Chapter 208

Lyssandra led the way, navigating the cramped, twisting passages, her senses on high alert for any hidden dangers or traps. Behind, Miriel picked her way carefully, still intensely conscious of every inch of exposed skin her new 'vestments' revealed.

"So," Lyssandra broke the tense silence, her voice echoing slightly off the rough stone walls. "This information you mentioned earlier, the mysterious old dungeon. You said you'd read something."

"I did," Miriel snapped, momentarily forgetting her awkward outfit as irritation surfaced. "I said I had read something. You were the one who interrupted me with your… antics before we came here." She stumbled over a loose stone, grabbing the wall for support, her cheeks flushing when her exposed thighs flexed.

"Is that so?" Lyssandra chuckled, not bothering to disguise her amusement. "My deepest apologies, Saintess. I… you got… carried away. Please, enlighten me now."

Miriel sighed, adjusting the front panel of her garment again. "It was a long time ago. Maybe six hundred years, give or take. From a time before the kingdoms were unified."

Her voice took on a slightly narrative quality, recalling the details from some random dusty tomes. "In that era, dungeons were far more numerous, and monsters were far more prolific. Some were truly terrifying abominations. The chronicles called them the 'Great Spilling.'"

She paused when Lyssandra held up a hand, indicating a pressure plate on the floor ahead. They stepped around it carefully.

"In this region," Miriel continued, her voice low, "there was a dungeon, rumored to be immense and dangerous. It was called…I actually don't remember the name though. It became so overrun with powerful monsters that the dungeon's containment failed. The creatures poured forth."

She shuddered. "It was a cataclysm. Towns were wiped out, cities besieged.

"Sounds horrible," Lyssandra muttered, scanning a dark crevice ahead. "Then what?"

"A group of adventurers was assembled," Miriel explained. "The finest fighters, strategists, mages of the day. They formed a party to tackle that dungeon. They ventured in to clear the dungeon and stop the monsters."

The duo turned a corner into a slightly larger chamber, the air thick with dust.

"And did they?" Lyssandra asked, her curiosity piqued.

"They did," Miriel nodded, her voice taking on a somber tone. "But the victory was costly. They delved deep into the dungeon's heart, facing horrors unimaginable. Monsters unlike anything recorded. They fought bravely, but one by one… they fell."

Miriel stopped, looking into the darkness ahead. "Only one survived."

Lyssandra stopped beside her, turning to look at the Saintess. "Only one?"

"Only one," Miriel repeated. "A swordsman. The chronicle praises his valor, his incredible skill. They called him 'The Hero.'"

She looked up at Lyssandra, her expression serious. "He emerged alone from the depths of the dungeon. He brought news of victory and the fall of his companions. The chronicles say the monsters had been slain, the dungeon purged. He was hailed as a savior, a legend. Parades were held. Statues erected."

Her gaze grew distant. "But the mystery deepened. Soon after his return… he simply disappeared."

"Disappeared?" Lyssandra echoed. "Just vanished? After becoming an international hero?"

Miriel nodded. "No trace. Some said he retired in secret, haunted by his losses… or something else"

She looked back towards the way they came, a chill running down her spine. "The chronicle ends there. A victory tainted by disappearance and unanswered questions. And no one has entered that dungeon since. It's all I can recall."

Lyssandra pondered the tale for a moment, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the wall. "I see," she finally said, her voice thoughtful in the heavy silence of the ancient ruins. "Do you think the dungeon from the chronicle could be this one?"

She gestured vaguely around the cramped passageway, its stone walls coated in centuries of grime, dust motes dancing in the faint light filtering from a collapsed ceiling above.

"I don't know!" Miriel replied, frustration coloring her voice. She paused to catch her breath, leaning a hand against the rough wall.

"As I was trying to explain before you whisked me away like a sack of flour, it was only a passing mention. An old footnote in a history text. It didn't give coordinates! Just a general region that happens to be near here."

"Fair enough," Lyssandra conceded, a faint smile touching her lips. "But the timeline fits, and this place certainly looks historically significant. In a grimy, depressing way."

