Ronan glanced at the two doors—one to the left, the other to the right. His eyes lingered on the ancient tomes scattered on nearby pedestals and shelves. The air felt heavy, laced with a stillness that made his instincts tingle.
"Let's check the contents of those books and examine the room carefully before we choose a path," Ronan said, his voice calm but alert. He turned to Kael. "If possible, we should take those books back to Sir Alaric."
Kael caught on immediately. He tossed a small, metallic ring toward Ronan. "This Storage Ring has room. Store what you can."
Ronan nodded. With a swift hand sign, two clones materialised beside him, each a perfect mirror of his form. Without needing instruction, the clones dispersed and began scanning through the books, flipping pages, analysing notes, and lifting them with the precision of practised hands.
The rest of the group joined in, searching every crevice of the room for any information about the sealed chamber they had to enter. The stale air carried a whisper of magic, an unsettling silence lurking just beneath the surface.
Kael closed his eyes and extended his perception skill. His mana flared faintly. "The left door was sealed," he said after a moment, eyes opening. "But that seal... It's broken now. The right door shows no trace of ever being sealed."
Ronan's gaze shifted to the unsealed door. "Then let's start with the right one."
With a deep breath, he pushed it open.
A soft glow lit the chamber automatically as they stepped in. The room was large but suffocating in its silence. Bones lay scattered across the floor, brittle and grey. Metal shackles—twisted, ancient, inscribed with faintly glowing runes—were embedded in the stone walls.
Kael knelt beside one. "Let me copy the runes. They might tell us something."
Ronan scanned the room, unease prickling along his skin. Dust clung to every surface, but not in a way that suggested time alone—more like someone had lived here, once, in quiet decay. His eyes landed on a tall, narrow cabinet at the far end of the room. Curious, he approached it and pulled it open.
Inside were folded garments—preserved, untouched by time. His brow furrowed. "Clothes this old... but they haven't decayed?" As he reached out, he felt it—a subtle pulse of mana. Enchanted. Protected.
Then, something caught his attention. A sudden breath hitched in his throat.
On the floor, just behind Ronan, lay a woman's body—upside down, shackled. Her hands and feet were bound, the skin dried and paper-thin, barely clinging to the bones. The sight was so sudden, so jarringly unnatural, that Ronan froze.
Ronan thought, "I didn't see her when I passed. Was she always there?"
He turned to call the others—but before he could speak, a voice echoed through the room.
"Do not touch my mother."
The sound was brittle and hollow. Ronan spun around.
A child stood at the edge of the room.
His body was emaciated, skin tight over bones, his eye sockets hollow and empty. There was no life in the body, yet it moved like it once had—a tragic, violent presence. In an instant, the boy lunged.
Ronan barely raised his arms in time to block the punch. The impact sent him sliding back across the stone floor, boots scraping, arms trembling.
The others turned just in time to see Ronan pushed back.
"What the—?" Kael shouted, drawing his weapon.
Before they could react, the boy lashed out again—Mordek, Gorvath, Vexara, Lirith, and Kael were each struck with savage, un-childlike force. They staggered, caught off guard, but none were mortally wounded.
Ronan looked down at his trembling arms. "That punch... no killing intent. Just rage."
He studied the child. Judging by height and build, he couldn't be older than four or five. But on his chest was a twisted, burning mark—a cursed brand, the same kind they'd seen on the Doomscale Lizard.
Ronan's heart sank.
"Why...?" the boy cried out between attacks, fists flying. "Why did you leave us here?! Why didn't anyone come?!"
He swung wildly, every blow laced with pain, his voice cracking.
"What were the experiments for? What did they want from us? Why... why were we abandoned?!"
Kael parried a strike, eyes flashing with sorrow. "He's not in his right mind. The pain—it's driven him mad."
Mordek dodged another hit. "But he's crying... You can feel it. Every word is grief."
The boy struck again, but Ronan caught the punch this time.
"We don't know who did this to you," Ronan said softly. "But we'll find out. You deserve that much. Your mother deserves peace."
The boy froze, his body shaking. He took a step back.
"They said... they'd come back... They promised..."
His voice broke.
"I was hungry... Mama gave me the last ration... She told me to be strong... But I was so... so scared."
Ronan knelt slowly, lowering his weapon. "You were just a child. You didn't deserve this. No one does."
The boy's form flickered faintly with mana.
Ronan felt his chest tighten. "He's not entirely alive. Not entirely gone either. A spirit bound by anguish."
The cursed mark pulsed.
Mordek shouted, "Ronan, are you out of your mind? He is not alive, nor will he understand your words. Quickly move away!"
The boy prepared another strike, but Ronan looked over his shoulder.
"His soul is still here," Ronan said, turning to Kael, "There must be a way to save him. Isn't it possible?"
The boy stopped mid-punch.
Kael shouted, "We are not gods, Ronan. Once dead, always dead. There is no way to bring back the dead—except what you see. You can take their soul and tie them to some artefact to serve you. Do you want to do that?!"
Ronan turned again to the boy. "Sir Alaric... yes, Sir Alaric can help. They worship the Light Goddess—the Goddess of Life."
Kael shouted, "RONAN, COME TO YOUR SENSES!" Then, in a lower voice, he added, "We're too late. Right now, the only thing we can do is free them from this prison."
Suddenly, the boy laughed. "Mama, they are right. Ronan really is naive. He doesn't have enough resolve or control over his emotions. The moment he felt I had no killing intent, he started holding back."
The woman stirred. "I never thought I'd see a soul like this... Ronan."
At the mention of his name, Ronan's heart sank into darkness. The others tightened their grips on their weapons.
The woman said, "You four are from the demon race. I am also a demon. Here—take this."
Four lights entered the bodies of Mordek, Gorvath, Vexara, and Lirith, settling in their inner worlds.
She turned to Ronan. "I have nothing to give, except gratitude... and a request. Especially for you, Ronan. If you use your sword to kill us, we may reincarnate. And your Ice Flame can do it without hurting our souls. We won't feel pain. Can you do that? If not, at least do it for my child. I want him to see a world beyond cruelty. We don't want to feel pain anymore."
She bowed, begging. Ronan turned to her. Ronan's tears fell silently.
Kael stepped forward. "Ronan will help you. But first—we need information. Can you give us some?"
"Of course," she said.
Kael asked, "What's in the last chamber?"
She replied, "You want to fulfil the request from the man in the memory crystal? Then you'll need to use the teleportation circle in the other room. He is the one who started these experiments. If you give everything you have... You might be able to kill him."
"And how do we leave this place?"
"After killing him, you can teleport from there. Or return to the upper cavern and reverse engineer the circle."
"Last question—how do you know us? And who did you mean when you said, 'They said Ronan is naive'?"
The woman hesitated. "I can oversee what happens in this caravan. As for who I meant... I cannot say. You'll find out soon enough."
Kael turned to Ronan. "Now it's up to you."