Inside the elevation hall on the first floor, only a small number of draconians remained on duty. The vast chamber felt empty, its wide open space amplifying the sense of abandonment. The guards stationed there showed little alertness. Some leaned against the railings while yawning openly, while others stared blankly across the hall, their attention clearly drifting as boredom set in.
"Man, this place really is dead..," one guard muttered, stretching his arms before letting out another yawn.
Another guard glanced around the silent hall and replied, "Can you blame it? Nothing has happened here for a year."
Their lack of vigilance was not without reason. A major incident had occurred a year earlier, an event that stripped this location of its former importance. For millennia, the platform at the far end of the hall had been used by draconians to teleport through the lower floors. It had been a vital passage, constantly active and heavily guarded. That all changed on the day the platform suddenly went out of control.
Without warning, the technological sigils carved into the towering gates began to shatter violently. The runes cracked apart as if struck by an invisible force, releasing unstable surges of power. Lightning arcs burst from the gates and rained down onto the platform below, striking everything within reach. Shouts filled the hall as draconians scrambled to escape the sudden onslaught.
Many were injured during that incident, especially those stationed closest to the gates. Some suffered severe burns from the lightning, while others were thrown aside by the force of the energy discharge. However, the injuries were not the true reason the elevation hall had fallen into neglect.
The real reason was what followed after the chaos ended. Once the violent outburst subsided, the gates shut down completely. Since that day, they had remained closed. No matter how much energy was exerted or what methods were attempted, the gates could no longer be opened.
"This feels like torture, man! I would rather be on the frontlines fighting than stand here doing nothing in this forsaken place!"
The first guard shouted, his voice echoing across the empty hall. He did not seem to care that other draconians nearby could hear his complaint. His frustration was clear, his arms crossed as he leaned against the raillings.
The second guard did not respond at first. He simply shook his head slowly, a gesture that showed he was used to his comrade's loud and frequent outbursts. There was a quiet resignation in his expression, as if this was the same speech he had heard dozens of times before. He looked toward the ceiling for a moment, then glanced at his watch. Their shift was almost over, and that brought a small relief to him.
"You are complaining almost every day, man," he finally said. "Aren't you afraid something will smite you for all your grumbling?"
The first guard shrugged and rolled his eyes.
"So what? It is not like anyone from the command center will come here and smack me! They have already forgotten this place, man."
The second guard frowned, a hint of seriousness entering his tone.
"What if it is not the command center, but something beyond that gate? We do not even know why the gates were closed for good."
The first guard waved his hand dismissively.
"Damn, man! Stop imagining things. You are just scaring yourself for no reason."
Hearing his comrade's words, the second guard laughed quietly to himself. He did not really believe what he had just said, and he could not take his own warning seriously. It was just a thought, one of those things that sounded interesting in conversation but had little chance of actually happening. Both guards relaxed, assuming the conversation had ended and that the hall would remain quiet for the rest of their shift.
Neither of them, however, anticipated that the words spoken by the second guard were about to come true in just a few moments. The silence that followed their conversation was suddenly broken by an unusual and alarming sight. From the cracks of the shattered sigils carved into the towering gates, a bluish glow erupted without warning. The light spread quickly across the broken runes, casting eerie shadows across the hall.
The sudden appearance of the glow immediately drew the attention of several nearby guards.
"Hey, look! The sigils are glowing!" one shouted, pointing toward the gates with wide eyes.
"Shit! Something is going to happen again! Watch out!" another guard yelled, backing away quickly.
"Damn it! Get away now! Lightning is going to strike in this place again!" a third voice joined, panic clear in the tone.
Numerous shouts reverberated through the hall as more guards began yelling and moving away from the teleporation platform. The bluish glow spreading over the sigils looked exactly like the strange energy that had erupted a year ago. Everyone realized instantly that if the situation repeated itself, standing near the platform would be suicidal.
As the bluish light from the sigils shone brighter, the platform beneath the gates began to tremble slightly. The vibration was weak but noticeable, enough for the guards to feel it through the floor. Moments later, the towering gates started to move. With a low mechanical sound, they began to open on their own, the broken sigils still glowing as if responding to an external command.
Seeing this unexpected development, the guards who had been running in panic slowly came to a halt. One by one, they stopped in their tracks and turned back to look at the gates. Confusion replaced fear on their faces. They had been certain that the platform was about to erupt violently, just as it had a year ago. None of them had even considered the possibility that the gates could be activated from the other side.
As the gates continued to open, recognition dawned on them. The movement was stable, controlled, and familiar. This was not a malfunction. This was a proper activation. At that moment, they realized that someone from the 27th Expedition might have found a way to use the teleportation platform from the other side, something thought to be impossible ever since the gates shut down.
