Chapter 19: Ruin Exploration

The Seville Adventurers' Guild branch had three new commissions posted on the board that morning. Vaste scanned them—first, an escort for a group of dwarves to a mining town in the northwest, seven gold, half torn off already; second, clearing a giant spider nest in an old mill outside the city, five gold, C-rank; third, still curling at the edges where the paste hadn't fully dried, clearly posted that morning.

"Southwestern outskirts—underground ruin survey. Objective: map internal structure; eliminate any hostile creatures encountered. Estimated requirement: B-rank or above. Compensation: ten gold base, with additional payment for any recoverable materials."

Vaste pulled the third sheet off the board and walked to the counter. The clerk—a young man in a monocular eyepiece—took the commission and her badge, glanced at them, then looked up at Vaste and at Glaze, who was studying the chandelier above.

"And this is...?"

"With me."

"Just the two of you?"

"Yes."

The clerk jotted down a few notes and slid the commission back. He didn't ask further—just gave Glaze one extra look. White hair, blue eyes. He'd never seen anyone like her.

---

The ruin's entrance lay in a stretch of wasteland southwest of Seville, surrounded by low shrubs and a few half-bare oaks stripped by autumn winds. The entrance itself was a stone archway slanting into the earth—most of it buried under soil and dead vines, only the top curve exposed. It had been hidden for who knows how long, only recently resurfacing. The stone was rough and grey, the mortar between joints dry and crumbling. No carvings. No inscriptions. No markings to identify it.

Vaste crouched before the arch, hacking away the dried vines with her hand axe, exposing a relatively flat section of stone. A few chisel marks were visible—the workmanship seemed rough.

"This isn't a significant place." Glaze's voice came from behind her.

Vaste glanced back. Glaze stood beside the archway, her head tilted at the mortar between the stones, a faint trace of uncertainty coloring her tone. She paused, then added, "Should be storage. Not for important things. For food. In the past."

"...How do you know?"

"Sui told me."

Sui?

Vaste searched her memory. Glaze had mentioned someone who'd taken care of her before—"the person who raised me"—but she hadn't given a name then. Vaste filed it away. Someone who could raise a mage like Glaze—they must be more than ordinary.

She strapped the axe back to her belt. She didn't press, just tucked the information into one of the mental drawers she kept, labeled it, and moved on. Then she stood, pulled a torch from her pack, lit it, and ducked into the archway. Iron rings were set into the wall at even intervals, running parallel to the ground at waist height.

The corridor was barely a head taller than Vaste. A short flight of steps led underground. The air was thick with damp earth and something fainter—a slightly gamey animal smell, mixed with the bitterness of old dust.

The steps ended in a stone chamber about three yards square. The wall sconces had long since rusted through; their fragments lay scattered in the corners. Torchlight revealed several rows of collapsed wooden shelves in the center—blackened with rot, crumbling at the lightest touch. Fragments of pottery lay beneath them, a layer of dark brown residue dried at the bottom of what had once been jars. A few wooden crates sat half-buried in the dirt by the walls, their iron hinges rusted to orange-red crumbs.

Vaste wedged the torch into a crack in the wall and crouched to inspect the floor. Several drag marks crossed the dust—about a handspan wide, edges smooth, not human. She followed them to the far side of the chamber and found a half-collapsed wooden door, its frame rotten, only the border intact. Beyond it, a narrower passage sloped downward.

Scattered across the passage floor were several pale grey, dried, curled pieces of skin, their edges curling upward, reflecting faintly in the firelight.

"Lizards?" Vaste picked up a piece, held it to the light, examined the grain. Then she stood and brushed the dust off her hands.

"How do you know?"

"Size of the skin, width of the drag marks, and this smell—the fermented scent of a stoneback lizard nest." She pulled the torch from the wall and moved deeper. "Stay close."

---

The passage continued downward for about twenty paces and opened into a larger chamber. This one was better preserved—the shelves hadn't collapsed, though they were rotted, and stacked neatly on them were rows of tin cans long since rusted into lumps. In the corner, several dozen coarse clay jars sat sealed with wax now cracked and dried. In the center of the chamber, three stoneback lizards lay curled, dozing.

