Evane called out, her voice echoing through the damp, oppressive tunnel.

“Yvette, Ryu—come look at this.”

I stepped forward, my boots crunching over the loose stones and debris as I made my way to where she stood, her torch casting an eerie glow across the worn walls of the tunnel.

As I approached, I could see what had caught her attention: an inscription, etched deep into the stone, along with a drawing of some kind.

It was hard to make out at first, the years having taken their toll, leaving the lines faded and jagged.

But as I moved closer, it started to come into focus. 

The image looked like some sort of impact—an explosion, perhaps. 

Cracks radiated out from a central point, jagged and chaotic, as if something massive had struck the earth.

Surrounding it were strange shapes, like waves or ripples, suggesting something unnatural in the aftermath of the impact.

“What do you think it is?” I asked, my voice low as I traced the drawing with my eyes.

“No idea,” Evane replied, her expression thoughtful. “But it’s old. Really old.”

On the side of the drawing, there was writing, but it wasn’t like anything I had ever seen.

The letters—if they were letters—were sharp, angular, and arranged in patterns that made no sense to me.

It didn’t resemble any of the scripts we had studied or encountered before.

“I can’t read this,” I said, tilting my head. “Do you recognize it?”

Evane shook her head slowly, her brow furrowing in confusion. 

“No. I’ve never seen this language before either.”

That admission made my stomach twist. 

Evane was well-versed in ancient languages and runes, especially those connected to the War of Roses, the conflict that had shaped so much of our world. 

If even she couldn’t identify it…

She continued to study the wall for a moment, her fingers hovering just above the etchings, as though hesitant to touch them. 

“It doesn’t match anything from the post-war era. 

The dialects, the runes, even the structure—this is completely foreign.”

“So… pre-War of Roses?” I asked, stepping closer to examine it myself.

Evane nodded, her expression grim. 

“That’s my guess. There aren’t many records that survived from before the war, but this… it feels like something from that time. Maybe even before.”

I glanced back at the strange drawing of the impact. 

“What do you think this is supposed to be? A natural disaster? Or something worse?”

Evane tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as she considered the image. 

“It’s hard to say. It could be anything. A great storm, a magical catastrophe, or even the fallout of some ancient battle. But the fact that it’s here, hidden away deep underground… it makes me think it’s not just a random event.”

“It feels deliberate.” Ryu said from behind me, his voice quiet but steady. 

He’d been silently observing the whole time, but now he stepped forward to get a better look. 

“Like someone wanted to record this. To make sure it wasn’t forgotten.”

“Exactly.” 

Evane agreed, glancing at him. 

“This wasn’t just some casual carving. Whoever made this wanted it to be found… eventually. But the question is why? Why go through the effort of recording something this cryptic?”

I frowned, my eyes darting between the drawing and the writing. 

“And why hide it so deep underground? If this was important enough to carve into stone, why isn’t there more?”

“That’s the mystery.” 

Evane said with a small shrug. 

“It’s possible that whoever left this behind didn’t want just anyone to find it. Maybe only those with a specific purpose were meant to see it.”

“Or maybe they didn’t survive to tell anyone.” 

Nirva chimed in from behind, his deep voice cutting through the quiet. 

He had been lingering in the shadows, watching us inspect the wall, but now he moved closer, his large frame filling the space beside us. 

“There’s a reason this place feels off. It’s not just because it’s ancient. Something happened here.”

“Do you think this impact has something to do with the monsters?”

I asked, the thought lingering in my mind.

The others in our group lingered nearby, too preoccupied with their own findings to notice the unease slowly creeping into my thoughts. 

I didn’t answer his question; I wasn’t sure what to say. Instead, I found myself drawn to the writing that seemed to crawl over the surface of the stones. 

It was like nothing I’d ever seen, alien in a way that defied explanation. 

Every step I took closer made the world around me feel more distant, like everything outside these markings didn’t matter anymore.

Without thinking, I began to move away from the group, my eyes following the jagged lines of the script. 

It seemed to lead me somewhere, the writing becoming more chaotic the further I went, almost like it was calling to me. 

The wind howled in the distance, but here, within the ruin’s cold embrace, there was only silence. 

The snow crunched softly beneath my boots, but the usual chill that accompanied it felt… muted. 

The writing continued on, sometimes disappearing beneath layers of frost only to reappear farther along, twisting and spiraling in erratic, unsettling patterns.

I kept my hand hovering near the rifle slung across my back, a precaution more than anything. 

I didn’t feel fear exactly, but there was a tension here, an energy in the air that made me wary. My fingers brushed lightly against the cold stone as I moved, tracing the jagged markings with the tips of my gloves. 

The writing felt ancient, older than anything I’d come across before, and yet it pulsed with a strange vitality as though it had been etched into the stone recently.

As I ventured deeper into the ruins, I found myself standing before a narrow passageway, half-hidden by the crumbled remains of what had once been a grand archway. 

I glanced back at the others, but they hadn’t noticed me slipping away. Good. I didn’t want them here for this. 

I didn’t want to explain why I was drawn to these markings, why I felt compelled to follow this trail.

I ducked beneath the fallen stones and entered a small alcove, far removed from the open snowfields we had trudged through to get here. 

The air was different here – still, almost heavy. 

Snow had drifted in, but beneath it, I could see the smooth, unbroken surface of the stone floor.