Crimson & Light: Starting Over In A World Isn't As Easy As It Seems

The corridors were eerily quiet, the only sound being the faint hum of residual magic echoing off the ancient stone walls. Changra and Berethia walked side by side, their footsteps muffled by the dusty floors. The air was heavy, almost suffocating, as if the ruins themselves were holding their breath. The flickering glow from the enchanted lanterns cast dancing shadows on the cracked walls, making the silence feel even more oppressive.

"Jane and Merrick should be just up ahead," Berethia said, her voice calm but tinged with something unplaceable—a hint of unease.

Changra glanced at her, noting the tension in her shoulders. She looked more composed than he felt, though her quick glances around suggested she was just as on edge. His mind drifted to their earlier encounter with the shadowy figure, and he couldn't shake the thought of how close they had come to failing.

"What do you think Merrick's found?" Changra asked, trying to break the silence.

Berethia hesitated, her steps slowing slightly. "If Merrick thinks it's important, then it probably is." Her voice wavered, just enough for Changra to catch it. He narrowed his eyes at her but decided against pressing.

They turned a corner, the corridor narrowing as the walls seemed to close in. The glow from the lanterns dimmed slightly, making the area feel more suffocating. Changra's thoughts spiraled as he replayed the events of the past days. He couldn't shake the feeling that Berethia was hiding something, though he couldn't pinpoint what. She had been distant since they split from the others, her normally warm demeanor replaced with quiet focus.

"You okay?" Changra finally asked, breaking the silence again.

Berethia didn't look at him, her gaze fixed ahead. "I'm fine," she said shortly, a stark contrast to her usual warmth. "We need to focus."

Focus on what? Changra thought bitterly. He wasn't even sure what they were looking for anymore. Every turn of these corridors felt the same, a labyrinth of shadows and dust that seemed to have no end. The feeling of uselessness crept over him again, tightening its grip on his thoughts. What am I even doing here?

Ahead, a faint light flickered, and the murmur of voices reached them. Jane's voice was unmistakable, followed by Merrick's low rumble. Relief washed over Changra as they quickened their pace toward the sound.

As they entered a slightly wider chamber, they found Merrick crouched near an altar etched with intricate, glowing runes. Jane stood nearby, clutching her notebook tightly, her face pale as she stared at the carvings. The glow from the altar cast an eerie light on their faces, making the already tense atmosphere feel even heavier.

"You made it," Merrick said without looking up. His tone was gruff, but there was a flicker of relief in his voice. He gestured toward the altar. "Come take a look at this."

Changra approached cautiously, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. The runes seemed to pulse faintly, their glow dimming and brightening in a rhythmic pattern. It was almost hypnotic.

"What is it?" Changra asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Merrick stood and crossed his arms, his expression grim. "These runes… they're not like anything I've seen before. They're old—older than anything I've studied. But the magic in them… it's still active."

Jane looked up from her notebook, her voice trembling. "It's… it's not just the magic. The symbols—some of them are warnings." She swallowed hard, clutching her notebook tighter. "Warnings about what's buried here."

Changra felt a chill run down his spine. "Warnings about what?"

Merrick hesitated, his gaze flickering to Berethia, who had yet to say anything. She stood frozen, her eyes locked on the runes. Her normally composed face was pale, and for the first time since Changra had met her, she looked… scared.

"Berethia?" Jane's soft voice broke the silence. "Are you okay?"

Berethia flinched, her hands trembling as she clenched them into fists. "I'm fine," she said quickly, though her voice betrayed her. "Just… these runes. They remind me of something."

"What?" Changra pressed, stepping closer to her.

She shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. "It's nothing. Just old memories."

Changra wasn't convinced. He looked to Merrick, who exchanged a knowing glance with Berethia. There was something unspoken between them, but neither seemed willing to elaborate.

"This altar," Merrick said, breaking the tension, "it's a gateway. Or it was. Whatever it was protecting, it's either long gone or waiting to be awakened."

Berethia's breathing hitched, and Changra caught the slight tremor in her hands as she crossed her arms. She turned away from the group, her back to the altar as if she couldn't bear to look at it any longer.

"Merrick," Changra said, his voice firmer than usual. "What aren't you telling us?"

Merrick sighed, running a hand through his hair. "There's something buried in these ruins. Something powerful. These runes were meant to keep it sealed, but they've been tampered with. Someone—or something—has been here before us."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words sinking in. Changra's gaze shifted to Berethia, who still hadn't turned back around. Her shoulders were tense, her head bowed slightly.

Jane stepped forward, her voice soft but steady. "We need to figure out what these runes mean. If there's something dangerous here, we need to stop it."