They were larger than she'd expected. The biggest was nearly as long as she was tall, its back shell a dull grey ringed with pale white markings. At the sound of footsteps, the largest raised its head first, a low hiss rising from its throat, its tail sweeping slowly across the floor, stirring dust.

Vaste handed the torch to Glaze. "Hold this." Then she drew her blade and walked toward the nearest lizard.

She didn't rush. Blade low, shoulders loose. She dragged her boots across the gravel floor—deliberate noise to shift their focus.

The three lizards scrambled upright, their back plates lifting slightly, tails sweeping faster. The largest lunged, jaws parting to reveal two rows of fine but blunt teeth, its hiss sharpening. Vaste sidestepped, striking its snout with the flat of her blade—the lizard's momentum carried it into the second, which hadn't fully risen. They tumbled together, back plates scraping with a dry rasp. The third lunged from the side, tail sweeping low. Vaste ducked, stepped on its tail tip, pinned it, and struck the base of its skull with her pommel.

A complete stoneback hide was worth more than shredded meat.

Her target wasn't just the lizards—it was any eggs in their nest. Stoneback eggs were a decent alchemical reagent, worth about two silver each.

Glaze stood at the passage mouth, torch in hand, the firelight dancing across her face. She watched Vaste deal with the three lizards and skin them in less than the time it took to brew a cup of tea. Clean work. No wasted motion. Glaze remembered the look on this woman's face at the edge of Death City, facing three Rottenbone Riders—back then, every swing had been a fight for survival.

Vaste looked past the skinned carcasses at the masonry on the walls. At the sealed jars in the corner. Then she saw it—another door, set into the far wall, bricked shut.

She found four stoneback eggs in a pile of mud in the corner, their shells grey and rough as stone. She wrapped them carefully in her side pouch, then stood and brushed the dust off her knees.

"We should be done."

"Vaste." Glaze pointed at the walled-up door. Her voice was flat, but Vaste noticed how steady she held the torch. Not nervous—a different kind of focus.

Vaste walked over and knocked on the stones. A dull, solid sound. The frame was cut with the same rough chisel marks as the entrance arch, but the curve was rounder, and most of it was sealed with later stones. The masonry differed from the original—the original stones were greyish-blue and consistent; the blocking stones were darker, fire-scorched, some broken from other structures, their jagged edges revealing hasty, crude work. Someone had sealed it from the inside, a long time ago. In a hurry. To keep something out—or in.

She didn't touch the blocked stones. She stepped back and sheathed her knife.

"Sealed. No telling where it goes. I've marked its position. The map will cover only the sections we've actually explored. Report it back and let them decide whether to excavate."

Glaze looked at the blocked archway for a moment. Then she raised the torch higher, letting its light fall across the stone above the frame. The surface there was bare—no markings. Just a faint horizontal line cut by a chisel, barely visible.

"This place isn't a ruin," she said.

Vaste, crouched and wiping her blade, glanced up. Glaze wedged the torch back into its iron ring and sat down beside her, wrapping her arms around her knees. The firelight caught the markings at the corners of her eyes.

"The lower level was food storage. The upper level was for other things. That door was for people—maybe not for this cellar's original purpose. Older than it..." She was speaking to herself, head down.

"What are you talking about?"

"It was for food. These shelves, these jars. They held food. But the room behind that door wasn't." Glaze dropped her gaze to the toes of her boots. Her voice was soft, like she was speaking to someone only she could see, or examining an object whose reference had long since vanished, trying to restore its original form from the texture of what remained.

Vaste said nothing. She sat on the dusty stone floor, watching this strange girl think in a way she didn't fully understand. Then she stood, slung her pack over her shoulder.

"Going back. The hides and eggs need to be with the material broker before dark."

Glaze stood, brushed the dust off her pants, and followed Vaste toward the passage. At the entrance, she looked back at the sealed archway. The firelight crossed her face briefly, then she turned, her boots crunching on the gravel as she followed.