Beneath the floating monastery of Jyotivar, a hidden chamber door loomed—ancient and sealed with intricate runes glowing faintly in the dim light. The air was cool, tinged with the scent of earth and old stone.
Aarav placed his hand over the largest rune, the Rings' power resonating through his veins. Slowly, the door responded, grinding open with a sound like a thousand whispered secrets being freed.
The group descended a spiraling staircase carved deep into the mountain's heart. The walls were etched with ancient mantras—words of protection, warnings, and forgotten prayers.
The deeper they went, the heavier the silence became, thick as a shroud. Shadows danced in the flickering torchlight, and every breath echoed like thunder.
Suddenly, a barrier shimmered ahead—a veil of shimmering energy. Luan stepped forward, chanting softly in the Dream Tongue. The veil parted like mist, revealing a vast cavern illuminated by crystalline crystals pulsating with faint blue light.
At its center, suspended in a cage of glowing runes, was a figure.
Rivan.
His eyes were closed, his face peaceful yet pale. His hands were bound by glowing chains that pulsed with ancient energy, preventing movement.
Aarav approached slowly, the Rings on his wrist glowing in response.
"Rivan…" Aarav whispered.
Suddenly, the ground trembled.
The guardians had awoken.
From the shadows, spectral beasts emerged—giant wolves made of smoke and bone, eyes blazing with fierce loyalty.
The chamber became a battleground, and Aarav knew this was only the beginning.