Merrick nodded, but his eyes lingered on Berethia. "Agreed. But we'll need to be careful. These ruins are full of traps, and whatever tampered with these runes might still be here."

Berethia finally turned back to the group, her expression unreadable. "Then we should move quickly. The longer we stay here, the more vulnerable we are."

Her voice was calm, but Changra couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to her fear than she was letting on. As they prepared to move deeper into the ruins, he found himself watching her more closely. She was hiding something—he was sure of it. And whatever it was, it was only a matter of time before it came to light.

Changra shifted uncomfortably as the air grew heavier in the dim corridor. Jane was kneeling by a faintly glowing inscription on the floor, tracing it carefully with her fingers. Her brow furrowed in concentration, her sketchbook discarded momentarily beside her. Merrick stood nearby, his imposing frame casting long shadows against the stone walls as he examined a brittle, ancient scroll he'd uncovered.

Berethia leaned against the wall, her usual composed demeanor unraveling slightly. Her arms were crossed, but her fingers twitched as if she couldn't decide what to do with them. She avoided eye contact with the group, her gaze fixed on the floor.

"So," Changra said, breaking the tense silence. "We've got a glowing floor, a creepy corridor, and what looks like a treasure map. What's the plan? Do we follow the haunted breadcrumbs?"

Jane looked up at him with a small, strained smile. "It's not breadcrumbs, Changra. This is a ward. It's meant to keep something in—or out. The glow means it's still active, but barely."

"Barely doesn't sound comforting," Changra muttered, crouching beside her. He looked at the glowing symbols, which pulsed faintly like a dying heartbeat. "What's it keeping in?"

Merrick's voice was gruff as he answered, his eyes never leaving the scroll. "That's the question, isn't it? This script matches some of the ruins from earlier, but it's… different. More refined. Someone didn't just throw this together in haste. This took planning."

Berethia stiffened, her eyes flickering to the scroll in Merrick's hands. "We shouldn't linger here too long," she said abruptly, her voice sharper than usual.

Jane raised an eyebrow. "Why? The ward's still holding. If we leave it untouched, we'll be fine."

Berethia's lips thinned. "Fine isn't guaranteed. And if it fails while we're here…"

Jane hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. Changra, however, wasn't convinced. "You okay, Berethia?" he asked, standing to face her. "You've been a little… off."

"I'm fine," she said quickly, though her tone betrayed her. She glanced at Merrick. "You found something else, didn't you? What does it say?"

Merrick sighed and rolled the scroll carefully before tucking it into his satchel. "It's vague, but it mentions sacrifices. Blood, lives, power… all offered to something called the Obsidian Sovereign."

The name sent a shiver down Changra's spine, though he couldn't explain why. It felt heavy, like the words themselves carried weight. "Obsidian Sovereign," he repeated, testing the words. "Sounds like a bad guy from a fantasy novel."

"It's more than that," Merrick said, his tone grim. "If this is what I think it is, we're dealing with something far older than this corridor. Something that predates the guilds."

Berethia's composure cracked. Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second before she turned away, her fingers digging into her arms. Changra caught the movement and frowned. "Berethia?" he prompted again, this time more gently.

She took a deep breath but didn't turn around. "It's nothing," she said, though her voice trembled. "We should keep moving."

Jane exchanged a glance with Merrick, who looked equally concerned. Changra stepped closer to Berethia, lowering his voice. "Hey. If there's something we should know…"

"There isn't," she snapped, whirling around to face him. Her eyes burned with something raw, something unspoken. "Not everything needs to be explained, Changra."

The sharpness of her tone caught him off guard. He stepped back, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No need to bite my head off."

Merrick cleared his throat, breaking the tension. "We should document the ward and move on. Jane, can you sketch this quickly?"

Jane nodded, though her movements were slower than usual, her focus split between the glowing symbols and Berethia's unusual reaction. Changra leaned against the wall, watching her sketch with precise strokes.

"Obsidian Sovereign," he murmured under his breath. The name felt heavy on his tongue, a weight that pressed on his thoughts. It sounded important, significant—but why?

His mind wandered to Earth for a fleeting moment. If I were back home, I'd probably be at school right now. Sitting in some boring class, doodling on my notebook… not worrying about ancient rulers and glowing wards.

He shook the thought away, focusing on the present. Berethia had moved to the far end of the corridor, her back to the group. She was staring at something on the wall, her posture tense.

"Berethia?" Changra called hesitantly. She didn't respond.

Jane and Merrick looked up as Changra approached her cautiously. "What are you looking at?"

She didn't answer immediately. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. "It's nothing. Just old carvings."

But Changra saw the way her fingers trembled as they traced the faded symbols etched into the stone. "You sure about that?"

