Only Skeletons Remain

Chapter 14: The Cave of the Ancestors

Miguel followed Trua as the creature waddled through the dark caves. The swim down the Paladin was a bit easier this time, considering he had Trua as a makeshift mount. He looked around, his hand tracing over the ancient runes on the walls. "Trua, how far are we going?" He asked.

"We have to go to the pool you found me in. There, you will meet with the Ancestors." Trua's voice rumbled through the cave system.

Miguel nodded, following after the creature. Anxiety prickled through his skin, and he felt Loki starting to wake up. 'No, no, no! Not again!' 

"Trua, I can feel--"

"He cannot shift out here. The magic in this cave prevents him from doing so." Trua said, though it didn't ease Miguel's anxiety.

Trua turned down another long hallway, and it opened out to a large clearing with a glowing turquoise-colored pool. The creature stopped. "This is where I leave you. I will wait for you. You must go beneath. Only there will you find the Ancestors and recieve your gift."

"I'll see you on the other side." Miguel said, moving past Trua and walking further into the clearing, eyes on the pool.

Miguel stood at the edge of the ancient pool, his reflection wavering in the rippling water. This was where he had first found Trua, the Aqualisk who had been a guide and protector, and now the pool called to him once again. The cave walls hummed with a low, ancient energy, as if waiting for him to take the next step. The words of Trua echoed in his mind:

"You must go beneath. Only there will you find the Ancestors and receive your gift."

Taking a deep breath, Miguel stepped into the pool. The water was colder than he remembered, a biting chill that seemed to seep into his bones. With a final exhale, he submerged, letting the water pull him deeper into its embrace.

As he sank, the world around him dimmed. The light from above faded into nothing, and the cold turned into a suffocating silence. His heartbeat echoed in his ears, the only sound in the deep, dark void. For a moment, panic clawed at his chest—what if he was drowning? What if this was a trap? But then, just as his lungs began to burn, a warm current swept through him, and he opened his eyes.

He wasn't in the pool anymore.

Miguel found himself standing in a vast, ethereal space, suspended in a twilight realm where stars glittered like dust in the air. The ground beneath his feet was soft, like moss, and glowing veins of energy pulsed beneath it. Before him stood towering figures, each one shimmering with ancient power.

The Ancestors.

Aegishorn, a massive, weathered Runebeast with stone-like skin, glowing runes covering his body, and ancient markings of power etched into his form loomed above them all, his stone-carved body radiating an unshakable strength. Beside him stood Lothwing, her moth-like wings faintly glowing with life, her body covered in moss and soft glowing fungi, while Nalarik, the Scorched Lord, a towering, draconic creature, seemed to flicker like living flame. Eryndral, the oceanic serpent, coiled lazily in the void, her eyes reflecting the endless depths of the sea, and Vornok, the eagle-like Skywarden, perched on an invisible breeze, his eyes sharp and knowing.

Miguel swallowed hard, feeling small under their collective gaze.

"You have come far," Aegishorn rumbled, his voice like the grinding of stones. "But the path ahead will test you beyond what you know."

"You seek power," Lothwing whispered softly, her voice like the rustling of leaves. "But it is not power that will guide you. It is balance." Her wings twitched, and Miguel noted she looked a lot like Starling, in the same way Aegishorn looked identical to Runeheart.

Miguel opened his mouth to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. The Ancestors stared into him, through him, as if peeling back the layers of his soul. All he could do was just stare.

Vornok tilted his head, his gaze piercing. "You carry great weight, Miguel. You stand between the old and the new, a bearer of hope for those who are lost."

"And yet," Nalarik's fiery eyes burned into him, "you are no stranger to destruction. You have it within you. To break. To reshape. You live with a blight on your soul, slowly chipping away at you."

Miguel felt a burning sensation on his chest, as if the fire from Nalarik's words were branded into him. He staggered backwards, clutching onto his chest. He felt like he was going to combust.

"We do not give freely," Eryndral's voice was a soft, echoing hiss, like waves lapping at a shore. "We offer, but you must take." The creature began to coil around Miguel, her eyes piercing through his as she examined him. She then uncoiled and slithered back to where she had moved from.

A moment of silence passed before Aegishorn stepped forward, placing a massive stone paw on Miguel's shoulder. His touch was surprisingly warm, grounding. "You seek your gift, young one. But the gift is not something we grant. It is something you must become."

The ground beneath Miguel began to tremble. He watched as the Ancestors formed a circle around him, their combined energy surging like a storm. A light erupted from the ground, and Miguel felt himself being pulled upward, his body weightless, his mind overwhelmed by the sheer force of their presence. He closed his eyes, letting whatever ceremony they were doing overtake him.

"Accept our essence," they spoke as one, their voices a thunderous chorus. "And with it, your path."

The energy coiled around him, tightening, constricting, and then... release. The pain and pressure subsided, and Miguel felt something shift deep within him. His mind expanded, his senses sharp and clear. He could feel the pulse of the earth beneath him, the air around him, the water in his veins. He was connected, not just to the world, but to something greater—the Ancestors themselves.

As the light dimmed, the Ancestors stepped back, their forms slowly fading into the twilight.

"Go now," Eryndral rumbled. "Carry our legacy. Protect those who cannot protect themselves."

Lothwing fluttered her wings, her soft voice lingering in the air. "And remember, Miguel. You are never truly alone. We are with you, always."

As the other Ancestors vanished, only one remained. Aegishorn. The Ancestor stepped forward.

"Beware, young one," he began, "for the mountains hide more than just their shadows. In the coming days, a storm will rise—not of clouds or rain, but of treachery and steel. A light you have long depended on will be snuffed out, taken in the dark where no eyes can see. Blood will stain the earth beneath the trees, and the cries of the ambushed will be carried by the wind."

Miguel's heart tightened in his chest, an uneasy sense of dread sinking into him. Aegishorn's eyes, as cold and unyielding as stone, locked onto his.

"Your strength alone will not be enough to turn the tide," Aegishorn continued, "for once the moment has passed, the loss will weigh heavy, and no force in this world can undo the fate that awaits. Remember, Miguel: Even the mightiest of oaks can fall to a hidden blade."

Miguel blinked, and the ethereal space vanished.

He was back in the pool, gasping for breath as he broke through the water's surface. But something was different now. He could feel it—the power of the Ancestors coursing through him. He had been given his gift, and now, his path was clear. He crawled out of the pool, ignoring his soaked through clothes. He needed to get back to the mainland. Something was going to attack the Bandito Camp, and Miguel had to be the one to save them.