The group walked deeper into the ruins, and the strangest thing quickly became obvious:
Light made everything harder to see.
When Ember tried to conjure a flame, the glow made the cavern flicker with harsh shadows, the buildings blur, and the distance collapse in on itself. But when she let it fade…
…their eyes adjusted.
Shapes sharpened.
Details surfaced from the darkness like ink blooming in water.
Nyxar sighed dramatically.
"See? Told you darkness is superior."
Ember swatted his shoulder. "Shut up, edgy bat."
A City Built From Stone—and Nothing Else
They wandered down a wide, cracked stone road. Small buildings lined both sides—simple, squat box-like homes.
Inside one, Ember crouched and brushed her finger over the floor.
"…Is this entire city made out of stone?" she asked.
Sylas ducked inside after her, running a hand along a brick "chair."
"Probably. Explains why the place is still standing. Good quality stone lasts for centuries… even if the architecture is—"
Nyxar poked a brick "bed" with one finger.
"—uncomfortable?"
Vespera tapped the stone "pillow" with a leg.
"It looks like a medieval torture device."
Nyxar nodded.
"Exactly. Premium quality medieval torture device."
Ember rolled her eyes.
"Okay but seriously, who makes furniture out of bricks?"
Sylas answered, very matter-of-fact:
"People who want their city to survive a thousand years."
Narrator: Scientifically sound-ish, Sylas, but also very boring. Try harder.
Vespera tilted her head. "Wait… but why is there nothing else? No clothes, no bowls, no—anything?"
Sylas shrugged.
"Decay? Over centuries almost everything turns to dust. Except stone."
Narrator: He's right… but also very wrong. Don't worry, children. Mystery incoming.
A Building That Still Glows
They eventually came across a structure different from the rest—larger, built from darker stone, and giving off a faint, cold blue glow.
Barely a glow.
A whisper.
A heartbeat of light.
Ember muttered, "…Oh that's not ominous at all."
Nyxar: "Looks cool. I'm going in."
Vespera: "Same."
Sylas: "Of course you two love the creepy glowing one."
They stepped inside.
The interior opened into a hall filled with stone tablets—hundreds of them, stacked, shelved, or simply scattered like someone got frustrated mid-library organization.
Sylas picked one up.
"Huh. Grooves. Definitely writing."
"Ember, fire," he added.
Ember lit a small flame, illuminating the tablet.
And the writing was… old. Really old. Sharp etchings, unfamiliar letters, spiraling symbols.
None of them could read it.
Spirit, the Sleepy Linguist
"Wait," Vespera said. "Can Spirit read ancient languages?"
Ember summoned Spirit, who materialized stretching like a cat that just woke up from a nap it definitely didn't deserve.
Spirit blinked.
"What is it? I was having a beautiful dream."
Ember pointed. "Read this."
Spirit floated toward the tablet, rubbed her chin like an old wizard contemplating the secrets of the universe—even though she 100% did not have a beard—and said:
"…I mean I can read it, but it's a bunch of rubbish."
Nyxar: "Rubbish?"
Spirit: "Yes. It says something about a 'chosen one' and 'the one who will summon the saviour.'"
Nyxar raised a brow.
"Summon? Wait. Does this sound culty to you?"
Spirit reread it.
"…Actually? Yeah. Very culty. Super prophecy-ish. 100% cult vibes."
Sylas sighed.
"Oh perfect. We are in a cult city. Of course we are."
The Tablets of the Dust Cult
Spirit zipped around the hall reading tablet after tablet, narrating like a tired museum guide:
"Okay so, apparently, this city was waiting for a 'chosen one'…"
"And the chosen one would 'summon the saviour'…"
"And the saviour was supposed to 'take them to a better place'…"
Ember frowned. "What kind of 'better place'?"
Spirit pointed at a tablet showing a carved picture.
A dark realm.
Little blue lights everywhere.
And strange spirals swallowing the city.
Sylas squinted.
"…That doesn't look like a better place. That looks like a mistake."
Nyxar: "Cult. 100% cult."
Vespera: "Blue lights… like the glow in this building?"
Spirit nodded.
"Yup. Exactly like that."
Then she reached the newest-looking tablet—still old, but less chipped—and paused.
"This one says:
'The chosen one will summon the saviour, and then—'"
She stopped.
The lower half of the writing carved much deeper, as if the chisel slipped violently… or the person carving got hit.
The line cut off.
The last groove ended mid-stroke.
Nyxar, deadpan:
"Oh. That's not ominous at all."
Narrator: I have a VERY bad feeling these idiots are about to accidentally summon whatever this cult was trying to bring into the world. But hey—entertainment value is skyrocketing.