A suffocating stillness filled the underground chamber. Dust floated in the dim glow of ethereal runes, their light barely illuminating the stone walls carved with inscriptions long lost to time. The air was thick, dense with magic so ancient it felt like the very foundation of the world was pressing down on them.

  Thorne tightened his grip on his weapon. Caelum and Aelith instinctively adjusted their stances, while Frid, still faceless and wrapped in madness, remained eerily still. The momentary silence was broken by the faint murmuring of a voice—hoarse, broken, but unwavering.

  At the heart of the chamber, before an unknown statue, a hunched figure knelt in prayer. His body was twisted and gnarled, as if time itself had woven its roots through his flesh. His skin, cracked and dry like old bark, bore deep crevices that pulsed faintly with raw magic. His breath was ragged, yet each exhale carried the weight of something immeasurable.

  Antru.

  A name long forgotten by the world, yet the magic that coiled around him remembered.

  The old man did not move at their arrival. He continued his prayers, muttering in a language none of them recognized. The statue before him was grotesque yet mesmerizing—humanoid in form but with features that blurred between the divine and the monstrous. Its many arms reached out in different directions, while its face was obscured, as if reality itself refused to define it.

  Then, slowly, Antru’s voice faded. A withered hand, trembling yet purposeful, reached out and caressed the statue’s surface.

  “You seek power,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of centuries.

  It was not a question.

  Thorne felt his throat tighten. The air itself was heavy, filled with an unseen pressure that clawed at his mind. He had fought against countless foes, but never had he stood before something—someone—who felt so close to the abyss of true mastery.

  Caelum, ever composed, narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

  A pause. Antru’s fingers stopped tracing the statue. Then, finally, he turned his head.

  His eyes, deep-set and glowing faintly, bore into them with an intensity that stripped away all pretense.

  “I am the one who remembers.”

  The chamber seemed to shudder at his words. Dust trembled in the air. The runes flickered.

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  Frid let out a raspy chuckle, the distorted sound echoing in the vast emptiness. “Another fossil clinging to the past?” His tone was mocking, but even he could not mask the way his posture tensed.

  Antru did not react to the insult. Instead, he rose—slowly, as if every motion was an acceptance of time’s burden upon his body. Yet, despite his frail frame, the sheer force of his magical presence made it clear: this was no ordinary man.

  “You reek of something old,” Antru murmured, eyes settling on Frid. “Something that does not belong in the hands of the unworthy.”

  Frid’s laughter died in his throat. His faceless form twitched. “And what would you know about worth?”

  Before Antru could answer, Aelith suddenly inhaled sharply, her eyes widening in realization.

  “Wait,” she muttered, gripping the side of her head as if piecing something together. Her grimoire flickered briefly, magic pulsing around her.

  Thorne glanced at her. “What is it?”

  Aelith’s expression darkened. “The pulse… the one we felt earlier.” Her gaze flickered downward, toward the depths of the underground. “It didn’t come from here.”

  A heavy silence fell between them.

  Caelum’s brows furrowed. “What?”

  “We assumed it originated from this chamber because of the heavy magical presence,” Aelith said, her voice growing sharper. “But this place—it’s old, yes, but it’s not the source. The real pulse came from even deeper below.”

  They realized it too late.

  A fresh wave of unease washed over them. The thought that something even greater, something more primal, lurked beneath their very feet sent a shiver down their spines.

  Antru, however, simply let out a soft, knowing chuckle.

  “You are like children wandering blind in a labyrinth,” he mused, his voice both ancient and unwavering. “You stumble upon an old ruin and think you’ve reached the depths.”

  He turned back to the statue, his hand pressing against its worn surface.

  “You have yet to grasp how far down the abyss truly goes.”

  The heavy silence stretched between them, broken only by the flickering torches casting shadows against the ancient stone walls. Antru stood unmoving, his tree-bark-like skin blending into the chamber as if he were a relic himself.

  Then, he sighed. A slow, drawn-out breath that sounded almost like the groaning of old wood.

  “You search for answers,” Antru murmured, his gnarled fingers tracing the air as if pulling threads from the unseen. “The pulse you felt… it did not come from here.” His glowing eyes, deep with ancient wisdom, flickered toward Aelith. “You realized it too late.”

  Aelith's breath hitched. She had sensed it—only now did the pieces fit. "Then where?" she demanded.

  Antru's lips curled in a faint, knowing smile. "Below. Far below."

  A shiver ran through them.

  "You mean beneath this ruin?" Caelum asked, his tone sharp.

  Antru shook his head. "Deeper than this. Beyond the land itself. That pulse came from the Abyss, from the depths of the great sea where no light reaches. A place where even the oldest of beings dare not tread."

  Frid stiffened. Even in his madness, he recognized the significance of such words. The Abyss—an uncharted, untamed void of endless waters, where ancient creatures and forgotten horrors lurked.

  Thorne narrowed his eyes. "You say that as if you know exactly what it was."

  Antru let out a quiet chuckle. "I do." His gaze became distant. "A presence has awakened. One that should not exist in this world."

  The chamber seemed to grow colder, as if the mere acknowledgment of the truth had disturbed something unseen.