“Action without thought is a storm without direction.” – Avila

  Bruised and battered, Irthal picked himself up from the rocky shore, breath coming in ragged gasps as he took in the sight before them. Around him, his companions followed his lead. There, etched against the slate-grey sky, stood the ruined gates of what, once, must have been Sevastha—a lingering memory of a forgotten age. The sight stirred a dormant nostalgia in Irthal, an odd longing for a lost world his mother had once painted with words.

  They began their ascent. “Where do you think Mythas ended up?” Sam asked. The question hung in the air like a specter, echoing a concern they all seemed too afraid to voice. They had seen the ship sink. The ship with their unconscious friend onboard. There was a reason they were not scampering up and down the beach right now.

  “And where are the gems, Irthal? Can’t see any from here.” Lurgon grumbled and stomped past them, as if the slope was an enemy to dominate.

  “Maybe she got washed ashore somewhere else,” Irthal suggested weakly, ignoring Lurgon in an attempt to inject some optimism into the grim faces of his friends. Not that it worked. Even Sam’s usually jovial face seemed strained, etched with worry. “We can look for her later.”

  “And maybe she didn’t...” Lurgon’s voice trailed off. In which case they would not need to look for her at all. Disquieting thought. They shared a somber silence as they climbed the incline. Irthal actively suppressed any thought on how they would ever manage to leave this place again without a ship.

  Yet any grim contemplations were interrupted as he reached a plateau that offered them a clear view of the towering gates of Sevastha. “Who built this?” Sam breathed out, as her gaze filled with wonder.

  “Perhaps the gods themselves,” Irthal replied with a smile and continued the uphill climb, a glint of pride now twinkling in his eyes. Even Lurgon seemed impressed by their surroundings. But for Irthal, it was the realization of a childhood dream. Stepping onto the hallowed grounds that had been home to his ancestors. Being the one link in an endless chain to finally return his family to Sevastha.

  After a strenuous climb, he paused to catch his breath at the foot of the gate. They were all panting by now, beads of sweat running down their faces. Sevastian leaned heavily on a stick he had picked up on the way, Sam sat on a large stone, and Lurgon seemed to be studying the gates with intense concentration. Irthal stood apart, eyes fixed on the pendant that hung from his neck. His fingers caressed the small relic gently as a mixture of emotions flashed in his eyes.

  Finally, he turned toward his companions with a resolute expression. “Do you know why we’re here?” he asked. An unexpected mix of melancholy and determination tinged his voice.

  “Apparently not to get rich from gems after all.” Lurgon raised his hands in mock supplication. “Enlighten us, Irthal.”

  Irthal wondered at the lack of surprise on Lurgon’s face. Had they already suspected part of the answer? But, then again, perhaps it was just the exhaustion, the endless string of sacrifices, to get them to this place. So he started.

  “My mother… She was a descendant of the Stewards of Sevastha. They were the ones who tended to this city when the gods themselves dwelt here, a long, long time ago. When I was a child, she told me about it. Told me how the Stewards were exiled from this place, though they never forgot their duty to the city. Each generation passed on their stories, knowledge, the duty to remember. And most importantly, pendants like this.” As he spoke, he held up the small piece of jewelry, its unassuming appearance in stark contrast to the weight it carried in his mind. Sevastian eyed it as if he saw it for the first time.

  “This pendant,” Irthal continued, “isn’t just a pretty rock. It’s a key. A key to a place my mother called the ‘great sanctuary.’ I told you we’d come here for adventure. This is it. We’re here to find it. To unlock whatever secrets it holds. To fulfil the destiny of my family.” His voice echoed in the stillness. He felt as if it resonated with the conviction of a man who carried the burden of his ancestors. All of a sudden, Irthal felt tall.

  Nobody spoke. Sam and Sevastian exchanged an uncertain glance. Lurgon watched quietly, expression unreadable, as if he waited for how it would all play out. After a moment of heavy silence, Irthal took a deep breath to gather his determination. “So, we must find this sanctuary,” he said. “But, at the same time, we can’t abandon Mythas. We have to look for her.” If she survived, Irthal could not suppress the thought.

  He glanced at the others and his eyes eventually came to rest on Sam. Always Sam. Their heart and soul, come to think of it. His friend had grown pale. They all had. Their earlier burst of energy seemed to ebb away again. Would they follow him in this? But Sam’s determination seemed to have withstood the climb as her eyes met Irthal’s with a hard glint.

