The night air was heavy with the scent of rain as the group followed Riven beyond the city gates. The landscape quickly shifted from the cobblestone streets of Drakemoor to the wild terrain just outside the city’s fortified walls. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale light over the rocky ground beneath their feet.

  The group walked in silence, each lost in their thoughts. The weight of what they were about to face pressed down on them, a palpable force that seemed to grow stronger with each step they took away from the city. Aric, at the front of the group, kept his eyes on Riven, who moved with the confidence of someone who knew exactly where he was going.

  After what felt like hours of navigating the winding forest paths, Riven finally came to a halt before a jagged outcropping of rocks, its sharp edges jutting from the earth like the fangs of some ancient beast. The air here was different—heavier, charged with an eerie stillness that set the group on edge.

  Without a word, Riven dropped to one knee and swept away a thick layer of dirt and decaying leaves with practiced efficiency. Beneath the grime, a rusted metal hatch came into view, its surface pitted with age and corrosion. Faint, almost imperceptible markings were etched along its rim—symbols worn down by time, their meaning lost to all but the most learned scholars.

  “This is it,” Riven murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His gloved fingers traced the edge of the hatch as if confirming its authenticity. “The secret entrance to the catacombs. It hasn’t been used in years… but it should still be functional.”

  A heavy silence settled over the group as they stared down at the hatch. Whatever lay beneath had been sealed away for a reason.

  Thalrin grunted in approval. “Looks sturdy enough. How deep do these catacombs go?”

  Riven’s expression was unreadable. “Deep enough. The path ahead won’t be easy. Malakar has likely set traps and stationed guards to prevent anyone from getting too close to his plans. Stay sharp.”

  With a grunt of effort, Thalrin pulled the hatch open, revealing a dark, narrow stairway that descended into the earth. The smell of damp stone and decay wafted up from below, making the air thick and musty.

  Aric was the first to descend, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The others followed, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls. The stairway was tight, forcing them to walk single file.

  The group emerged into a long, narrow corridor lined with ancient stone bricks, worn smooth by centuries of neglect. The air was cool and damp, and the only light came from the flickering torches that Elyndra had conjured with a wave of her hand.

  “This place feels… wrong,” Liora whispered, her voice barely audible in the darkness.

  “It’s old magic,” Elara said. “These catacombs were built long before Drakemoor existed. They were likely a place of worship—or something far darker.”

  “Stay close,” Aric warned. “We don’t know what we’ll find down here.”

  They continued down the corridor, their footsteps muffled by the thick layer of dust that covered the floor. Every so often, they would pass by side passages, some of which had collapsed over time, while others led into impenetrable darkness.

  Riven pressed forward with deliberate steps, his movements precise as he guided them deeper into the winding catacombs. Silence hung heavy around them, broken only by the occasional drip of water echoing through the tunnels or the distant, skittering movements of unseen creatures. Each step felt like a whisper in the dark, the weight of the underground pressing down on them. The group moved in tense formation, hands hovering near weapons, eyes darting to every shadow. The further they went, the stronger the feeling that something—or someone—was watching.

  As they rounded a corner, the corridor suddenly widened into a large, circular chamber. The floor was inlaid with a complex mosaic of ancient symbols, each glowing faintly with a soft blue light. At the center of the chamber stood a massive stone door, its surface covered in intricate carvings.

  Riven stopped abruptly, holding up a hand to signal the others. “Wait,” he said, his voice tense. “This is a trap.”

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  Aric’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of trap?”

  Riven pointed to the glowing symbols on the floor. “These are wards—old magic designed to protect something. If we step on the wrong one, it could trigger anything from a collapse to a magical explosion.”

  Elyndra stepped forward, examining the symbols. “These wards are ancient, but I can sense their power. We need to be careful.”

  “What do we do?” Thalrin asked, his grip tightening on his warhammer.

  “We need to find the correct path,” Elara said, her eyes scanning the room. “The wards are like a puzzle. If we can decipher the symbols, we can find a safe way across.”

  The group spread out, carefully examining the floor. The symbols were unfamiliar, each one a complex arrangement of lines and shapes that seemed to pulse with a faint inner light.

