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Twisting Vines Over Ancient Ramparts
Mara stood at the crest of the crumbled rampart, where once a proud watchtower kept silent vigil over the valley below. Dawn’s pale light slipped through ragged clouds, painting the stones in muted gold and ash. An uneasy breeze rattled the fronds of ivy that clung to the parapet, their twisting tendrils whispering secrets of long-forgotten ages. She drew her cloak tighter around her slender frame, as though its threadbare wool might shield her from more than the morning chill.
Her boots, dusty from a week’s travel, found purchase on uneven flagstones slick with moss. Ruin and reclamation danced across this broken where mortar had crumbled, vines surged inward; where once stood battlements, soft green earth now heaved upward. An old roof tile, engraved with the faded sigil of a leaping griffin, lay half-buried beneath a thicket of brambles. Mara knelt, brushing soil away with nervous fingers, careful not to disturb the fragile relic. It felt as though she were waking echoes from an age she had only ever read about in dusty tomes.
A scholar of antiquities, she had arrived at this forsaken fortress driven by half-spoken of a guardian spirit buried beneath stone, of magic bound in girders of stone and iron. Her studies back in the Academy of Vorneen had yielded references in scrolls so obscure that more practical minds dismissed them as anecdote. But Mara’s curiosity had always been stronger than her caution. Over the past fortnight, she had traced every from the patchwork fragments of a merchant’s journal to the sly recollections of an old ferryman who charged a gold coin for gossip. All roads led here—to the Fallen Sentinel, as the locals called it in hushed tones.
A sudden rustling behind her made her start. Tomas emerged from an alcove in the ruined wall, a lantern swinging at his side. His brown eyes were heavy with fatigue, but he offered her a crooked smile. “You’ve found something?” he asked, voice a rasp after their sleepless trek.
Mara held up the broken tile. “Part of the sigil. See the griffin’s hindquarters? I’m certain this tower was part of the old Elysian Watch.” Her breath came quick. “And if I’m right, the gateway I seek lies beneath.”
Her boots, dusty from a week’s travel, found purchase on uneven flagstones slick with moss. Ruin and reclamation danced across this broken where mortar had crumbled, vines surged inward; where once stood battlements, soft green earth now heaved upward. An old roof tile, engraved with the faded sigil of a leaping griffin, lay half-buried beneath a thicket of brambles. Mara knelt, brushing soil away with nervous fingers, careful not to disturb the fragile relic. It felt as though she were waking echoes from an age she had only ever read about in dusty tomes.
A scholar of antiquities, she had arrived at this forsaken fortress driven by half-spoken of a guardian spirit buried beneath stone, of magic bound in girders of stone and iron. Her studies back in the Academy of Vorneen had yielded references in scrolls so obscure that more practical minds dismissed them as anecdote. But Mara’s curiosity had always been stronger than her caution. Over the past fortnight, she had traced every from the patchwork fragments of a merchant’s journal to the sly recollections of an old ferryman who charged a gold coin for gossip. All roads led here—to the Fallen Sentinel, as the locals called it in hushed tones.
A sudden rustling behind her made her start. Tomas emerged from an alcove in the ruined wall, a lantern swinging at his side. His brown eyes were heavy with fatigue, but he offered her a crooked smile. “You’ve found something?” he asked, voice a rasp after their sleepless trek.
Mara held up the broken tile. “Part of the sigil. See the griffin’s hindquarters? I’m certain this tower was part of the old Elysian Watch.” Her breath came quick. “And if I’m right, the gateway I seek lies beneath.”
58 pages, Kindle Edition
Published July 20, 2025
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