  “Then we split up,” she suggested, voice hoarse but resolute. “You and Lurgon search for this sanctuary. Sevastian and I will look for Mythas.”

  Sevastian, silent till now, briefly looked at Lurgon. No objections. After a moment’s pause, he nodded in Sam’s direction. Lurgon watched Irthal, his gruff exterior belying the worry lurking in his eyes. But, finally, he nodded too, ready to follow Irthal. Another step closer.

  As he raised his fist in agreement, Irthal took a final glance at Sam and Sevastian before he turned away, gaze drawn back to the looming, derelict structures of Sevastha that were visible through the open gate. He felt Lurgon’s sturdy presence beside him. “Let’s move then, Irthal,” the big man growled, a subtle urgency threading into his words.

  Then, with a parting word of luck, the two groups diverged. Sam and Sevastian headed for the coast. They were quickly swallowed by the shifting, uncertain shadows of the landscape. Irthal and Lurgon, meanwhile, began their journey deeper into the city, their path lined with the relics of an era devoured by time.

  For what felt like hours, they meandered through the hallowed remains of Sevastha. Though the buildings and walls did not quite seem destroyed. The right word would be decayed, probably. Covered in vines, cracks radiating out like spiderwebs. Small dark shapes hushed about, seemingly not thrilled about the disturbance of their realm. Time seemed to stretch and warp within these ancient confines, the silence broken only by the echo of their footfalls on the worn stone.

  The city, once allegedly alive with divine energy, now rested in silence. A forgotten monument to lost grandeur. A tomb.

  Yet as Irthal traversed the labyrinth of alleyways, courtyards, and abandoned squares, there was this profound sense of familiarity. With every step, his mind echoed with the stories of his mother. Years of lying in bed, bedcover tucked in tight. She sitting on the side of his bed. Her voice. Lively markets, sacred temples, laughter-filled gardens—her words had painted a vibrant city, even though she never saw it. Now he walked in its skeletal remains, heart heavy with the weight of lost history.

  “This plaza,” Irthal mused, gesturing to the cracked and overgrown cobblestones around them. “The one shaped like a star. My mother said it used to be a market. Full of life. Stalls selling fruits from the sacred orchards, artisans displaying their finest work. Now, it’s just... quiet.”

  Lurgon, walking silently beside him until then, took a moment to look around, taking in the desolate scene. He snorted. “No offense, Irthal, but your mother’s stories seem to have taken a few liberties with reality. I can’t see any signs of life here, let alone a thriving market.”

  “Maybe stories grow with time, Lurgon. Just like the vines on these stones,” Irthal shrugged, a small, pensive smile on his lips. “The truth, perhaps, gets covered up by the enthralling beauty of a good tale.”

  “I can get behind that,” Lurgon muttered and went back to tracing the flock of black birds that circled above them since they set out from the gate.

  Their path took them by the skeletal remains of grand buildings—metal sticking out like broken bones—their towering forms casting long shadows, dwarfing any structure Irthal had seen in Olban or Limrod. Yet all eerily silent, shrouded in time’s embrace. An archway caught Irthal’s eye, the once ornate designs now worn and barely decipherable. Something about the shape of a triangle within a circle…

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “I think… this may be the temple,” he murmured, half to himself, tracing the faint etchings with a cautious reverence. “My ancestors used to gather here.”

  “More stories?” Lurgon asked, not unkindly, not quite. A mix of curiosity and skepticism flickered in his eyes as he halfheartedly rummaged through a pile of detritus at the side of the road, looking for anything valuable.

  “Some,” Irthal admitted. “Mostly whispers of what once was. My mother wasn’t very particular about this place. Long time ago, you see. But she said they performed sacred rites here, under the gods’ gaze.”

  Lurgon grunted in response and discarded a warped piece of metal. He glanced up at the empty archway. “Huh, reckon they’d be a bit disappointed with the turnout today.”

  Irthal chuckled. The sound echoed around them. A brief moment of levity in the eerie stillness. He waved to Lurgon and they continued their exploration.

  As Irthal turned another corner, the remnants of a vast courtyard unfolded before them, its boundaries marked by towering columns, weathered by centuries. There, at the heart of the courtyard—amidst an ocean of rubble and overgrowth—stood a grand edifice. Untouched by decay, by the passage of what had to have been countless centuries.

