Divinity's Trial

The Runebound Codex

As the clock ticked on, Tur continued to pore over the documents strewn across his desk—ancient scrolls, crumbling parchments, and volumes filled with cryptic symbols. His eyes were red from sleepless nights, but he could not stop. His mind was consumed by a single, gnawing question: *"Humans were not alone, so what happened to them?"*

Once, these races had stood side by side with humans, their empires sprawling across the continents, their magic potent and mysterious. And yet now, they were gone—vanished without a trace, their cities buried beneath layers of earth, their names little more than whispers in the annals of history. How had such powerful civilizations crumbled into dust and shadow? What force had swept them away so completely from the heart of the earth?

His thoughts spiraled into a dark maze of possibilities. Was it some great cataclysm, an unseen war that wiped them out? Did they retreat into hidden realms, their magic severing them from the world of men? Or had they simply withered away, their power fading like the dying embers of a once-great fire?Tur's study was a crypt of knowledge, its shelves lined with scrolls and tomes that seemed to whisper secrets from a world before. The scent of aged vellum and ink was thick in the air, and the flickering torchlight danced upon the walls, casting ghostly shadows. Here, in this sacred space, Tur felt closer to the ancient races than he ever had before, as if he could reach out and touch their faded glory.

Restlessness gnawed at him. He could feel the frustration clawing at the edges of his resolve, a relentless pressure building within his chest. There had to be answers in these pages—in the forgotten accounts of past scholars, the coded scripts of ancient mages, and the neglected myths passed down in hushed tones.

Tur pushed aside a dusty tome, revealing a map beneath it—a faded parchment depicting lands long since forgotten, marked with symbols he barely recognized. His fingers traced the lines of old kingdoms and lost cities, eyes narrowing as he tried to decipher their secrets.

His gaze fell upon a particular mark—a small, almost insignificant symbol in the corner of the map. An ancient rune he had seen before, one tied to a forgotten race rumored to wield unimaginable power. His heart quickened. *Could this be a clue? A lead to what he was searching for?*

He seized a quill, scribbling down notes, his mind racing with new possibilities. Somewhere in these ruins, somewhere in these forgotten places, lay the answers he sought. And if he could find them, perhaps he could learn what happened to those lost civilizations—and, more importantly, how to harness the power they once held.

He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the stone floor, and began to pace once more. Time was slipping away, but for the first time in weeks, he felt a spark of hope—a whisper of something just beyond his grasp. The ancient power, the truth behind the disappearance of those forgotten races, was there, waiting to be uncovered. He just had to find it before it slipped back into the shadows of history forever.Tur's eyes followed the map's lines—a cartography of longing. Forgotten kingdoms sprawled across the parchment, their borders blurred by centuries. The rune in the corner beckoned—a key to the past or a lock on the future?

He remembered tales—the last gasps of dying empires. The elves, their songs fading like autumn leaves, retreated to hidden glades. The djinn vanished into desert storms, leaving behind tales of wishes unfulfilled. And the humans? Their cities crumbled, swallowed by earth's hunger.

The runes spoke of a shrouded time—a time before the veil fell over the world, obscuring the great and terrible things that once were. Tur knew that to lift this veil, he must tread carefully, for the path was fraught with traps of misinterpretation and perilous truths. But his desire burned brighter than the risk.

The runes—the heart of his obsession—burned in his mind. It marked a race beyond legend: the Runebound. Their magic wove reality itself, threads of possibility spun into existence. They whispered to stars, shaped mountains, and danced with forgotten gods.