They moved forward, stepping carefully over broken rubble and twisted stone fragments. Suddenly, Lyssandra kicked out with a booted foot, sending a collection of brittle, yellowed bones clattering into the wall. They were clearly humanoid remains, wrapped in faded scraps of decayed armor.

"Hey!" Miriel gasped. She rushed forward, dropping to her knees beside the scattered skeleton. "Be careful! That could have been one of the heroes!"

She scrambled to collect the bones, arranging them reverently on a cleaner patch of floor nearby before closing her eyes and murmuring a soft prayer, her fingertips resting lightly on the skull.

"Or it could have been a looter, a thief, or even a stray goblin," Lyssandra pointed out practically. "You can't pray for every set of old bones we trip over. You'll be down here all day!"

She watched Miriel, mildly amused and irritated by the delay. "Besides, I've seen what the world does to flesh and bone. Life is brutal. Death is just part of the cycle. Even heroes eventually become a handful of ash."

Miriel stiffened but didn't open her eyes. "Monsters, humans, or beasts," she said softly, her voice steady with conviction. "All are creations of life. All deserve dignity, even in death. This may not be one of the Hero's companions, but it was someone, or something. And it deserves respect." She finished her prayer with a small sigh and stood, wiping her hands on one side of stomach – the only part of her outfit that wasn't skin.

Lyssandra sighed, gesturing impatiently further down the darkened corridor. "Dignity is a luxury down here. Now come on. We've already wasted enough time."

She brushed aside heavy curtains of cobwebs thick with choking dust, and shoved her way through drapes of pale, bioluminescent fungi clinging to the walls and ceiling, glowing eerie green light.

Miriel followed, wrinkling her nose against the stench. "Ugh… it reeks of decay and mildew!" she coughed. "And this glowing fungus… it's everywhere…"

Lyssandra shrugged. "Stale air, dead things, and opportunistic parasites. That's the scent of old dungeons. Gets in your throat after a while."

She pulled down her mask slightly, revealing her lips and took a deeper breath, seemingly filtering the foul air. "But there's something else beneath it… faint. Old magic? Or maybe just more decomposing things."

She pushed deeper into the heart of the ancient ruin, Miriel following close behind.

As Lyssandra rounded a jagged bend in the tunnel, her eyes spotted something partially buried in a thick layer of dust and rubble. It was a leather-bound journal, its edges gnawed by time, resting precariously atop a crumbling stone plinth.

"Wait," she murmured, crouching down carefully.

With meticulous care, Lyssandra lifted the journal. A corner crumbled immediately, turning to dust when it brushed against her glove. She frowned, blowing away centuries of grime to reveal the faded leather cover, embossed with a stylized image of a compass and a quill.

Gently opening it, the spine crackled ominously. Most of the pages were hopelessly fused together, the ink faded or eaten away by damp and insects. The few legible passages were fragmented.

The first intact fragment Lyssandra found near the front caught her attention:

"…name… Rael… a Diver of Dungeons… seek the truth… origins… beneath the surface… answers…"

"Rael," Lyssandra murmured, tracing the faint script. "A 'Diver of Dungeons.' Intriguing title. Sounds like someone after my own heart… more or less."

The next fragment was further down:

"…the 27th… ventured into the Fissure of Shadows… miasma thick… whispers in the dark… saw something… absolutely not living… through stone like smoke…"

"Moved through stone?" Miriel breathed, peering over Lyssandra's shoulder. "That's abnormal."

Lyssandra snorted. "Nothing about dungeons is 'normal,' little mouse."

Further fragments spoke of other journeys:

"…Abyssal Vein… lava rivers… creatures of magma… beautiful, terrifying…"

"…Ivory Catacombs… silence… tombs of giants… guardians…"

Most entries were tantalizingly brief, interrupted by gaps and damage. But looking at another page, her eyes narrowed. A particular excerpt was penned with more urgency:

"…returned to the Vale of Silence… the place that haunts my dreams… felt it calling… deeper than ever before… the walls themselves pull… something ancient slumbers… not the core…"

Lyssandra's heart quickened. "Vale of Silence? This sounds important."

Miriel leaned in, her forehead furrowing. "What?"