  “That must be the sanctuary,” Irthal breathed, wonder shimmering in his gaze. He imagined his distant ancestors striding through the colonnaded path toward the building. Admired by the other Stewards. Next to Irthal, Lurgon whistled appreciatively.

  Yet before they could take a step further, a shout echoed through the labyrinthine corridors of the city, slicing through the stillness of the ancient ruins. Irthal’s heart skipped a beat. That had been Sam’s voice. And that had not been a good scream.

  “They might have found Mythas,” Lurgon rumbled, worry etched onto his craggy face. His hand had instinctively moved to his side at the sound, grasping the hilt of his weapon.

  “But the sanctuary…” Irthal trailed off. Torn between the siren song of what he felt to be his ancestral duty and the immediate urgency of his comrades. The sanctuary had stood the test of time, surely it could wait a little longer. Yet, the thought of leaving it behind, now when they were so close...

  “Irthal,” Lurgon warned, his gaze flickering between the sanctuary and the direction of the shout. “We should go to Sam and Sevastian. If they’ve found Mythas, they might need help.” Slowly, he started to walk in the direction of the shout.

  Irthal remained silent for a moment longer, gaze fixed on the sanctuary. “No, Lurgon,” he said, forcing a commanding edge into his voice. All the while, his eyes remained transfixed on the oh-so-close sanctuary. “We’ve come too far. We have a duty.”

  Lurgon whirled around. Surprise and a growing fury flared in his eyes. “Duty? Your duty is to your crew. Your friends. Alive. Here. Now. Not to some dead people a long time ago. Depths be cursed, it’s finally time to stop with your lies, Irthal.”

  Irthal pivoted to face him. A fierce determination burned in his gray eyes now. “And my duty is also to my ancestors and their legacy. To this city. To the whole world. This sanctuary may be our only chance at survival, Lurgon. Who knows what might be hidden in there. How else do you suppose we get away from here?”

  “A chance?” Lurgon sneered and took an aggressive step toward Irthal. “You’d risk Sam’s life on a mere chance? Mythas’ life?”

  “Yes!” Irthal snapped, standing his ground as Lurgon loomed over him. “Yes. Because that ‘chance’ could be everything. Don’t you see it? This could be life-or-death for all of us.”

  Tension crackled between them, just one spark away from an explosive confrontation. Lurgon’s hands curled into fists, his face contorted in a mask of rage. “Your bloody fantasies could cost us a friend, Irthal.”

  “And your short-sightedness could cost us everything!” Irthal retorted, voice reverberating through the eerie silence on the courtyard. “That’s more than anyone’s life, in case you forgot how to count.”

  Spark, meet tension.

  White. Pain.

  Irthal blinked away the tears. Even his thoughts were slow to catch up. What was that? He could only feel one half of his face and thinking was suddenly just so much work. The cold, hard ground pressed against his cheek. Slowly, realization dawned that he was lying on the ground. Belatedly, Irthal looked up.

  Above him, Lurgon seethed, fist still raised. They stood locked in their positions. One propped up on an elbow, the other looking down with a mixture of rage, contempt, and… surprise. Perhaps at his own actions. Their argument hung in the balance.

  “You… you hit me!” Irthal blurted out. He used his other hand to feel at his numb face, gingerly probing for any broken bones. It hurt a lot—and was getting worse with every passing moment—but there did not seem to be any permanent damage.

  Lurgon slowly relaxed his muscles. He looked at his fist, then at Irthal, then back. With a frustrated snarl, Lurgon spat on the dusty cobblestones. “Fine. We’ll follow your damned path, Irthal. But by the seas, the blood will be on your hands.”

  More surprised than angry, Irthal slowly got to his feet and started to walk. He felt like in a daze, hardly noticing his companion as he passed him in his path toward his destination. Lurgon simply shrugged and followed him.

  And so, they edged toward the sanctuary, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken threats and simmering resentment. Each step toward the towering edifice seemed to drive the wedge between them deeper. As the fog lifted slowly from Irthal’s mind, it gave rise to a burgeoning anger. How could the big fool just hit him? Come to think of it, why was Lurgon even still here? He shook his head—not a good idea, as a wave of pain immediately reminded him.

  As the sanctuary loomed larger, Irthal broke the tense silence, mostly to say something. “Each line of Stewards was charged with the care of a different sanctum,” he began, voice reverberating softly in the vast, empty courtyard. “My lineage... we were Stewards of the great sanctuary, this one here.”

