V2C18 - The Forgotten Path

Falridge – Late Afternoon

The sun hung low by the time Lucen and Nyari stepped through the outer gate of Falridge. The guards gave them a quick nod, more familiar with their faces now than when they’d first arrived. Lucen barely noticed—his legs were heavy, his tunic still damp in places, and his mind was somewhere else entirely.

Mana still hummed faintly along his Arcane Band, a soft echo from the earlier shaping. It felt warmer than usual. Steadier. Like water had carved out a groove inside him and decided to stay.

Beside him, Nyari stretched her arms high overhead and yawned like a cat who’d just returned from hunting.

“I need a nap. And a meal. In that order,” she said, tail curling lazily behind her.

Lucen smirked. “You always say that.”

“Because I’m always right.”

They crossed through the main street as shopkeepers were starting to pack up for the evening. The town buzz had shifted—less noise, more murmurs. Something about the rhythm felt off.

Lucen caught a few snippets as they passed:

“Did you hear what that scout said?”

“…claims there were voices in the stone…”

“…and no one’s gone near that ruin in years.”

He slowed slightly, listening—but Nyari tugged his sleeve, not looking back.

“Don’t. You’ll rabbit-hole into some curse story and drag us into another mess.”

Lucen grinned. “You say that like we aren’t heading to the guild anyway.”

She groaned. “Fine. But if this ends with more collapsing tunnels and crypt fog, I’m charging you extra.”

Falridge Guild Hall – Early Evening

The guild hall buzzed with quiet activity as they stepped inside. Several adventurers crowded around the central quest board, voices low, postures tense. Eyla stood at the front desk, flipping through a few crystal slips with an oddly serious look on her face.

She looked up as they approached.

“Back from training?” she asked, brushing a stray hair from her cheek.

Lucen nodded. “Still drying off.”

Nyari leaned against the counter. “And I still smell like dummy wood and sweat.”

“Charming.” Eyla gave a faint smirk before tapping one of the slips on the desk. “You’re Silver now. I assume you’re looking for something to match it?”

Lucen and Nyari exchanged a glance.

“Maybe,” Lucen said. “What’s on the board?”

Eyla turned the crystal around, revealing the posting:

Silver-Rank Quest: Investigation – Mana Disturbance at Hollowstone Ruins

Location: Southeastern forest rim, two days’ travel

Report: Unknown magical residue, audible disturbances, flickering glyphs

Risk: Unclear. No current record of hostile entities.

Notes: Ruins partially collapsed, previously warded. Entry now unstable.

Additional: Recent scholar contact missing; presumed delayed.

Nyari’s eyes narrowed. “Sounds cursed.”

Lucen tilted his head. “Sounds interesting.”

Eyla leaned in. “It’s been sitting untouched for three days. Most Silver parties don’t want to deal with old magic sites unless there’s treasure involved.”

Lucen scanned the details again. Ruins. Distorted mana. Missing scholar. A chance to stretch his casting.

He looked at Nyari.

She looked back—then rolled her eyes. “Fine. But if the ruin starts whispering at me, I’m blaming you.”

Eyla smirked. “I’ll log it under hazard pay.”

Hearthlight Inn – Nightfall

The Hearthlight’s lanterns burned low and warm by the time they returned. The scent of baked rosemary bread and smoked meat still lingered faintly in the air, though the main hall had mostly emptied out. A few travelers sat tucked into corner booths, speaking in hushed tones over half-finished meals.

Lucen stepped inside and exhaled. The familiar creak of the door. The flicker of light off Marella’s polished mugs. The quiet comfort of a place that didn’t demand anything from him.

Nyari walked ahead, tail swaying as she made a beeline for the firepit bench. She dropped onto it with a sigh, letting her daggers rest at her side.

Marella emerged from the back room just in time to catch their entrance. “Long day?” she asked with a warm tilt of her head.

“The usual,” Lucen replied. “Magic, sweat, and cursed-sounding ruins.”

Marella didn’t even blink. “So you’re taking that Silver quest.”

Nyari turned from the fire, squinting. “How’d you know?”

Marella smiled faintly. “It’s been sitting on the board long enough. I figured it was only a matter of time before one of you got curious enough to touch it.”

Lucen laughed under his breath. “We’ll try not to bring the ruin back with us.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

She slid two plates onto the table—stew, bread, and a few small roasted potatoes—and stepped away without another word.

Nyari tore into the bread first, her appetite unaffected by the talk of haunted glyphs. Lucen sat beside her, slower with his meal, thoughts still turning.

After a few bites, Nyari leaned sideways, voice lower.

“You think it’s going to be bad?”

Lucen chewed for a moment, then said, “I think it won’t be straightforward.”

She nodded. “Cursed ruins never are.”

Another pause. The fire crackled.

Nyari tapped a finger idly against her Arcane Band. “Still. Would be nice if we got through one quest without you nearly dying.”