"Wait, stop running! The gates are opening, it is not going to smite us!" one guard shouted loudly.
"Quick! Call the command center! The twenty seventh expedition may have survived!" another yelled, his voice filled with shock.
A series of shouts echoed throughout the hall once again, but this time the cries were filled with surprise rather than fear.
As the tension in the hall continued to build, dark silhouettes finally appeared within the opening gates. One shape after another stepped forward, gradually becoming clearer as they moved into the light. The guards watching from a distance felt their expectations solidify into certainty. Their earlier assumptions were correct. Numerous figures were emerging from beyond the gates.
At the front of the group stood a large and imposing draconian clad in heavy legion armor. He was a member of the Drakon Legion. This was Rolgar Magus, the acting lead commander of the 27th Expedition. In his draconic form, he stood nearly three meters tall, his size comparable to that of Krydimus Stortur, the former commander of the 26th Expedition.
Like other members of the Drakon Legion, Rolgar's scales were a deep red in color, thick and hardened through years of battle. What set him apart, however, were his horns. Unlike the usual red or dark shades common among legion members, his horns were silvery, closely resembling those worn by the heralds. The contrast made him unmistakable even from afar.
Behind Rolgar, the rest of his forces followed through the gates in organized formation. Rows of soldiers emerged one after another, their armor worn but intact. Despite having been trapped on the 27th floor for an entire year, none of them had perished. This survival was due to the vast amount of supplies they had brought with them, enough to sustain the entire expedition for half a decade without concern.
In addition, no breach had occurred on the 27th floor, unlike the catastrophe that had devastated the previous expedition. The environment remained stable, allowing them to fortify their position and endure. More importantly, Rolgar's careful and disciplined distribution of loot ensured that no infighting broke out among the ranks. Under his command, order was maintained throughout the entire ordeal.
"For god's grace, they are alive!" one guard shouted in disbelief as the figures fully emerged from the gates.
"We really thought the gate was going to explode earlier!" another exclaimed, his voice still trembling from the earlier panic.
"Hey, stop shouting! Get yourselves together and start helping!" a louder voice cut in, trying to restore order among the guards.
The hall immediately became lively as the presence of survivors sank in. Guards rushed toward the gates, some preparing stretchers while others reached out to support the returning soldiers. Several of them moved closer, ready to assist anyone who looked injured or exhausted.
However, as they approached the expedition members, an uneasy feeling spread among them. Something felt off. The army was unusually quiet. There were no cheers, no laughter, and no signs of relief after a year of isolation. Instead, the soldiers moved in silence.
The guards studied their faces more closely and noticed that every single expression was tense. Fear lingered in their eyes, and their jaws were clenched as if they were bracing themselves for something unseen. This was not the behavior of soldiers who had just returned safely.
Curiosity and concern grew among the guards, and a few of them were about to ask what had happened on the 27th floor. Before any question could be spoken, a powerful voice rang out from the front of the formation.
"You there! Are you the ones stationed to guard this place?"
Rolgar's shout echoed through the place. The guards nearest to him flinched and froze in place, immediately stopping what they were doing. They straightened their posture and turned to face him.
"Y-yes, commander!" they answered together, their voices tense.
Upon hearing their response, Rolgar did not hesitate. His tone was firm and left no room for argument.
"Lead my army to the exit. From here on out, I will guard this place alone."
Hearing Rolgar's command, the guards reacted in different ways. Some of them exchanged confused glances, clearly unsure why the commander would choose to remain behind alone. Others felt a deep sense of unease after noticing the expressions on the faces of the returning soldiers. The tension and fear shown by the expedition members made it clear that something was seriously wrong, and a few guards instinctively felt that questioning the order might be dangerous.
One of the guards gathered his courage and stepped forward. His posture was stiff, and his voice trembled as he tried to speak.
"Commander, with sincere apologies, b-but we cannot-"
He did not get the chance to finish his sentence. Rolgar moved instantly. His fist struck the guard squarely in the face, the impact loud enough to echo nearby. The guard cried out and fell backward, stumbling onto the floor in pain and shock.
Silence followed. Rolgar slowly turned his gaze toward the rest of the guards, his eyes cold as he sized them up one by one. When he spoke again, his voice was low and filled with authority.
"That was not a request, mongrels. It is an order."
The guards stiffened upon hearing the insult. They understood immediately that further resistance would only make things worse. A fight could break out at any moment if they continued to oppose him. They also knew they stood no chance against Rolgar and the army behind him.
Swallowing their pride, the remaining guards lowered their heads and complied, choosing to follow the command rather than challenge the overwhelming force before them.