The northern road was quieter than the main trade routes.

  After leaving the town walls behind, the noise of civilization faded quickly—replaced by the steady rhythm of boots on packed earth and the distant rustle of wind moving through tall grass.

  Kael walked a few paces behind the others.

  Lira led the group with practiced ease, her eyes constantly scanning the horizon. Dorian followed slightly to the right side of the road, hammer resting across one shoulder like it weighed nothing. Taren trailed beside Kael, occasionally adjusting the leather straps on the staff across his back.

  “So,” Taren said after a while, glancing over.

  “You’ve been an adventurer long?”

  “Not really,” Kael replied.

  “That explains why you still look relaxed.”

  Kael raised an eyebrow.

  “Relaxed?”

  “Most people heading toward a contract where three teams vanished usually look like they’re reconsidering their life choices.”

  Dorian overheard and laughed.

  “Give him time.”

  They continued north.

  The land slowly changed as they moved farther from town.

  Fields gave way to open hills.

  The road narrowed.

  Old stone markers—half-buried and weathered by time—appeared occasionally along the roadside.

  Ancient boundary stones.

  Kael noticed every one of them.

  They weren’t random.

  Each marker sat at a precise distance from the next.

  A pattern.

  Old infrastructure.

  The Sigil beneath his glove pulsed faintly every time they passed one.

  Stolen story; please report.

  Subtle.

  But unmistakable.

  “Something wrong?” Lira asked without turning.

  Kael blinked.

  “You noticed?”

  “I notice when people start staring at rocks.”

  Kael looked back at the last stone marker behind them.

  “Those markers are old,” he said.

  “Very old.”

  Dorian shrugged.

  “Most roads are.”

  “But they’re not placed randomly.”

  That made Lira glance back briefly.

  “You think they’re part of the ruins?”

  “Maybe.”

  Taren leaned closer to one of the markers as they passed another.

  It was carved from dark stone, worn smooth by centuries of weather.

  Faint lines ran across its surface.

  Geometric lines.

  Barely visible now.

  “Looks decorative,” Taren said.

  “No,” Kael replied quietly.

  “Structural.”

  They continued walking.

  By midday, the hills had grown steeper.

  The northern mountains now dominated the horizon—jagged peaks wrapped in slow-moving clouds.

  And near the base of those mountains…

  The ground suddenly dropped away.

  The Northern Sink.

  From the ridge above, the terrain looked as if a massive section of land had collapsed long ago.

  Broken cliffs surrounded a wide depression several hundred meters across.

  Ruined stone structures dotted the edges—half buried, half shattered.

  Taren let out a low whistle.

  “Okay… that’s definitely not natural.”

  Dorian squinted down into the sinkhole.

  “Looks like part of a city collapsed.”

  Lira studied the terrain carefully.

  “Or something underneath it gave way.”

  Kael stepped closer to the edge.

  The Sigil flared sharply beneath his glove.

  Not a faint pulse.

  A clear reaction.

  Strong.

  Something below was active.

  “Do you feel that?” Taren asked suddenly.

  Kael looked at him.

  “You feel something?”

  “Maybe…” Taren frowned. “Mana density’s weird down there.”

  Dorian rubbed his jaw.

  “Good weird or bad weird?”

  Taren thought about it.

  “…Old weird.”

  Kael’s gaze drifted across the ruins scattered around the sinkhole’s rim.

  Broken pillars.

  Collapsed stone arches.

  Fragments of structures that had once stood tall.

  But beneath all of it…

  He could sense something deeper.

  Not just ruins.

  A system.

  Still sleeping.

  Lira began descending the narrow path that wound along the cliffside toward the bottom.

  “Well,” she said, “we won’t learn anything from up here.”

  The others followed.

  Loose gravel shifted underfoot as they carefully made their way down the slope.

  The air grew cooler as they descended.

  Still.

  Heavy.

  Almost like the atmosphere inside an abandoned building.

  Halfway down the slope, Dorian suddenly stopped.

  “Hold.”

  Everyone froze.

  He pointed toward the ground ahead.

  Boot prints.

  Several sets.

  Leading down into the ruins.

  Taren knelt beside them.

  “These are recent.”

  “How recent?” Lira asked.

  “Maybe a few days.”

  Dorian’s expression darkened.

  “That would be the third scouting team.”

  The tracks continued deeper into the ruins.

  But none came back out.

  Kael looked toward the center of the sinkhole.

  The Sigil pulsed again.

  Stronger.

  Calling him.

  Something below recognized his presence.

  And it had been waiting a long time.

  Kael slowly pulled his glove tighter over his hand.

  “Looks like we’re going underground.”

  None of them noticed the faint shimmer of movement high along the cliff above them.

  The cloaked observer had followed their entire journey north.

  Watching.

  Waiting.

  And now that the candidates had reached the ruins…

  The real test could begin.