  Elara knelt beside one of the symbols, tracing it with her finger. “These symbols… they’re connected to the elements—earth, fire, water, and air. The correct path should correspond to the elements in a specific order.”

  Aric looked around, trying to make sense of the symbols. “What’s the order?”

  Elara furrowed her brow, deep in thought. “In ancient texts, the order often followed the natural cycle—earth first, then water, fire, and finally air. But it could vary depending on the ritual or purpose.”

  Riven nodded. “We’ll have to take a chance. If we follow that order, we might make it across safely.”

  Aric took a deep breath, then stepped carefully onto a symbol representing earth. The symbol flared brightly for a moment, then faded, leaving the path ahead clear.

  “It worked,” he said, motioning for the others to follow.

  One by one, the group followed Aric’s lead, carefully stepping on the symbols in the correct order. The tension was almost unbearable, each step filled with the fear of triggering the trap. But as they reached the other side of the chamber, the door slowly began to open with a low, grinding sound.

  Beyond the door lay another corridor, this one even darker and more foreboding than the last. But they had made it past the first obstacle, and there was no turning back now.

  As they moved deeper into the catacombs, the air grew colder, and the walls began to close in, the corridor narrowing until they were forced to walk in single file once again. The silence was broken only by their breathing and the occasional creak of ancient stone.

  After what felt like an eternity, the corridor opened up into another chamber—this one much larger and more imposing. The walls were lined with massive stone statues, each one depicting a hooded figure holding a weapon. Their faces were obscured, but their presence was ominous, as if they were watching the group’s every move.

  “This place gives me the creeps,” Kael muttered, glancing around nervously.

  “It’s a burial chamber,” Elara said, her voice hushed. “These statues are guardians, meant to protect the dead from intruders.”

  “Let’s hope they stay that way,” Thalrin grumbled, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of movement.

  As they moved through the chamber, the silence was suddenly broken by a low, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate through the air. The sound grew louder, reverberating off the walls until it became almost deafening.

  “What is that?” Liora shouted, covering her ears.

  “It’s the echoes,” Elyndra said, her voice strained. “The magic in this place is amplifying them. We need to keep moving.”

  But as they tried to press forward, the statues began to shift, their stone limbs creaking as they slowly turned to face the intruders. The air grew thick with tension as the statues’ eyes glowed with a pale, ghostly light.

  “We’ve triggered something,” Aric said, drawing his sword. “Get ready!”

  The statues began to move with alarming speed, their stone forms coming to life as they raised their weapons. The group scrambled to defend themselves, the echoes of their movements and shouts creating a cacophony of sound that made it difficult to think.

  Thalrin swung his warhammer at the nearest statue, shattering its arm with a single blow. But the statue didn’t falter—it simply kept advancing, its eyes glowing brighter.

  “These things don’t go down easy!” Thalrin shouted, as he swung again, this time aiming for the statue’s legs.

  Elyndra and Liora unleashed their magic, sending bolts of energy and flames toward the advancing statues. The spells struck with force, but the statues seemed almost impervious, their stone forms barely cracking under the assault.

  Aric dodged a sweeping blow from one of the statues, narrowly avoiding being crushed. He slashed at its torso, chipping away at the stone, but it only seemed to anger the guardian further.

  Riven moved with a practiced grace, dodging the statues’ attacks and striking at their weak points with precision. “Aim for the joints!” he shouted. “That's their weakness!”

  Heeding Riven’s advice, the group directed their strikes at the statues’ joints, chipping away at the enchanted stone with every well-placed blow. Cracks spread like veins through the ancient figures, their once-imposing forms weakening under the relentless assault. With each decisive strike, another statue crumbled, collapsing into heaps of shattered stone.

  As the final guardian fell, the chamber was swallowed by silence. The echoes of battle faded into the depths of the catacombs, leaving only the sound of their ragged breathing. Weapons remained poised, eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. But nothing stirred. The fight was over—for now.

  “That was too close,” Kael said, wiping sweat from his brow. “What the hell is Malakar guarding down here?”

  “We’re getting closer,” Riven said, his voice steady. “The deeper we go, the more dangerous it will become. But we can’t turn back now.”

  Aric nodded, sheathing his sword. “Let’s keep moving.