Chapter 21: Over Us

A bone-deep chill clung to Marcus Domitus and his soldiers as they made their way down a steep trail into the valley below. Wind howled through the jagged peaks above, stirring the snow into swirling eddies that cut visibility to a few feet.

The light of dawn was fading into thick clouds, casting the valley in muted gray. There was an eerie stillness here, as if the land itself had fallen into a long, dreamless sleep.

"Keep moving," Marcus said quietly, adjusting his grip on the hilt of his sword. "We need to find shelter before the storm worsens."

Seneca pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders, his teeth chattering. "Why does every road we take feel like it’s leading us somewhere worse?"

Marcus gave a grim smile. "Because it is."

They trudged through the snow until they reached a clearing at the valley’s center. Dark trees surrounded them, their skeletal branches twisting upward like clawed hands. At the edge of the clearing, something caught Marcus’s attention—a strange pattern etched into the snow.

Seneca knelt beside the markings, brushing away frost to reveal deep grooves carved into the earth. "These aren’t natural. Someone—or something—made them."

Marcus studied the pattern, his brow furrowed. It looked like an ancient sigil, curved lines overlapping in intricate loops, radiating outward from a central point.

"This is a warning," Marcus muttered. "We’re not the first to come through here."

Gaius stood back from the group, his gaze drifting along the tree line. "And we won’t be the last," he murmured.

The soldiers gathered in the center of the clearing, their faces drawn and pale. Drusus leaned on his spear, his breath steaming in the frigid air. "We’ve been running, fighting, and running again for days. How much longer can we keep this up?"

Marcus ignored the bitterness in Drusus’s tone. "As long as we need to. The only way out is forward."

Drusus shook his head. "What if there’s nothing left on the other side? What if all we’re doing is surviving for the sake of surviving?"

"We still have a mission," Marcus said sharply. "That hasn’t changed."

"And what about him?" Drusus jerked his head toward Gaius. "How much longer are we supposed to pretend we can trust him?"

Gaius’s expression didn’t change, but Marcus saw the flicker of hurt in his eyes.

"That’s enough," Marcus said, his voice low and dangerous. "We stand together, or we don’t stand at all."

Drusus muttered something under his breath but said no more. The tension, however, remained—a crack in the fragile unity that held them together.

As they scouted the perimeter of the clearing, Marcus spotted something unusual—a massive stone statue half-buried in snow, standing at the base of a cliff. The figure was humanoid but distorted, with elongated limbs and a twisted expression frozen in stone.

Seneca joined him, wiping frost from the statue’s face. "This thing looks ancient. Maybe even older than the ruins."

Marcus ran his hand along the weathered surface. "It’s not just a statue. It’s a sentinel—something meant to keep watch."

Seneca gave him a puzzled glance. "Keep watch over what?"

"Over us," Gaius muttered, his voice heavy with unease. He stared at the statue as if it were staring back.

Marcus felt the same unsettling presence. "We need to move. Now."

The storm closed in, and the snow fell harder, blurring the edges of the world around them. Just as Marcus was about to order the men to retreat back to higher ground, Seneca found something—a narrow fissure at the base of the cliff, hidden behind the sentinel statue.

"It’s a passage," Seneca called out. "Might lead to shelter."

Marcus inspected the entrance—a jagged crack in the rock, just wide enough to fit single file. The cold air from inside smelled of damp stone and stale air, but it was better than being exposed to the storm.

"We don’t have much choice," Marcus said. "Get inside, and stay sharp."

The soldiers entered the fissure, their torches casting flickering light on the narrow walls. The tunnel twisted and turned, leading them deeper into the heart of the mountain. The deeper they went, the quieter it became, as if the world above no longer existed.

"Any idea where this leads?" Drusus asked, his voice echoing softly.

"No," Marcus replied. "But anywhere is better than out there."

The group pressed on, the air growing warmer as they descended. Strange symbols appeared on the walls—spirals, geometric shapes, and markings that seemed to hum faintly in the torchlight.

Seneca traced one of the symbols with his fingertips. "These markings... they’re almost identical to the ones we found near the rift."

Marcus gave him a grim look. "Then we’re on the right path."

The tunnel ended abruptly, opening into a vast underground chamber. At the center stood a shallow pool of water, perfectly still, reflecting the glow of the torches like a mirror. Strange statues lined the walls, each one depicting a different figure—warriors, scholars, and kings frozen in expressions of fear and despair.

"Why does this place feel... familiar?" Gaius whispered, staring into the pool.

Marcus approached the edge, gazing into the still water. His reflection stared back, but something was wrong—his eyes, in the reflection, glowed faintly with the same eerie light they had seen in the echoes.

Seneca stepped back, his face pale. "This isn’t just a reflection. It’s... something else."

Marcus’s chest tightened. "An illusion?"

"More than that," Seneca whispered. "It’s a memory. But not ours."

As Marcus stared into the water, the surface rippled—and a vision emerged. He saw the forgotten valley as it once was: bustling with life, filled with people who wore the same haunted expressions as the statues along the walls.

And then the rift opened, swallowing the valley in darkness. He saw the faces twist in horror, their bodies turning to stone as the echoes rose from the earth like a plague.

The vision faded, and Marcus staggered back, gasping for breath. "This place... it’s a graveyard. And the rift was just the beginning."

The soldiers stood in uneasy silence, the weight of the vision settling heavily on their minds.

"What do we do now?" Drusus asked, his voice subdued.

"We move forward," Marcus said, his voice steady. "This valley was lost because they gave up. We won’t make the same mistake."

He turned to Gaius, meeting his friend’s gaze. "Whatever’s waiting for us out there... we face it together."

Gaius gave a tired but determined nod. "Together."

Marcus looked toward the far end of the chamber, where another tunnel led deeper into the earth. It was a path into the unknown—but it was the only path they had left.

"Let’s go," Marcus said quietly, leading the way. "The only way out is through."