She turned to him, her expression unreadable. "Yes," she said firmly. "I'm sure."

Merrick's voice broke the moment. "Alright, we're done here. Let's move."

As the group began to leave the corridor, Changra cast one last glance at the glowing ward and the symbols Berethia had been studying. Something didn't sit right with him, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Jane fell into step beside him, her sketchbook tucked under her arm. "That name," she said softly. "Obsidian Sovereign. It sounds… ominous, doesn't it?"

Changra nodded. "Yeah. Like something straight out of a nightmare."

The corridor stretched endlessly before them, dimly illuminated by the faint blue glow of runes etched into the stone walls. The air felt thick, oppressive, as though it was pressing against them with every step. The faint echo of their footsteps was the only sound that accompanied them as Changra, Jane, Merrick, and Berethia walked cautiously onward. The tension was palpable.

Berethia led the way, her usual confidence now edged with something darker. She hadn't spoken much since they regrouped, her jaw tight and her movements sharp. Changra glanced at her, but her face was unreadable.

Jane, walking close to Changra, broke the silence. "I hope they're okay," she said, her voice wavering. "We should have heard something by now."

"They will be," Merrick said firmly, his voice carrying the weight of certainty. "Tessa, Callen, and Liora are capable. But we need to find them quickly."

Changra noticed Berethia's grip tightening on her staff as Merrick spoke, her knuckles white. She exhaled sharply but didn't say anything. Changra frowned, but before he could ask, Jane tugged lightly on his sleeve.

"Do you think they're far?" Jane asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. She was holding her sketchbook tightly against her chest, as if it offered some kind of protection.

"No idea," Changra admitted. "But if anyone can find them, it's Merrick."

Berethia glanced over her shoulder, her lips pressed into a thin line. "We're wasting time," she said abruptly. "Standing around isn't going to bring them back any faster."

Merrick's gaze lingered on Berethia for a moment, but he didn't respond. Instead, he gestured for the group to continue. Changra couldn't shake the feeling that something was off, though. Berethia's tone was sharper than usual, almost hostile.

As they moved deeper into the corridor, Berethia began walking faster, her movements brisk and deliberate. Jane struggled to keep up, and Changra placed a hand on her shoulder to slow her down.

"She's acting strange," Changra whispered to Jane. "I mean, stranger than usual."

"She's probably just worried," Jane said, though her voice carried doubt. "Aren't we all?"

Changra nodded, though his unease remained. The atmosphere grew heavier, and he found himself hyper-aware of every sound—or lack thereof. It was too quiet.

"Berethia," Merrick called from behind, his tone calm but firm. "Slow down. We don't want to miss anything."

Berethia stopped abruptly, her shoulders tense. She turned to face them, her expression hard to read. "Every second we waste standing here is another second they might be in danger," she said, her voice laced with irritation. "If it were me out there, you wouldn't be walking this slowly."

"Enough," Merrick said, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "We're all worried. But this isn't helping."

Berethia's jaw clenched, but she didn't argue. She turned and resumed walking, though her pace was noticeably slower. Changra exchanged a glance with Jane, who looked just as uneasy as he felt.

As they continued, Changra's thoughts drifted to the others. Tessa had been so full of life, always finding ways to make the group laugh. Callen's quiet strength had been reassuring, and Liora's calm demeanor had grounded them all. The idea of something happening to them made his stomach churn.

The silence was broken by Berethia's voice, low and bitter. "It's always them, isn't it? Everyone's so concerned about Tessa and Callen and Liora."

Changra blinked, caught off guard by her words. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Berethia didn't look back. "Nothing," she said curtly. But her tone suggested otherwise.

Changra exchanged another glance with Jane, who was now clutching her sketchbook even tighter. Merrick's expression darkened, but he didn't press the issue.

The corridor began to narrow, the walls closing in as the runes' glow grew dimmer. The oppressive atmosphere felt almost suffocating now, and Changra's chest tightened with every step.

"This place feels wrong," Jane murmured. "Like it's alive or something."

"It might be," Merrick said grimly. "Stay close."

Berethia suddenly stopped, her posture rigid. Changra stepped forward, about to ask what was wrong, when a blood-curdling scream pierced the air.

It was distant but unmistakable. Someone was in trouble.

"Tessa!" Jane cried, her voice breaking.

Before anyone could react, Berethia turned and bolted toward the sound, her staff glowing faintly in her hand. Merrick cursed under his breath and motioned for the others to follow.

"Stay together!" he barked, his voice commanding.

Changra's heart pounded as he ran after Berethia, the scream echoing in his mind. Whoever it was, they were in danger—and he could only hope they weren't too late.