Through the dense weave of trees, a shape begins to emerge—indistinct at first, a pale smudge against the shifting greens and browns of the forest. As they draw closer, the details resolve, the structure standing quiet and patient in its decay.

  It had once been white, Del would guess, though time had long since robbed it of any purity. The stone was now streaked with age, its surface dappled with creeping ivy and thick coats of moss, lending it an almost overgrown reverence, as if the forest itself had claimed it as part of its domain. The years had softened its edges, blurred the lines between the crafted and the natural—a forgotten thing, now cradled in the arms of nature.

  They paused at the treeline, taking it in.

  The shape reminded Del of a vast stone gazebo, though more enclosed. Circular, with a domed roof, it had an oddly graceful symmetry, as if it had been built with purpose beyond simple shelter. A short hall protruded from the main structure—likely an entryway, its arch still standing strong despite the slow creep of decay. The walls, made of massive stone blocks, held narrow arched windows, evenly spaced around the perimeter.

  The entire place exuded an eerie stillness, a quiet hum that wasn’t quite silence, as if the land here held its breath.

  Naomi shifted beside them, gripping Elara’s hand tighter.

  “It makes me feel all burbly inside,” she said suddenly, her voice hushed but full of unease.

  Del glanced at her, noting the slight tremor in her fingers.

  “That’s the magic in the air,” Elara explained, her voice calm, reassuring. “Your mana inside is recognising and reacting to the power in the building.”

  Del exhaled slowly, eyes flicking back to the structure. The air felt different here—thicker, not in a way that stifled, but one that pressed in on the senses, subtly altering perception.

  “So, is the building itself magical,” he asked, “or do you think it’s something within the building?”

  Elara hesitated, weighing the question. She studied the walls, the creeping vines, the way the moss clung as if drawn to the stone. Finally, she shook her head.

  “It’s too ambiguous at the moment,” she admitted. “It could be either. Or both.”

  Del nodded, rubbing his hands together. “Or none of the above.”

  A flicker of movement caught his attention—Misty, perched neatly on the stone steps leading to the doorway, her golden eyes watching them with that usual air of knowing detachment.

  “Well,” Del said, stepping forward, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Let’s go exploring then.”

  As they moved closer, the air thickened further, the ambient mana shifting again. It climbed higher, then levelled, no longer growing but settling into something steady.

  Del frowned, his skin prickling with something more than just magic—a familiarity.

  It was as if the mana carried a flavour, distinct yet recognisable. He furrowed his brow, searching for the connection, until it clicked. Elara’s magic. It was different, yes, but there was something in its essence that felt aligned.

  He turned to her, meeting her eyes. She was already nodding.

  “Nature magic,” she confirmed, her voice quiet with understanding. “I think this may be a lost shrine.”

  Del let the words sink in. A shrine. He turned back to the building, studying its shape with renewed interest.

  “Am I imagining things,” he murmured, “or does it feel old… damaged somehow? Your magic always feels fresh and vibrant, but this… this feels off.”

  The sensation wasn’t just strange—it was unnerving. Something about it itched at the edge of his awareness, like a sound just beyond hearing.

  “It’s like it's making my teeth ache in response,” he tried to describe a dull pressure in his jaw that he couldn’t quite explain.

  ‘What the fuck are you going on about, Del? Teeth ache?’

  The voice in his head was as unhelpful as ever.

  ‘Shut up. You try and describe something you didn’t even know existed a couple of weeks back.’

  Elara tilted her head, considering. “Yes,” she murmured, her brows drawing together. “It’s got a nature attunement, but… it’s not quite right.”

  ‘See? Elara gets it.’

  Naomi shifted closer, pressing against them, fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve.

  “It’s bad but also good,” she said, frowning. “Like… like too many sweet treats.”

  Del’s internal voice chuckled darkly.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  ‘So that’s why your teeth ache.’

  He ignored it.

  “Well,” Del said decisively, rolling his shoulders, “let’s go check it out.”

  He nodded toward Misty, who remained calmly seated on the steps, tail curled neatly around her paws.

  “She doesn’t seem overly concerned.”

  And that, at least, was something.

  The building’s steps led up to a dark, arched doorway, its yawning entrance like a mouth left frozen mid-silent scream. The stone beneath Del’s boots was rough with age, the edges softened by time and weather, yet the structure still held onto its presence—a forgotten relic, waiting.

  One of the great wooden doors had collapsed, lying twisted on the ground, half-buried under years of leaf litter and moss. The wood had rotted through, the metal hinges still clinging stubbornly to the frame as if refusing to acknowledge their failure. The other door remained half-ajar, jammed against a gathering of decayed debris—the slow accumulation of nature reclaiming what had been abandoned.

  Del peered inside, eyes adjusting to the gloom.

  Misty had been right. Dust. Cobwebs. Stillness.

  Light streamed in through the narrow slit windows, piercing the dimness in sharp golden beams. The air stirred at their arrival, sending glinting motes dancing through the sunbeams, as if the very presence of new life had disturbed something long undisturbed.

  A chill ran down his spine.

  “Shall we?” Del asked, turning to the others.

  Neither Elara nor Naomi answered, but after a brief hesitation, they stepped forward as one.

  As they crossed the threshold, the air changed.

