The Silent Name

The deeper they went into the ruins, the heavier the air became. It was no longer just dust and decay—something unseen pressed against them, like an invisible hand testing their resolve. The storm above rumbled, but it was the silence below that was most unsettling.

"It feels like something's breathing down my neck," Korin muttered, rubbing his arms.

"It's not just you," Lyara said. "There's something here, and it's waiting."

Ryn tightened his grip on the amulet. Whatever had happened to this city, whatever force had destroyed it, had not entirely left.

At last, they reached what seemed to be the heart of the ruins: a massive, open plaza dominated by an enormous, shattered throne. It had once been grand, crafted from dark stone laced with silver veins. Now, it was cracked down the middle, jagged edges hinting at the force that had broken it. Symbols ran along its base, flickering faintly with the last remnants of some lost power.

Serafina knelt beside the throne, running her fingers along the inscriptions. "This isn't just a relic. It was a focal point. A seat of power."

Ryn approached cautiously. The amulet in his palm pulsed again, resonating with something deep beneath them.

Then, the ground shook.

A deep, guttural sound echoed through the ruins, reverberating through stone and bone alike. The air shimmered, distorting as dark mist began to rise from the cracks in the ground.

"Oh, wonderful," Korin groaned. "We woke something up."

A form began to take shape before the shattered throne—towering, skeletal, and cloaked in shadows. Eyes like dying embers burned deep within its skull. A thick, suffocating presence rolled off it like waves of heat.

"Who dares disturb the Hollow Throne?" The voice was a hollow rasp, filled with an ancient weight.

Ryn swallowed hard, stepping forward despite the instinct screaming at him to run.

"We seek answers."

The entity regarded him in silence before whispering, "Then you shall be tested."

The mist thickened, curling around them like tendrils of smoke. Ryn barely had time to react before the ground beneath them split apart, and a force yanked them down into darkness.

They landed hard in a vast chamber beneath the ruins, the ceiling stretching impossibly high, illuminated by eerie, floating lights. The throne above had been nothing but an entryway—this was the true heart of the city. And they were not alone.

Shadows moved along the walls, shifting with unnatural grace. Ghostly figures, half-formed and flickering, watched them from the edges of reality, their faces unreadable.

"This place…" Lyara's voice was hushed. "It's alive."

A deep rumble echoed through the chamber as the skeletal figure reappeared before them, now towering and solid, its tattered cloak billowing as if caught in a storm.

"You stand in the grave of a kingdom," it intoned. "You seek knowledge, but knowledge is earned, not given."

The mist coalesced around it, forming blades of shadow. The air grew electric, tension crackling between them.

Ryn's pulse pounded in his ears. This was no ordinary test—it was a trial of worthiness.

The entity raised a hand, and spectral warriors emerged from the walls, their hollow eyes locking onto the intruders. Their weapons shimmered, each strike promising death.

"Prove you are more than the echoes of the past."

Then they attacked.

The first warrior moved with blinding speed, its sword slashing through the air in a blur. Ryn barely dodged, rolling to the side as its blade carved into the stone where he had stood moments before. The impact sent cracks spiderwebbing through the floor.

Lyara loosed an arrow, but the spectral warrior caught it midair, crushing it in its hand before lunging at her. Korin intercepted, his twin daggers meeting the warrior's weapon in a clash that sent sparks flying. Serafina whispered an incantation, flames bursting to life around her fingers as she flung them toward the advancing figures.

Ryn activated his resonance. His sigil flared, energy coursing through his veins as he raised his sword. The moment he engaged the first warrior, he felt it—an overwhelming weight pressing against him, as if reality itself resisted his movements. These creatures weren't bound by the same laws as the living.

He ducked beneath a strike, countering with a precise thrust, but his blade passed through the warrior like mist. Its hollow eyes flickered with something that might have been amusement.

"Fantastic," he muttered. "They don't die easily."

"Then we find another way!" Lyara called, dodging an incoming strike. Her next arrow glowed faintly before she released it, the energy-infused projectile piercing through one of the warriors. It recoiled, its form flickering.

That was it. They weren't immune—just resistant.

Ryn tightened his grip. The amulet in his hand pulsed again, and instinct took over. He poured his energy into his blade, the sigil on his chest burning bright. When he struck again, the warrior let out a hollow cry as the force of the attack shattered its form, dissipating it into mist.

One down.

Korin and Serafina followed suit, channeling energy into their strikes, breaking apart the spectral figures one by one. But the skeletal entity remained, watching.

When the last warrior fell, the mist receded slightly. The entity tilted its head, those ember-like eyes narrowing.

"You are not without strength."

It raised a bony hand, and the throne above rumbled. A section of the floor split open, revealing a stairway descending into even deeper darkness.

"The answers you seek lie below," it said. "But beware—the deeper you go, the closer you come to waking what should remain forgotten."

The mist swirled around it, and the figure faded, leaving only its warning behind.

Ryn exchanged a look with the others. There was no turning back now.

"Then let's go," he said, stepping forward into the unknown.