The deeper they went, the less the sanctuary felt like a ruin and more like a place deliberately preserved. The walls widened into tall corridors, lined with faded glyphs that pulsed faintly whenever their mana lights flickered past. The air was thick, damp, heavy with the weight of centuries.
Noel’s boots crunched on dust that hadn’t been disturbed in ages. His hand stayed close to Revenant Fang, every nerve on edge after the patrols they had slipped past. Beside him, Selene walked with her usual sharp posture, but he caught the way her eyes darted across every marking, absorbing each detail.
They entered a broad chamber that slled of decay. Shelves lay toppled like fallen soldiers, their wood half-rotted, spilling books and scrolls into chaotic heaps. So manuscripts had dissolved entirely into powder, others clung desperately to form, their ink sared into black scars.
Selene paused. She knelt beside one broken shelf, fingertips brushing a brittle page. Her eyes—cold cyan in battle, but now softened—reflected quiet fascination. For a mont, she looked less like the unshakable prodigy of the academy and more like a girl standing before a forbidden treasure.
Noel’s voice broke the silence, low and even. "Don’t get attached. Most of that’s unreadable. And carrying anything slows us down."
She didn’t answer imdiately. Her fingers lingered, as though morizing the texture of history. Finally, she stood, dusting her hands against her skirt. "I know. It’s just... these writings could be older than Valor itself."
"Doesn’t matter if we don’t make it out alive," Noel replied, stepping past the ruins of parchnt.
Selene’s lips pressed into a thin line. She gave a short nod, schooling her expression back into calm. Together they pressed on, leaving behind the broken library and the weight of centuries.
The corridor opened into a vast chamber, and both of them froze.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of constructs filled the hall. Automatons, but not patrolling this ti. They were kneeling, perfectly still, their plated hands clasped or resting on bent knees. Each one faced the far end of the chamber, heads bowed in eerie synchronization. It looked less like a garrison and more like a congregation frozen mid-prayer.
Noel’s jaw tightened. The stillness was wrong, oppressive. Not a single gear turned, not a single hinge creaked, but the air itself thrumd as though aware of their presence.
He raised a hand, signaling Selene. Both slipped behind a massive stone column, backs pressed to its cold surface. The silence pressed against them, heavier with every second.
Selene leaned closer, her whisper barely audible. "I’ve never seen anything like this. Not even in the ancient ruins the academy cataloged."
Noel’s eyes tracked the kneeling ranks. Every one of them had the sa posture, the sa angle of bow. The uniformity made his skin prickle. "What the hell are they doing? Maybe waiting for sothing?"
She drew in a quiet breath, her knuckles white against her wand. "Waiting for what?"
Us, Noel thought grimly, though he didn’t voice it. Instead, he scanned the chamber. All the constructs’ gazes—though lowered—pointed toward the end of the hall. Sothing stood there, half-concealed in shadow.
He tilted his chin, just enough for Selene to follow his line of sight. Her eyes narrowed as she spotted it too.
A statue. Monuntal, looming above the kneeling tal devotees.
Noel exhaled slowly, a humorless smirk tugging at his lips. "Alright."
"Do we... get closer?" Selene asked, her voice tense.
He adjusted his grip on Revenant Fang. "We don’t have a choice if we want to find sothing useful."
Step by step, they crossed the chamber. The sound of their boots was swallowed by the oppressive silence, yet Noel couldn’t shake the feeling that every kneeling construct heard them. He kept Revenant Fang loose at his side, ready to strike at the first twitch of tal.
At the end of the hall, the shadows receded, revealing the monunt. A towering statue carved from flawless stone: a man with long hair cascading to his shoulders, chest bare like the sculptures of ancient empires. Muscles rendered in perfect proportion, expression carved with regal confidence, as though the figure himself demanded reverence.
The base carried a single inscription, etched deep enough to survive eternity:
ELARIN.
Noel’s breath caught—not in awe, but in recognition. ’The first man to form a mana core. The so-called origin of everything. So this is what he looked like.’
Beside him, Selene stood unnervingly still. Her eyes traced every line of the inscription, every detail carved into the stone. For a long mont, she didn’t speak—just observed, weighing what she saw against everything she’d ever learned.
At last, her voice broke the silence, quiet but steady. "So this is Elarin? The god we’re taught to revere in Vaelterra? ...He looks different than the statues in the Holy Capital."
Noel tilted his head, squinting up at the flawless stone features. "Seriously? This is my first ti seeing him at all."
Her gaze didn’t leave the monunt. "It doesn’t match the image they’ve shown us our entire lives."
"Guess even gods have good and bad portraits," Noel muttered, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.
Selene shot him a sidelong glance, her expression unreadable, then turned back to the statue.
Drawn in despite himself, Noel stepped closer. The surface of the stone glead faintly under the mana light. Against his better judgnt, he reached out and laid his hand against the statue’s arm.
Cold. Lifeless. Just stone.
Or so it seed.
The touch broke sothing unseen.
A tremor rolled through the hall, low and tallic, like a heartbeat echoing inside iron. One by one, the kneeling automatons vibrated, heads jerking up in perfect unison. Their hollow eyes flickered to life, pale light burning from deep within their sockets.
The silence shattered into the grinding whine of gears, the clatter of ancient joints snapping free after centuries of stillness. Dozens of heads turned toward them, movents sharp, chanical, inevitable.
Noel felt it imdiately—the cursed weapon in his hand pulsed, cold fire flooding his veins.
[Trait: Harrowed Focus — Activated.]
The fog of fear sharpened into crystalline clarity. Every sound, every detail in the chamber cut razor-sharp into his awareness.
[Trait: Will of the Forgotten — Activated.]
Sothing deeper surged. His muscles coiled tighter, his heartbeat slamd like a war drum. For a split second, he felt faster, sharper, more alive than ever. The price of that power whispered at the edges of his mind, but there was no ti to dwell.
’Damn it... that ans we’re in real danger.’
Selene reacted instantly, her wand raised, frost spiraling across the stone floor beneath her feet. Mana swelled around her, cold air biting at Noel’s skin.
He stepped back from the statue, Revenant Fang humming in his grip, its black edge gleaming under the ethereal glow. His mouth twisted into a bitter smirk. "Seriously... fuck this all."
The first automaton straightened fully, plates clanging as it rose. Then another. Then all of them. Their synchronized footsteps bood like a war march, shaking dust from the ceiling.
The statue of Elarin remained motionless, a silent god presiding over his tallic worshippers, while his devotees advanced in flawless order.
The battle had begun.
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