  Lurgon grunted in response, demeanor still icy as his eyes focused on the path ahead. “Suppose it was a great honor. My lord.”

  “In a way, yes,” Irthal admitted, ignoring the provocation. He kept his gaze fixed on the grand structure. “But also a great responsibility, a great mystery. You see, we never truly knew what lay within the sanctuary. It’s sealed and always has been. The knowledge of what was inside... it was either lost or perhaps intentionally withheld.”

  “How convenient. Entrusted with a grand building, but no inkling of its contents.” A sardonic chuckle escaped Lurgon’s lips. “Maybe it’s empty? Sounds like a fool’s errand to me.”

  Irthal sighed as he felt the flare of anger inside him. He tried to dismiss the sting of Lurgon’s words. “Perhaps, but that doesn’t absolve us of our duty. We must press on.”

  But Lurgon seemed to be done with the stories and the duty and the history. “Just open the damned door, Irthal. Show us what your forefathers have left us with. Let’s get this over with.”

  Standing before the colossal doors of the sanctuary, Irthal felt a chill run down his spine. His hand curled around the pendant, its familiar texture grounding him. He felt the weight of centuries—of stories, hope, and unyielding responsibility—pressing upon his heart. Nobody had told him how to actually use the pendant, and he had worried about that on their journey. But it turned out to be the least of their challenges.

  Guided by instinct more than knowledge, Irthal held the pendant up to a seemingly arbitrary groove in the cool stone door, where it fit perfectly, as if molded for this purpose alone. A soft but audible click echoed through the still air, followed by a rumble that grew louder and more resonant.

  A soft glow emanates from the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the wrinkled face of Limna. At her feet, a small child, a girl with Limna’s own pale hair and bright blue eyes, asks, “And us, Grandmother? What part did our line have?”

  Limna takes the child’s hand in her own. “We were entrusted with the grand sanctuary, child.”

  The girl’s eyes grow wide, excitement twinkling within them. “What’s inside then? Is it full of gold and gems, like the treasurer’s vault?”

  Limna shakes her head with determination, thin lips pursed in thought. “That, my dear, has never been our concern. We’re the Stewards of the sanctuary, not its seekers.”

  “But why can’t we know, Grandmother?” The girl’s brows furrow in youthful incomprehension. “Surely, we could protect it better if we knew!”

  “Because,” the old woman’s voice bears the weight of generations, the firm decree of those who have gone before, “there are secrets that are meant to be kept, not revealed.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing,” Limna’s voice interrupted her, stern and commanding. “You must listen carefully now. Our family has fulfilled this duty for many generations. The sanctuary is our responsibility, but never—under no circumstance—must we attempt to open it. Remember this, child, we don’t protect the sanctuary. We protect the world.”

  The ground beneath Irthal and Lurgon trembled as ancient mechanisms, undisturbed for many generations, sprang into motion. Imposing doors began to part with a resonant, grinding noise that echoed off the stone walls around them, stirring a cloud of dust that danced in the shards of light that broke in through the opening.

  It was as if the sanctuary itself drew breath. And then it exhaled, a gust of stale air rushing out to meet the new world beyond its confines. A shaft of sunlight spilled into the cavernous interior, illuminating patches of the glittering darkness within.

  Irthal and Lurgon stood rooted to the spot, caught in the awe of the moment. They looked at each other, unsure of how to proceed.

  Suddenly, Irthal heard a low, terrifying rumble from the depths of the sanctuary, growing louder with each passing second. And then, without warning, a black, swirling mass burst forth from the doors.

  Irthal barely had time to jump aside as the darkness rushed toward him. He could hear Lurgon cry out, but his vision was now filled with the chaotic swarm. Everything was black. It was a mass of dark shapes. Irthal only saw glimpses of slender limbs and what looked like wings before they turned everything in his vision an almost uniform black. And they hummed—a disturbing, resonant hum that filled the air.

  The swarm soared skyward, obscuring the sun and casting an ominous shadow over the whole of Sevastha. Slowly, silence fell over the courtyard once more—but it was a hollow quiet this time, filled with the echoes of what had just occurred. Irthal forced himself to tear his gaze from the sky and looked back to the sanctuary. The doors were now fully open, revealing nothing but an impenetrable darkness beyond.

  He staggered to his feet, gaze cast upward where the swarm still blotted out the sky. His heart pounded in his chest like a war drum, each beat a deafening echo of the question: What had they unleashed?

  All around him, the world stood silent, holding its breath.