The opening yawned before them.
Dark.
Silent.
Waiting.
Corvyn stood at its edge, looking down into the black beneath the snow.
Cold air rose from below.
Not the clean cold of winter—
But something older.
Stale.
Forgotten.
Ser Halric stepped beside him.
"Well," he said quietly, "after you."
Corvyn ignored the remark.
He turned to his men.
"Torches."
Flint struck.
Sparks caught.
Small flames flickered to life, casting uneasy light across the clearing.
Shadows stretched long across the broken ground.
Corvyn took one torch.
Then stepped down.
The descent was narrow at first.
Rough stone hidden beneath layers of dirt and roots.
Not natural.
Carved.
Deliberate.
Halric followed close behind.
"You really think this is a good idea?"
"No," Corvyn said.
Halric snorted.
"Good. Thought you were losing your mind."
The passage widened as they moved deeper.
The walls became smoother.
Worked stone.
Ancient.
Strange markings lined the surface, faint but visible in the torchlight.
Corvyn slowed.
His eyes traced the carvings.
Symbols he did not know.
Not runes.
Not words.
Something else entirely.
One of the men whispered behind them,
"My lord… this place…"
Corvyn nodded.
"I know."
The air grew colder.
Heavier.
Each breath felt thicker than the last.
As if the darkness itself pressed against them.
They reached the bottom.
A chamber opened before them.
Wide.
Circular.
The ceiling lost in shadow above.
Stone pillars rose around the edges, carved with the same strange symbols.
At the center—
Something stood.
Covered in frost.
Still.
Waiting.
Halric stepped forward slightly.
"Tell me that's just a statue."
Corvyn did not answer.
He approached slowly.
Each step careful.
Measured.
The torchlight flickered across the shape.
Revealing it piece by piece.
Not a statue.
Armor.
Old.
Blackened with age.
Standing upright as if worn by an unseen figure.
No movement.
No breath.
But something about it felt… wrong.
Alive in a way it should not be.
Halric circled slightly.
"No body," he said.
"Just armor."
Corvyn stepped closer.
Too close.
The air shifted.
Subtle.
But real.
The torchlight flickered violently.
One of the men behind them stumbled back.
"My lord…"
The whisper echoed unnaturally through the chamber.
Corvyn's hand tightened on Nightfeather.
The blade seemed to hum faintly in the cold.
Then—
A sound.
Not from the men.
Not from above.
From the armor itself.
A slow… creak.
Like metal shifting after a long, long sleep.
Halric froze.
"Oh… that's definitely not a statue."
The armor moved.
Just slightly.
But enough.
Enough to break the silence.
Enough to shatter any doubt.
Something was inside.
Or something had returned.
Corvyn stepped back once.
Just enough to set his stance.
"Stand ready," he said quietly.
The chamber seemed to darken further.
The air colder.
Heavier.
The armor lifted its head.
Slow.
Unnatural.
And from within—
A faint glow began to form.
Pale.
Cold.
Watching.