  It pressed inward, thick and heavy, like stepping into a sealed room untouched for centuries. Yet that didn’t make sense. The doors were open, broken, even, and though the windows were narrow, they had never been glazed. The air should have moved freely.

  Instead, it sat still, stagnant.

  It carried the musty scent of old stone, the faint dampness of moss, and something deeper, something lingering just beneath—a scent not quite decay, not quite earth, but something between.

  Through some of the windows, ivy had crept inside, tendrils snaking along the walls as if reaching, searching for something within. The vines seemed almost deliberate, their path winding through the broken stonework with unnatural intent.

  A sudden scuttle of tiny feet broke the hush.

  Misty’s ears flicked up instantly.

  ‘Dinner?’ she inquired, her thoughts slipping lazily into Del’s mind.

  ‘Maybe for you, girl. Sounded a bit too much like a mouse to tempt my appetite.’

  She huffed, casting him a disdainful look.

  ‘If you want to hunt it, fine. But let me know if there’s anything dangerous ahead.’

  Without another word, she leapt forward, vanishing into the shadows, her movements utterly silent.

  The entry hall stretched ahead of them, maybe twenty feet long, its ceiling arching overhead in a forgotten elegance now worn with age. Del immediately regretted every sarcastic quip about spooky places—this place wasn’t just unsettling.

  It was wrong.

  And they hadn’t even reached the main chamber yet.

  If this was a shrine, he sure as hell wouldn’t want to worship here. Some things were better left sleeping.

  Taking a breath—one he suspected was mirrored by the others—Del stepped forward.

  At the far end of the corridor stood another set of doors, these still intact. One had been pushed open just enough for them to squeeze through.

  Beyond, the chamber stretched out before them.

  A vast, circular space, thirty feet across, its domed ceiling towering overhead. Time had left its mark here, but it was not time alone that had done the damage.

  In the centre of the room, a round pool lay mostly dry, the stone basin cracked and uneven. Only scattered puddles remained, rainwater that had found its way in through displaced roof tiles, pooling in the fractures of a once-pristine floor.

  But it was what stood at the heart of the pool that caught Del’s attention.

  A statue, rising from a low plinth, broken and battered.

  He barely had time to process its significance before he heard Elara’s breath catch in her throat.

  His entire body tensed.

  “What is it?” Del asked, every nerve on edge.

  Elara’s gaze remained locked on the figure. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, reverent.

  “It’s Myrrith. Goddess of nature and balance.” She hesitated. “She is revered by elves, among others, and it is from her that my own magic is derived.”

  Del studied the broken and crumbling form. A woman once beautifully carved, her head adorned with antlers, her hands holding floral wreaths and other growing things.

  Naomi’s voice was small, hesitant. “But she’s broken.”

  “I know, angel,” Elara said softly. Her grief was quiet but palpable. “Something happened here. Something that wasn’t good.”

  Del glanced around the chamber, his gut twisting.

  The damage wasn’t natural decay.

  It wasn’t just the slow erosion of years, the patient work of wind and rain.

  This place had been desecrated.

  The bad feeling—that off-kilter sensation he had struggled to describe earlier—it all made sense now.

  Naomi shifted uneasily. “That… feeling inside?”

  Elara nodded. “Yes, Naomi. The good is what remains of my goddess’s presence. The bad…” She paused. “Whatever happened to her.”

  Del took a step closer to the statue, eyes tracing the damage.

  Her arms had been severed, the stone shattered at the joints, leaving only jagged stumps where her hands once held symbols of growth and life. One of her antlers lay smashed on the floor, partially ground to dust.

  But it wasn’t just the destruction of the statue that set Del’s nerves on edge.

  The walls and floor bore dark arcane symbols, painted in thick, uneven strokes. They flexed and shifted at the edges of his vision, distorting unnaturally, making his stomach churn the longer he looked.

  The pigment was dark—soot, perhaps… or something worse.

  Del’s hands clenched into fists.

  He turned to Elara—only to find tears streaming silently down her face.

  Naomi stood beside her, confused and frightened, her small hands gripping at the fabric of Elara’s sleeve.

  Without thinking, Del placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.

  And then—A nudge at the edge of his mind.

  Del turned his attention to Misty and then he felt.

  A shift—subtle, but unmistakable.

  The moment stretched, a lingering silence that felt too heavy, too expectant.

  Something was wrong.

  Misty stood motionless on the far side of the pool, her tail low, ears forward. Watching. Waiting.

  She wasn’t grooming. She wasn’t prowling.

  She was listening.

  Del frowned, his stomach tightening. He followed her gaze and—

  At first, he didn’t see it.

  Just a break in the floor, a jagged shape where the tiles had collapsed inward.

  Then his eyes adjusted.

  A trapdoor. Open. Dark. Waiting.

  The air above it was different—heavier, carrying something that didn’t belong.

  Then came the smell. Not just old air or damp stone. Something deeper. Foul, thick, seeping up like breath from something long buried.

  A sound.

  Click.

  Soft. Subtle.

  Not mechanical. Not stone shifting.

  Click… click-click.

  A pause.

  Then another—closer this time.

  The rhythm was off, like something shuffling or maybe limping.

  Misty’s fur bristled. Her tail flicked once, sharply.

  Del’s pulse hammered against his ribs.

  The others hadn’t noticed yet.

  But they would.

  Because whatever was down there…

  It most definitely wasn’t the mice his cat had been hunting.