We arrived at a grand, cathedral-like hall, our footsteps echoing against polished stone as we followed Bishop Malven through an opulent corridor. The massive doors behind us had sealed shut with a deep, resonant thud, leaving us in an air of solemn reverence. Along the way, we had passed through numerous locked chambers, their secrets hidden behind gilded barriers. Priestess Seraphine and Alistair Valtieri trailed behind, walking in silence.

As soon as I stepped into the hall, a wave of quiet awe washed over me. The air was thick with the scent of incense, mingling with the distant murmur of chants that drifted from unseen priests. Sunlight streamed through massive stained-glass windows, casting intricate patterns of gold and crimson across the floor. The architecture was a tribute to the divine. Vaulted ceilings stretched toward infinity, upheld by colossal pillars adorned with celestial motifs. It was as if the very walls whispered tales of devotion and power.

Bishop Malven stopped before an enormous wall, his rich, flowing robes catching the light as he gestured with an open palm.

"Welcome to the Domatio Sol Invictus," he declared, his voice steady, imbued with the weight of history. "Also known, to a rare few, as the Hall of the Unconquered Suns."

The sight before us was nothing short of extraordinary. The vast wall was covered in grand, framed plaques, each bearing inscriptions and illustrations. These were not mere decorations. They were records, testaments to battles fought against legendary creatures. More than half of the plaques remained empty, waiting for new names and new conquests. But the ones that were filled… they told stories of monsters both feared and revered, their cryptic inscriptions chronicling the victories of those who had vanquished them.

My eyes wandered across the detailed illustrations of creatures I had only encountered in the depths of Dreadspire. There was Vesperion, The Frozen Moon, the elusive secret boss of Glacial Abyss on the third floor. The delicate frostwork around its wings shimmered in the dim light, as if preserving the very chill of its domain. Further along, I found Zarzothar, the colossal wyvern of the fourth floor, whose wrath had once demanded sacrifices to even stand a chance against it.

Beneath each illustration lay the creature's tale, background lore written in detail. And above, etched in shimmering gold, were the names of the first warriors who had ever conquered them.

I stepped forward, my fingers brushing the cool edge of a plaque as I scanned the wall.

Then my breath hitched.

There, etched in silver script, was a name I did not expect.

"Gravelurker…" I murmured under my breath.

The hidden boss of Gloomspire Hollow. Its slick, violet carapace gleamed under the dim light of the hall, an eerie reminder of the battle we had fought. But something was wrong.

It wasn't our names recorded beneath it.

Darwyn let out a low whistle. "Looks like someone got to it before us," he muttered.

I frowned. So the Gravelurker had been defeated long ago. But how did they manage to find it back then, when information was far scarcer than it is now? Especially considering that locating its cavern was already a tricky feat in itself.

But before I could dwell on the thought, my gaze shifted once more, this time landing on a far more recent addition to the wall.

I took a sharp breath.

Verdant Warden.

The colossal, ancient beast we had just defeated. Its emerald-green eyes seemed to glow even from the illustration, exuding the same regal presence it had commanded in life.

And there, in elegant golden letters beneath it…

Not our names.

Someone else had slain this boss before us. Not long before, either. No wonder so many of the hidden treasures in the Northern Glades were missing by the time we searched for them.

Yet, as I stared at the plaque, a thought lingered at the edge of my mind.

In Dreadspire, information about the Northern Glades was the easiest to find on the internet. Its layout naturally allowed players to explore the area with far greater ease.

Could it be…

"I'm sure this one looks familiar to you," Bishop Malven's voice cut through my thoughts, snapping me back to the present. He wore a wide, knowing smile as he gestured toward a plaque mounted on the grand stone wall.

My gaze followed his hand, landing on the illustration of a monstrous, boar-like beast. Its massive frame bristling with spear-like quills, its entire body wreathed in roaring flames.

Horrogoth.

A secret boss we had encountered by chance in Borgoth Cave.

My breath hitched as my eyes scanned the plaque, its golden inscriptions gleaming under the dim, flickering light.

Cycle 3197 Day 3 Borgoth Cave, 1st Floor

The Ironwood Team has achieved an extraordinary feat by slaying Horrogoth, the Mighty Bristleboar.

Darwyn Vonn Gwydion, the unyielding leader, a force of strength and resolve Muradin Bromir, the fearless warrior, ever ready to shield his comrades from harm Eryndor Leafshade, the brilliant tactician, wielding strategy as sharply as any blade Elena Vonn Gwydionthe keen-eyed observer, swift, sharp, and ever-perceptive

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. Orin Sylvas, the irreplaceable ally, a guiding hand in the darkest moments

A small squeal broke the silence.

"Look! Our names are here!" Orin practically bounced with excitement, her bright eyes scanning the inscription.

Elena, standing beside her, smiled. A quiet but genuine expression of pride.

Muradin let out a hearty chuckle, crossing his arms over his chest. "Heh. So, where's our reward? We better be getting something for this."

The others seemed thrilled, but I… I felt a cold unease settle in my gut.

Something wasn't right.

Darwyn, despite his usual grin, had that same glint in his eyes, the one he always had when he was deep in thought, trying to piece things together.

There were too many mysteries in this room. Mysteries that shouldn't exist. Ones I had never heard of in my 12 years of playing Dreadspire.

How were our names listed here with such perfect detail? The exact date, the exact moment we defeated Horrogoth…

And yet, what unsettled me the most was the name itself.

Horrogoth.

A name I had made up. Just something I'd thrown together without much thought. And yet, here it was, etched into history as if it had always been the creature's true name.

This wall… it had to be connected to the Tower of Ascension.

But that wasn't the only thing gnawing at me.

