Beatriz Almeida braces herself against the corroded spinal arch as violet rain spatters her battered armor. She tightens her grip on the shroud-wrapped spear, eyes fixed on the jagged entryway of the Spire of Echoes ahead. Wind howls through the hollow titan bones behind her, carrying the distant clangor of the city’s warning bells. Beatriz draws a ragged breath through her respirator, the taste of copper and ozone thick on her tongue. Her pale, almost luminous hand flickers with gray at the knuckles as she checks the lead-lined satchel at her hip. Behind her, a pulse of her own fading light briefly illuminates the sigil of her exiled order. The archive’s fractured doors stand ajar, leaking a slow, spectral glow and the cold stench of rot. Beatriz steps forward, boots crunching glassy shards as she moves, each heartbeat a countdown, each whispered shadow in the entryway a possible memory or threat. She does not look back.
Campaign
I step into the entryway as quietly as I can, spear held out before me. I listen for the sounds of anything that could be dangerous, whether it be living or construct.
Beatriz slips into the grand vestibule, her boots barely stirring the thick gray dust. The air hums with a low, unsettling rhythm that shakes her teeth. Suddenly, a flicker of movement near a cluster of obsidian pillars catches her eye. A cloaked figure, wrapped in tattered scholarly robes, freezes, clutching a glowing crystal to its chest.
I press my back against the cold obsidian, knuckles white as I grip the pulsing stone.
"You do not belong in this silence. Who sent you to scavenge among these ruins? Speak quickly, for this light reveals only those who seek to steal what is not theirs to claim."
"I did."
I say, an edge of steel in my voice. I tighten my grip on the spear.
"This place is said to hold an artefact. If I have it, I may live another thirty years. If I do not, I could die in a matter of months. So I ask you - who are you? And what right do you have to deny me my life?"
Beatriz plants her feet firmly, the steel of her spear ringing softly against the obsidian floor as she demands her due. Kaelen stiffens, eyes widening just as a low, guttural grinding noise erupts from the ceiling above. Cracks spiderweb across the ancient pillars, and the violet light dims, replaced by a rhythmic pulse of warning red. Dust chokes the air, forcing them both to stumble as the floor shudders beneath them, the mountain-titan's weight pressing down with sudden, unstable force.
I stumble, the crystal nearly slipping from my frantic grip as the floor heaves beneath me.
"The foundation is failing, you fool,"
I scream over the grinding stone. I scramble toward a narrow fissure near the base of the pillar, desperate to shield the light.
"Forget your spear, move or be crushed!"
A slab of masonry crashes down, pulverizing the space where Beatriz stood just moments ago. The floor tilts at a sickening angle, threatening to slide them both into the darkness of a yawning crevice. Kaelen clings to the stone as debris rains from the ceiling, thick with radioactive soot that hisses against the floor. A massive, ancient gear, long dormant, begins to rotate with a deafening, metallic shriek from deep within the Spire's bowels, shaking the hall in a violent, rhythmic throe.
I drop my spear, and grip the wall with one hand. With the other, I reach out to the stranger and try to grab him before he falls. I would prefer not to watch this man die.
"What is so important about that crystal?"
Beatriz drops her spear, the weapon clattering into the black maw of the crevice below. She lunges forward, fingers scrabbling for the scholar's robes as the floor crumbles into sharp obsidian fragments beneath them.
"What is so important about that crystal?"
she demands, her voice strained as she fights to keep him from falling into the abyss.
I jerk away from her grip, my robes tearing as I scramble toward the shifting ledge.
"It is the memory of a dying world, you thief! If I let it fall, the last truth of our ancestors vanishes forever. Get off me, or we both perish in this collapse!"
As Kaelen wrenches away, the floor collapses beneath him, a jagged section of stone plunging into the darkness. Beatriz scrambles back, barely avoiding the yawning void. A sudden, blinding shaft of violet light cuts through the ceiling, revealing a colossal metallic automaton hanging above. Its ancient joints snap under the unstable weight. The machine begins to descend, its crimson optic locking onto the crystal trembling in Kaelen's hand.
I swear under my breath, acknowledging the importance of the device. I scan the area for a viable path to escape the room as the automaton descends.
Beatriz curses, the sound muffled by her respirator, and darts her gaze across the fracturing floor. She ignores the automaton's grinding joints to scan for an exit. A jagged vent high on the north wall catches her eye, leaking a faint, cool draft. Kaelen watches the machine, terrified.
I watch the machine's focus shift, realizing it cares nothing for us, only the architecture.
"The vent,"
I gasp, pointing toward the draft.
"If we move when the floor settles, we might climb out. Keep pace with me or be left to the dust."
The automaton screeches, its metal limbs stretching as it tears a support beam from the ceiling. A shockwave blasts dust into the air, clouding the path ahead. Kaelen stands frozen, his knuckles raw and white against the crystal. Suddenly, a rhythmic chime echoes from the vent above.
I wait for the floor to settle as the scholar suggests, and when it is safe, I run for the vent. I will try to climb it, and if I am successful, I will offer the scholar a hand up.
Beatriz waits for the tremors to fade. As the grinding gears slow, she dashes toward the vent, her boots slipping over loose obsidian shards. She pulls herself onto the cold metal grating and reaches down toward Kaelen. Suddenly, the automaton's optic emits a high-pitched whine. Corrosive gas vents from its limbs, quickly flooding the hall.
My lungs sear as the gas bites deep. I cannot breathe, but I refuse to let this relic be lost to the rot. I lunge upward, grabbing Beatriz’s outstretched hand with my free arm.
"Pull me up, now! Do not let the light go dark, or we both die here."
Beatriz clenches his wrist, the leather of her gauntlet creaking under the effort as she pulls him upward. Below, the automaton comes to a stop. Its crimson optic dims, and the gas vents seal with a soft hiss, revealing not a machine but a vast, cracked lens embedded in the floor. The structure trembles violently once, and the wall behind them peels back to expose a hidden gallery filled with rows of preserved crystalline scrolls.
Protagonist
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