The cave swallowed sound. The only noise that followed Ilyrana's group was the echo of their boots against the damp stone, the rhythmic flicker of torchlight painting the ancient walls with restless shadows.
No one spoke for a while. Even Commander Valerie, who had been a voice of relentless command throughout the battle, was silent now. The air itself carried reverence—a heavy, sacred awe—as their torches revealed the architecture hidden within.
"This…" Gareth murmured, trailing a hand against one of the pillars. The stone was carved with faded runes, half-eaten by centuries of neglect, yet the power within them still hummed faintly beneath the touch. "So this is the Association's stronghold."
Years—decades—of searching, and not one soul among the Crusade or the Church had managed to find this place. And now, they were standing in it, not through divine revelation nor prophetic maps, but through the intuition of a man who wasn't even from their world.
