Lyrus stepped into the forgotten stronghold, its heavy doors creaking on rusted hinges. The air tasted of dust and regret. Behind him followed Kael, Alyra, and a handful of newly acquired companions—outcasts, swordsmen, and archers who had gravitated to Lyrus' quiet power and the whispered promise of HellSin's return. They watched him roam the dim corridors with a measured calm that suggested he expected to find something important here.
Beneath a collapsed archway, half-buried by debris, they discovered a small chamber. Its walls bore faded HellSin sigils, its floor scattered with charred scroll fragments. The atmosphere crackled with old secrets. With careful steps, Lyrus cleared stones and rotted beams until he unearthed a sealed chest, locked with a tarnished insignia of his family crest.
Alyra stood guard at the chamber's threshold, bow at the ready, while Kael held a lantern high. The others shifted uneasily, sensing the gravity of this moment. Lyrus knelt, summoning just enough Hellfire to melt the corroded lock without destroying the contents inside. He opened the lid to reveal stacks of parchment, brittle and yellowed by centuries.
In the hush that followed, Lyrus began to read, his eyes narrowing as he uncovered the first strands of a long-buried betrayal.