The sky hung low and mean, like a grimy sheet stretched too tight over a land that wasn't interested in being covered. No birds. No wind. Just stillness thick enough to choke on, like the world was holding its breath through clenched teeth. Verek had felt this kind of quiet before—before cities burned, before soldiers screamed. The silence had that same edge, like it knew something was about to go wrong and was already grieving it.
Ahead, the earth split wide open into a scarred valley that looked like it had been carved out with a rusted blade. It didn't have a name anymore. Maybe it did, once. Maybe someone tried to hold on to it. But whatever name it had was buried with the rest of it. The ground was a mess of ash-bitten grass and soil that didn't know whether it was frozen or on fire. Like it was stuck mid-death. The whole place stank of something left too long in the dark.
Verek's boots crunched through grass that cracked like bone. The smell—burnt air, wet iron—clung to his throat. He didn't flinch, but it made his spine twitch. This was air that remembered blood.
Ezreal shoved the map back into his coat. The vellum curled in on itself with a last weak twitch before going cold. "It's gone," he said flatly. "Whatever's left of the shard, it's deeper than anything Kaelith's records cover."
"Then we go without them," Verek said, already moving. "We've walked into worse blind."
Dax eyed the black fog that drifted just above the ridge. His voice came low and even. "Maybe the land's got too many memories already. Maybe it doesn't want us adding more."
Verek didn't answer. The tension had started threading itself into his muscles—quiet, creeping. Every step felt like the ground was thinking about collapsing or maybe biting back. Some spots gave way like mud, others cracked sharp like old ice. There was no pattern. Just a slow, shifting malice that made the world feel like it was waiting for one of them to slip.
The wind had gone stale. Tasted like metal and smoke. Got between your teeth.
They moved down a path wedged between two hills hunched like broken vertebrae. Caylen squinted into the dip between them, one hand on his bow. "There," he said, tense. "Something's waiting."
A ruin sat curled at the base of the hollow, warped and crooked like it had been clawed up out of the earth by something that hated architecture. Verek stepped closer, frowning. It wasn't built. It was vomited up, yanked out of the world like a half-remembered dream. The walls leaned like drunk bones, black stone jutting from the ground in angles that hurt to look at. No roof. No doors. Just a mess of jagged slabs and shapes that didn't fit in any sane place.
Glyphs shimmered across the stone in uneven light, like teeth in a busted grin. Verek didn't know the language. But it scratched something deep in his head, something old and uncomfortable. Like guilt with a face. Or a name he hadn't earned.
Ezreal tilted his head. "It's not just ancient. It's arranged. This is a trial site. Not a grave."
"Same result if we screw it up," Verek muttered.
They crossed under the crooked archway. The second they passed through, the air punched inward—pressure thick enough to make breathing feel like a mistake. Not a welcome. More like a dare.
The floor was tiled with a mosaic of runes, most of them cracked. Verek scanned them and felt something coil in his gut. Dax moved forward and lightning snapped from the stone, followed by a blade screeching out from the wall.
Caylen swore and jerked back. The blade kissed his arm, carving a clean line into his sleeve and skin. Blood bloomed fast. "Real friendly place," he growled.
Ezreal crouched over the tiles, eyes narrowed. "Old draconic," he said, fingers tracing symbols like he was memorizing a song. "But it's... broken. Chromatic lines blended with metallic patterns. Deliberate. It's a test."
Verek stepped beside him. "There's no safe path. That's the point. They want us to choose balance. Walk both lines."
Ezreal gave a curt nod. "Where they intersect. Unity's the key."
They moved one at a time, slow as ice. Ezreal led, eyes locked on the floor, hands half-raised in case the room decided to scream again. Dax followed, all tense shoulders and twitching hands. Caylen stuck close, his face pale but steady. Verek brought up the rear, every footfall measured. The last tile hissed beneath Caylen's boot but didn't bite. He exhaled like a man who'd been underwater too long.
The next room opened wide like a mouth ready to swallow them.