Lucen gave a faint smirk. “I’m not planning on making that a pattern.”

“You better not.”

She didn’t look at him when she said it. But her voice held something firmer beneath the teasing tone.

Lucen looked down at his band. His mana still felt… full. Ready. He wasn’t the same as he was when he first arrived here.

And she wasn’t just some cocky rogue anymore either.

They were a team now.

Even if neither of them said it out loud. 

Hearthlight Inn – Morning Light

Lucen awoke to the quiet sound of rain tapping against the window.

It wasn’t the kind of storm that demanded attention—just a soft, steady drizzle, like the sky was exhaling. Pale gray light filtered through the curtains, painting faint streaks across the wooden floorboards. Everything felt hushed. Slow. Still.

He lay there for a few moments, just breathing. Listening.

The last few days played through his mind in fragments—training with Veyren, shaping earth, coaxing water to move, watching Nyari blur through the clearing like wind turned solid. He could still feel the faint pulse of mana running through his Arcane Band, warm and steady like a second heartbeat.

Five affinities now responded to him.

Fire. Wind. Light. Earth. Water.

Only one remained.

Darkness.

The one that hadn’t stirred.

He didn’t expect it to come easily.

Lucen sat up, exhaled, and dressed slowly—shoulders tight from yesterday’s training but looser than they’d been a week ago. Progress made the aches feel different. Earned.

Downstairs, the Hearthlight was quiet—wrapped in the kind of calm only rain could bring. A few guests lingered over warm drinks. The hearth crackled softly in the center of the room.

Marella greeted him with a warm glance and a simple nod, already setting a plate on the table where Nyari was seated.

She sat sideways on the bench near the window, one leg tucked up, nursing a steaming mug between her palms. Her cloak was draped loosely over her chair, and her hair—still slightly tousled—looked like she’d only brushed half of it. But her eyes were sharp. Alert. Always watching.

“You look too calm,” she muttered as he sat across from her.

“I slept.”

“Like a rock?”

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s Earth magic. You want me to turn into one?”

Nyari sipped her drink without breaking eye contact. “Might improve your reflexes.”

Lucen picked up a slice of toast and bit into it. Marella had already added a small dish of jam to the side—he hadn’t asked. She just remembered.

The warmth in the inn, the soft firelight, the smell of roasted fruit… it almost made him forget about the ruins. About the stillness of that flickering quest crystal in Eyla’s hand.

Nyari set her cup down. “We grabbing supplies before heading out?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “General store first. Then we hit the road.”

“Glow orbs. Bandages. Maybe some smoke pellets, too.”

Lucen arched a brow. “Since when do you use smoke?”

“I don’t. You’re the one who panicked in the cave and lit one backwards.”

“That was one time.”

“It was last week.”

She stood, cloak swinging over her shoulder, tail swaying behind her with that casual, smug rhythm he’d gotten used to. “Anyway. Come on. Before all the good food kits get bought out by morning questers.”

Lucen stood slower, grabbing the last bite of bread as he followed.

She glanced back once near the door. Her expression was unreadable—but her tone was light when she spoke.

“Let’s try not to die this time, yeah?”

Lucen grinned. “No promises.”

And with that, they stepped out into the light rain—toward the general store, and whatever waited beyond.

Mirra’s Goods & General – Mid-Morning

The rain hadn’t let up, but it had softened into a gentle mist by the time Lucen and Nyari reached the crooked little storefront wedged between the herbalist and the weapons stand. The hand-painted sign—Mirra’s Goods & General—still hung at a lopsided tilt, jingling faintly from the wind despite the damp.

Lucen pushed the door open. The familiar bell above the frame gave its usual weak cough of a ring.

Inside, the cramped space was exactly how he remembered it: shelves bending under the weight of bundled rope, metal flasks, folded bedrolls, dried rations, and glow orbs glowing faintly in wooden bins. A rack of fire kits leaned against a barrel marked “Discount—Slightly Singed.”

Nyari stepped in behind him, shaking water off her cloak like a cat that had been caught in the rain.

Mirra looked up from behind the counter, eyes glinting behind narrow glasses. Her short, slightly curled hair was pulled into a messy half-tie, and her tone was already dry before anyone spoke.

“Oh, look. Trouble and taller trouble.”

Lucen gave a faint smile. “Morning, Mirra.”

Nyari stepped past him and leaned against the counter. “We’re heading out on a Silver quest.”

“I figured,” Mirra replied without missing a beat. “You have that ‘probably walking into a mana-soaked deathtrap’ look about you.”

Lucen reached into his coin pouch. “We need a few things. Glow orb, rations, bandage packs, one small potion case.”

Mirra raised an eyebrow. “What, no flint kit?”

Nyari snorted. “He’s got fire magic now. Still managed to almost burn his eyebrows off last week.”

