far larger than the valley outside had any right to contain.

Arches made out of pure white marble rose layer upon layer, holding up the vast ceiling that made up the area. Columns leaned but did not fall, wrapped in creeping vines and patches of moss that had grown due to probably centuries of vacancy.

Light filtered down from high above through fractured openings in the mountain ceiling. Actually, Ryn wasn't really sure how light got in, but it permeated just enough so that the whole place didn't feel like a tomb.

He took a slow step forward.

Stone echoed faintly beneath his boots.

Ryn's right hand rested on Snow's hilt, thumb brushing the guard out of habit. Ruins like these were prime territory for bandits. If not that, then monster dens—nesting grounds for things that preferred darkness and forgotten places.

He was ready for a confrontation.

But none came.

The city remained still.

And somehow, that unsettled him far more than any ambush would have.

Ryn walked deeper into the city.

The layout unfolded gradually.

Broad walkways connecting open plazas, staircases carved directly into the stone, arches leading into spaces that might once have served as gathering halls.

Everything was scaled to around humans, which was not what Ryn had in mind for an underground city in the dwarven territory.

But then again, things were different a thousand years ago.

Contrary to what he expected, it wasn't a bunker at all…these people were actually living, with society and community.

The final fact that confirmed his suspicion had just appeared in his face.

At the far end of a wide plaza stood a row of statues, five in total, arranged in a straight line.

The Five Gods.

Ryn stared at them for a long moment.

The proportions were right. The iconography was familiar. Even the positioning matched what he'd seen countless times in temples and shrines across the continent.

Too familiar.

"…They kept the same pantheon," he murmured.

After everything that had happened. After surviving something that had wiped entire civilizations off the map.

Their religion hadn't changed.

That didn't sit right with him.

Belief was supposed to evolve. To adapt, especially in places like this.

Ryn took a slow step forward, eyes never leaving the statues.

Stone scraped softly beneath his boot.

Then—

Click.

A small sound echoed from somewhere deeper in the ruins.

A pebble, skittering across stone.

Ryn froze.

His hand tightened on Snow's hilt.

Someone was here, and it seems they didn't want Ryn to find out.

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