He woke abruptly, gasping for air as if emerging from a vivid nightmare.
Riniock glanced around, disoriented and unsettled, momentarily unable to recall recent events. The sight of Piddruin's scattered remains quickly brought everything flooding back.
After slaying the final grunt in Irgod's roster, he'd collapsed from exhaustion.
'What happened to me...' he murmured to himself.
A swift inspection of his body revealed the troubling truth: his odh vessel – the core responsible for circulating odh through him – was damaged.
He could feel a crack, a rupture disrupting his flow and tightening his chest painfully.
Noidron had warned him about grave consequences of wielding magick beyond one's limits, and now Riniock understood firsthand.
He sat down, struggling to quicken his circulation to aid his body's natural regeneration. Even after drinking an entire potion, the wound refused to mend.
Standing again, a sharp pain pierced his chest.
His gaze shifted to a tunnel, prompting memories of Irgod fleeing through it to escape the geoseri during their last confrontation.
Conflicted emotions surged within him, uncertain whether to seek out Noidron or resume his pursuit of Irgod...
After lengthy internal debate, he decided on the latter. Flipping through his guide on the Yawning Tunnel, his courage to face the geoseri diminished – it was depicted as a truly horrifying creature.
The mere thought of encountering something even more formidable than the great lidthrag sent chills down his spine.
'Noidron'll be fine. He'll be fine.'
After careful rest and preparation, Riniock resolved to continue his pursuit of Irgod. Having no clear sense of how long he'd been asleep, it was safe to assume his quarry had gained a substantial lead.
If he intended to catch up, he'd have to quicken his pace considerably.
Without further delay, he pressed onward.
For a while, only barren stone corridors extended ahead. Yet, as he ventured deeper, the texture of the walls gradually transformed, soon revealing deliberate craftsmanship – clearly shaped by mortal hands.
Despite the pervasive darkness and solitude, this newfound architecture cast an eerie atmosphere.
Minutes later, the tunnels opened up to reveal ancient ruins, marking an end to the seemingly endless network.
Before him sprawled a city carved entirely from stone, as if its creators had excavated entire leagues of rock to establish a settlement far beneath the surface.
Legends spoke of such subterranean cities. Whilst some, like the Berzinian Bazaar, had once thrived, most were now deserted, their inhabitants either long dead or long gone.
'A-Amazing…' Riniock whispered, stepping forward slowly, his gaze captivated by the astonishing view.
Arches intertwined elaborately overhead, and towers reached upward towards ceilings obscured by mist. White flames flickered softly atop mantles – still alight despite decades of abandonment.
High above, two immense lanterns – one glowing brightly in vivid orange, the other a dim, bluish hue – hung imposingly, their scale dwarfing even the tallest structures in this forgotten city. Riniock guessed they served as indicators of surface time: the orange lantern blazing by day, and presumably, the blue one lighting up at night.
One could easily lose sense of time here. Indeed, Riniock himself had already lost track of how long he'd been traversing these tunnels.
As he drew closer, the ruined gates, hanging wide open, conveyed an unsettling invitation. Above the shattered portcullis stretched a row of letters – ancient, yet oddly familiar.
It took Riniock several minutes to piece together their meaning.
'R-Ranz…Ranzomer…Ranzomeron,' he finally uttered. 'Never heard of it.'
Navigating this place proved challenging. Despite the city's age, its streets were remarkably intricate, rivalling even those near Gorlea.
Within moments, Riniock found himself lost amidst a maze of buildings.
Loose bricks littered the streets, revealing the interiors of houses to any passerby – not that there were any. A broken fountain reminded him painfully of the college, though this one bore grim, blackish brown stains – clear evidence of dried blood. Even worse, a skeletal figure rested at its base.
Indeed, dozens – no, hundreds of skeletons littered the adjacent street.
Where clothes remained partially intact, they showed unmistakable signs of battle, torn as if by teeth or claws.
If his observations were accurate, these bodies belonged to the same group whose remains they'd encountered in K'zarg's tower. If so, the entire city – the entirety of Ranzomeron – was once the domain of a religious cult.
The realisation sent chills through Riniock, his hairs standing on end.
Once more, his mind casted adrift, his thoughts lingering on the occult and the terrifying. Back inside the blood portals, the enormous entity in black…was that who the cultist worshipped?
Its strength defied logic and it made perfect sense.
But fear alone wouldn't halt his search.
Ahead stood what he assumed was a city hall, its grand entrance reduced to rubble.
'Must be something valuable here!' he muttered eagerly.
He cautiously climbed over the debris, entering through the empty space where a door had once stood. Inside, benches, tables, containers – every type of furniture clung desperately to their final positions.
Additionally, thick layers of fungi and dust infested damp corners, forming a repulsive sight.
However, portraits on the walls drew the young maegi's attention most prominently. His gaze moved across dozens of these images, depicting men and some women, all of various races and ages. Their attire suggested nobility, yet none wore crowns, nor did they seem part of the same lineage. Strangely, a cult would likely not follow a monarchy.
They were clearly leaders – just not monarchs.
Riniock rummaged through the room, hoping to discover something valuable. Before descending into bloodshed, this journey was meant as a treasure hunt.
He overturned furniture, checking inside every enclosed compartment, but found nothing hidden, not even behind the paintings. Perhaps he'd been mistaken, his assumption merely imagination.
Yet one last look around revealed something intriguing.
'An altar made of something –' he attempted to push it aside, '– very heavy.'
The altar shifted slightly, conveniently uncovering a loose tile beneath it. After fully pushing the altar aside – with some help from his magick – Riniock could finally investigate further.
Indeed, religious people often hid treasures beneath their altars. Wasting no time, he lifted and displaced the tile. 'Hehe! Jackpot!'
Below lay a short ladder descending into a hidden chamber, though it wasn't particularly deep. As Riniock disappeared down into the chamber, a figure outside silently watched, concealed by heavy robes.
Its eyes glowed of red and yellow, evil reflected within their depths. The flickering light of the white braziers danced in his sclera, the faint image of the young maegi slowly descending the ladder reflected.
It groaned and retreated from its spot.
Glancing upward, the figure noted the city's lanterns – the day was nearing its end, proven by the fading light coming from the orange lantern.
With a heavy sigh, the mysterious observer quickly departed, vanishing just before Riniock climbed back up from the secret vault beneath the city hall.
A chest emerged first from the hidden compartment, balanced carefully atop the maegi's head. Riniock grunted and struggled audibly as he climbed out, swiftly dropping the chest onto the floor once he reached the surface of the city hall.
'Now, let's see what we've got here!' he said eagerly, flipping the chest's lid open with excitement.
As a cloud of dust cleared from his vision, Riniock peered inside, his expression swiftly shifting from anticipation to disappointment.
It was unclear, from expression alone, whether his findings were worth the time or not, whether they were the effort or not as well.
Though that hardly mattered to Riniock. A treasure was in his eyes just a treasure. 'What's this now?'