Mirra muttered something about fire mages being worse than amateurs and turned to retrieve supplies from behind the counter. “You know the guild’ll pay after quest clearance if I send the invoice through the sigil. You running broke again?”

Lucen didn’t answer immediately.

Nyari did for him. “He spent everything on a bag.”

Mirra scoffed. “Finally. Now you can stop trying to juggle monster parts in your shirt.”

She returned a moment later and set everything neatly on the counter in a small bundled pack—light and travel-ready.

Lucen reached out, and Mirra tapped the glyph tablet beside the register. A soft shimmer flickered between it and his Arcane Band as the charge registered.

“Sent. Tell the Guild you’re welcome.”

Nyari slid the pack off the counter. “Appreciate it, Mirra.”

“Don’t die.”

“We’ll try not to.”

As they turned to leave, Mirra called out again—voice sharper, but not unkind.

“Just a hunch,” she said, “but that posting’s been sitting for a reason. Ruins don’t whisper unless something’s still listening.”

Lucen paused at the door.

“I know,” he said softly.

Then stepped out into the mist.

Outskirts of Falridge – Late Morning

The sky had cleared just enough to let pale sunlight break through the mist by the time they reached the outskirts. Falridge’s walls stood tall and steady behind them, the stone damp from rain, the banners along the outer gate swaying in the gentle wind.

Lucen adjusted the strap across his shoulder, the new supply pack settled snug against his back. The weight wasn’t heavy—but the quest ahead pressed heavier on his mind.

Beside him, Nyari flipped up the hood of her cloak and gave the road a long look.

“Two days out,” she murmured, tail swaying behind her with idle rhythm. “One day at the ruins if we’re lucky. Then two days back.”

Lucen nodded. “Assuming it’s just exploration.”

Nyari gave a low hum. “It’s never just exploration.”

They paused for a moment at the rise just past the patrol fence—the spot where the road curved out of sight, the edge of Falridge no longer visible once you passed it.

Lucen looked back once.

The guild hall. The Hearthlight. The city’s narrow streets and warm lantern glow. All of it tucked behind stone and smoke and familiar noise.

Ahead: quiet. Trees thick with mist. Roads still damp. And somewhere beyond all that—stone ruins humming with old magic.

“You ready?” he asked, pulling his cloak tighter.

Nyari didn’t answer right away.

Then she said, softly, “I think we’re past the point of needing to be ready.”

She started walking, boots tapping against the muddy path.

Lucen followed.

No crowd. No send-off. Just the two of them—Silver-ranked adventurers heading into something no one else wanted to touch.

The road stretched forward, winding into low hills and dense forest beyond.

They didn’t speak much as they walked.

They didn’t need to.

Forest Road – Early Afternoon

The road narrowed as they moved deeper into the forest, the path slowly shifting from packed dirt to stone-lined trails half-swallowed by creeping moss. The rain had stopped hours ago, but the trees still held droplets in their leaves, letting them fall in soft, irregular patterns.

Lucen adjusted the strap on his shoulder, eyes scanning the treeline out of habit.

Nyari walked a few steps ahead, tail flicking in slow, distracted arcs.

They’d passed the last traveler an hour ago—a merchant cart heading west, eager to get back before the weather turned. Since then, it had just been the two of them and the forest.

Lucen broke the quiet first. “You ever been this far southeast?”

Nyari shook her head, not looking back. “Closest I got was a failed boar trap job near the river bend. Two days of mud and mosquito bites. No thanks.”

Lucen smiled faintly. “Sounds like a great time.”

“Oh yeah. Best bonding experience I ever had—with an entire nest of bloodsuckers.”

He stepped over a crooked tree root, watching a scatter of wet leaves slide down the slope beside them. “Think we’ll find anything actually hostile out here?”

Nyari finally looked back, walking backward now as she answered. “Honestly? If there’s something in that ruin, it’s either really good at hiding… or really good at waiting.”

Lucen raised an eyebrow. “You think something’s alive down there?”

“I think,” she said, turning back around, “that nothing whispers through stone without a reason.”

The wind shifted through the branches above them, rustling the canopy like a low breath. Somewhere deeper in the woods, a crow called once—sharp, then silent.

Lucen let the quiet settle again.

The forest wasn’t threatening. Not yet. But it had that feeling—like it remembered things most people had forgotten.

They walked in silence for another stretch.

Eventually, they reached a fork in the trail—one direction worn from carts and hooves, the other narrow and overgrown, marked only by a single weathered stake bearing an old, faded glyph.

Nyari pointed to it with her thumb. “That’s our turn.”

Lucen eyed the glyph. It was cracked, its runes half-worn by time. He didn’t recognize the language—but the edges pulsed faintly with lingering mana, like a breath caught in stone.

He stepped off the main road and followed Nyari into the overgrowth.

The air grew cooler. Still.

And somewhere beyond the trees, hidden under root and ruin…

The Hollowstone waited.