Dust filled the air like a curtain of ghosts.
Elira stepped lightly over the cracked stone floor, her lantern flickering with every breath of stale wind. The ruins were still fresh—still bleeding. Something terrible had happened here, and the stone remembered. She could feel it. The walls whispered. The sigils on the broken arches flickered faintly, as though refusing to die completely.
She loved it.
Elira had wandered through half of the Dead Territories for scraps of the Old World, but nothing had ever made her skin crawl quite like this place. Whatever temple this had been, it hadn't gone quietly.
She crouched near a fractured mural, brushing away soot and ash with gloved fingers. The image was near ruined, but the shape of a mask—black, gold—was still visible.
"Interesting," she murmured, tracing it.
The System cults would kill for this. They'd claim it belonged to one of their Saints or whatever madness they preached. Elira just wanted to know what it meant. That's what made her dangerous—curiosity without boundaries.
She turned to continue deeper, carefully avoiding a collapsed beam. Her boot scraped something soft.
She froze.
Looking down, she saw… nothing.
Just dust, ash, and scattered debris.
Frowning, she stepped back to check her footing—and tripped.
With a grunt, Elira crashed sideways, catching herself before her lantern shattered. Her elbow smarted.
And then she saw him.
A body. Half-buried. Shrouded in shadows that didn't belong.
He shouldn't have been invisible. Not with her goggles. Not with her field experience. But something about the air shimmered around him like heat over stone.
She stared.
Young. Maybe her age or a bit younger. Pale from blood loss. Armor cracked. Mask beside him, shattered down the middle. And the blood—so much of it.
"No way you're alive."
She reached out, fingers brushing his neck. A pulse.
Weak, fluttering—but there.
Her eyes widened.
"Who the hell are you?"
She looked around. The place was still shifting in small ways—groans in the stone, distant clicks of mechanisms dying out. This wasn't a place for hesitation.
Elira pulled a vial from her belt and broke it under his nose. He didn't stir.
"You better be worth it," she muttered.
She slung his arm over her shoulder, groaning at the weight.
And the shadows that clung to him? They hissed at her touch, as if protesting.
She grit her teeth and dragged him out anyway.
Behind her, something in the darkness stirred.
But it was too late.
The temple had lost him.
And the world had just gained a problem it didn't know how to solve.