The Royal Palace and the Novortus Church… their actions didn't make sense. They had ambushed us the moment we returned to the city, barely giving us time to react. It was almost as if… they were preventing us from doing something.

And the way they treated us…

By all rights, our achievement should have been announced across the entire kingdom, celebrated as a monumental feat. Instead, they had kept it quiet, almost secretive.

Why?

My unease deepened, a gnawing sense of dread settling in my chest.

"Erynd. The Bishop is speaking to you," Darwyn said, giving my shoulder a firm tap.

I blinked, snapping out of my thoughts. Too many unanswered questions had been swirling in my mind, making me miss whatever had just been asked.

"He was asking about your Spirit Beast," Darwyn added.

"Ah," I cleared my throat. "My summon is Gorgroth, a carnivorous plant creature."

I kept my response short, not particularly in the mood to elaborate.

Bishop Malven arched an eyebrow, a small smile playing on his lips as he nodded. "Interesting… I've never heard of such a creature. You must show it to me sometime."

Without waiting for my response, he gestured toward the exit and began walking at a measured pace, clearly expecting us to follow.

"Come," he said over his shoulder. "Let's continue this conversation somewhere more comfortable."

I trailed behind him, my eyes scanning the row of plaques lining the grand stone wall for the last time, trying to absorb as much information as I could on the way out.

Once we passed through the towering doors of the Hall of the Unconquered Suns, we walked along a long corridor. The bishop led the way without a word until we reached another chamber.

This one was no less extravagant. Several attendants bowed in greeting and motioned us toward a long, opulent table.

The table was a masterpiece. Rectangular, grand enough to seat twelve, with each chair adorned in intricate golden inlays. Lavish dishes already filled the surface: tender roasted meats, colorful sides, and decadent platters only nobles would ever dream of tasting. A servant stood at one corner of the table, cradling a bottle of wine that practically screamed expensive.

Muradin elbowed Darwyn with a grin, his eyes gleaming. "I call dibs on that wine."

Orin's eyes sparkled too. She was visibly holding herself back, discreetly wiping the corner of her mouth.

"Please, have a seat," said Alistair with a warm smile, gesturing to the chairs on our side of the table.

Bishop Malven and Priestess Seraphine took their places across from us, followed by Alistair once we were all settled.

The servant moved gracefully around the table, pouring wine into each of our goblets.

"You all must be starving after exploring the Tower," Alistair said, lifting his glass. "We've prepared this special feast just for you. Frankly, you've earned every bite."

Bishop Malven and Seraphine raised their glasses as well, and we followed suit, one by one.

"To your triumphs," Alistair declared, before taking a long drink.

We wasted no time digging into the feast. Elena looked a bit shy, poking at her food as though unsure if she was allowed to enjoy it. Orin and Muradin, on the other hand, were already halfway through their first plates.

"What is this meat?" Orin asked, wide-eyed. "It's the softest, most flavorful thing I've ever tasted!"

Muradin downed his wine with such gusto that it echoed across the room. Glug-glug.

Darwyn quickly stepped in, trying to salvage a bit of decorum. "Forgive our manners. It's... not every day we get to enjoy something like this."

Alistair chuckled. "No need for formalities. This is your moment. Eat, drink, and don't hold back."

And so we did.

The lunch flowed into stories. We talked about the formation of Team Ironwood, our most recent expedition routes, and everything in between.

It didn't take long for Muradin, half-drunk by now, to start telling his signature ridiculous tales. Darwyn, already tipsy himself, jumped in to keep the laughter going.

To our surprise, both Alistair and Bishop Malven burst out laughing, completely entertained. Even the usually reserved Seraphine cracked a smile and let out a quiet chuckle.

The atmosphere warmed quickly, turning lively and spirited. Formalities faded, and in their place came laughter, clinking glasses, and the kind of joy that only comes from shared victories and good food.

Once we were all full and exhausted from laughing, the attendants moved in swiftly, clearing the table with practiced grace. Dirty plates and untouched leftovers disappeared like magic under their hands.

Just as the last platter was whisked away, another servant entered the room, carrying something in both hands. He walked up to the table with deliberate steps.

"This," Alistair announced with a satisfied smile, "is a special gift from the Royal Palace, a token of appreciation for Team Ironwood's extraordinary achievement."

He gave the servant a small nod, and the man stepped forward, handing each of us an object.

It was a large medallion, crafted from pure gold and rare metal, its surface gleaming with intricate patterns and elegant designs. Each one was personalized. I stared at the one in my hands, my name was engraved right in the center, bold and unmistakable.

"I hope you like it," Alistair added, his smile warm. "You totally deserve it."

We offered our thanks, still a bit stunned by the sheer weight of the gesture, both literal and symbolic.

A few moments later, Bishop Malven spoke up.

"Darwyn," he said in a friendly tone, "on behalf of the Church, I have a few questions. Could we speak privately?"

Before Darwyn could respond, I leaned forward with a polite but confident smile.

"Ah, allow me. I was the one who planned and led the expedition to Borgoth Cave."

The bishop's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Druids truly are perceptive. You already know what I intended to ask."

"Shall we, then?" I said, standing as he rose. He gave a small wave of his hand, signaling me to follow.

"This won't take long," he assured me.

I followed him down another corridor, into a different room, much smaller than the last.

Unlike the grand halls we'd been in before, this one was plain, almost modest. Just a single small table, with two chairs facing each other.

And that's when I saw it.

Lying innocently on the tabletop was a device. Small, strange, and unmistakable. The moment my eyes locked onto it, recognition struck me like lightning.

I knew exactly what it was.

A special drop from a rare monster on the fifth floor. Its distinctive design made it unmistakable.

My jaw tightened.

Damn bastards.

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