Divinity's Trial

Relics and runes(II)

**The Descent into the Depths**

Time had become a distant concept for Tur. Days, weeks, or even years may have passed—he could no longer tell. The cold, unyielding stones of the ruins were his only companions, their silence echoing in his ears as he ventured further into the darkness. His once-pristine robes were now tattered and stained with dust, his hands ink-stained and calloused from countless hours of study.

He had ceased to care for the needs of the flesh. His hunger for knowledge had grown to eclipse any hunger for food or thirst for water. His meals were meager—scraps found in his pack or wild herbs plucked from cracks in the stone. His sleep was broken and fitful, as his dreams were filled with visions of ancient runes and forgotten gods. He barely paused in his studies, memorizing spells that danced before his eyes like fireflies, practicing them until the energy coursed through his veins.

In a secluded chamber, he had created a makeshift library—a pile of scrolls, tomes, and artifacts stacked haphazardly around him. The room was filled with an eerie light from magical orbs he'd discovered, their glow casting long shadows across the stone floor. Here, Tur spent days—or perhaps weeks—poring over old texts, learning forgotten languages, deciphering spells, and piecing together fragments of a story that spanned millennia. The more he learned, the more questions arose, and the deeper he felt compelled to go.

**The Dwarven District**

One day—or perhaps night; it was impossible to tell—Tur found himself standing before a set of grand, iron-bound doors, half-buried under centuries of rubble. Unlike the other parts of the ruins, which were often open and sprawling, this door seemed crafted to keep something in—or perhaps to keep something out. It was dwarven work; he could tell by the craftsmanship. The intricate carvings in the iron, the stoutness of the wood reinforced with metal bands, and the runes of protection etched along its surface all bore the unmistakable signature of the dwarven people.

With a deep breath, he pushed the doors open, their hinges groaning in protest as they swung outward. A chill wind brushed past him, carrying with it the scent of iron and earth, and the faint whisper of an ancient, forgotten forge.

He stepped through and found himself in a massive hall carved into the rock itself. It was unlike any place he had seen before. The ceilings were low and supported by thick, stone pillars, intricately engraved with images of stout dwarven figures, their beards flowing like rivers of stone. Here, deep underground, the light was scarce, but it flickered from within the walls themselves—strange veins of glowing minerals cast a dim, otherworldly glow, bathing everything in a soft, blue light.

The district was a maze of interconnected chambers and tunnels, with stairways that spiraled downwards into the depths. It was unmistakably a dwarven society, carved into the rock with the same careful precision that dwarves were known for. Small statues of dwarven heroes lined the streets, their features stern and weathered, but their eyes glinting with the pride of their craftsmanship. Forge tools and broken pieces of armor lay scattered across the ground, remnants of a once-thriving civilization.

**The Echoes of the Dwarves**

Tur moved cautiously, feeling a different energy in the air here—one that resonated with strength, but also sorrow. The dwarves were master builders and craftsmen, but also keepers of deep secrets, hidden within the stone. As he walked, he could almost hear the faint hammering of anvils, the rhythmic chime of chisels on rock, and the low, steady chants of ancient hymns.

He came upon a vast, open square, in the center of which stood a great anvil, cracked in two, its pieces resting heavily upon the stone floor. The broken anvil seemed a symbol of the fate of the dwarven people, as if it had been split in the moment they vanished from these halls. There were traces of a once-bustling marketplace, now empty, where dwarven merchants might have sold their wares—finely crafted weapons, precious gems, and sturdy armor.