Statues lined the walls—dragons twisted in mid-scream, scales locked in gold and shadow, wings straining toward the ceiling. They curled around a pit that spiraled into the floor, their expressions frozen in pain or rage or both. Verek stepped in first. His hand hovered near his blade. He didn't like stillness like this. Never had.
Then came the voice—cold, cracked, bone-dry.
"To claim what is lost, prove your worth not with brute force, but with wit. Answer the riddle or be swallowed whole."
The runes under their boots flared yellow. A riddle rose out of the light, curling into the air in script that shimmered like fireflies.
I soar without wings,I breathe without lungs,My scales neither shine nor dull,Split by color, yet one at heart—What am I?
Ezreal frowned hard. "It's a dragon. Or... not quite. It's saying it's not just one kind."
Dax paced, arms folded tight. "It's asking for an answer. Not a guess."
Verek closed his eyes. Let the riddle settle in. He tasted it—like old stories, like split loyalties. Not a creature. Not a flag. Something bigger. When he opened his eyes again, his voice came low and steady. "It's both. A single dragon carrying both lines. A mix."
The floor trembled once. Runes dimmed. Stone cracked and slid aside. A stair revealed itself, coiling into the dark like a beckoning finger.
They descended.
The air got heavier with each step, thick with heat and dust. At the bottom stood two stone dragons: one black and jagged, like lava cooled too fast, and the other a bronze beast with eyes that flickered like coals. Both turned to look at them. Red eyes. Gold eyes. Waiting.
Verek didn't waste time.
The obsidian dragon moved first, but Verek was already sprinting. His blade slammed against its jaw, the impact ringing through his bones. Sparks spat across the room. Dax dove in behind him, sword flashing like a mirror catching fire. Ezreal raised both hands and loosed a pair of blasts, white-gold fire lancing through the air.
Caylen stayed back, picking his shots. His arrows found the cracks, piercing joints and throats with uncanny precision.
But the dragons learned fast.
The obsidian one swung a massive forearm and knocked Dax across the chamber into a pillar. The bronze twisted and snapped toward Caylen, teeth inches from his ribs. Verek yelled and lunged, drawing its attention. He ducked the jaws and jammed his sword up into the soft space beneath its chin. The dragon reeled but didn't fall.
Ezreal's third blast struck true. The obsidian dragon staggered, and Dax, back on his feet with blood down his temple, drove his blade straight into the glowing eye. The beast gave one last twitch before crashing down in a heap of broken stone.
Caylen's next shot buried into the bronze dragon's throat. The crack widened. Verek roared and brought his sword around with everything he had. The blade hit deep. The dragon crumbled.
Silence followed like a held breath finally exhaled.
A pedestal rose from the floor. On top of it, a yellow shard pulsed dimly. Like it knew it had been waiting too long.
Verek stepped toward it, his breathing rough. He could feel the weight of what came next already pressing down.
The runes along the walls flared bright. The chamber let out a low groan.
"Move!" Caylen barked, already pulling back.
Ezreal grabbed the shard.
The light snapped out.
For a moment, everything just... stopped. No thunder. No explosion. Just a deep, awful quiet.
Verek breathed out. His chest felt tight from more than just the fight.
When they stepped back outside, the sky had turned from low and grimy to the color of mold. The ruin slouched behind them, like it had used up its last bit of hate and was finally done.
Caylen wiped blood from his cheek, his fingers shaking slightly. "That wasn't just a ruin," he said. "That was a test. One of the old ones."
"And it almost cracked us in half," Dax said, wincing, one arm curled protectively over his side.
Ezreal held the shard up. Its glow was faint but steady.
"One more down," he said, quiet.
Verek nodded once, eyes on the smoke rising through the trees past the valley rim. He could feel it again. That rhythm in his chest. The one that told him war was already marching. And they were late.
"How many left?" Dax asked.
Verek didn't answer. He knew. But numbers didn't matter. Not anymore.
Behind them, the ruin faded back into silence.
Ahead, war crouched low and ready.
And beneath the skin of the world, the rest of the shards had started to stir.