Something pulls you to the town square.
Not a voice. Not a vision. Something older, deeper — a certainty in your bones that you need to be here. Now.
Past the ceremony grounds. Past the Purple Gem, still flickering with unstable light. To a place you’ve passed a thousand times without truly seeing.
A grate. Set into the cobblestones at the base of the founders’ statues. Covered in grime and age, nearly invisible unless you know to look.
It shifts at your approach, as if it’s been waiting.
Beneath it: stairs, descending into darkness.
Your ally lights a torch. The flame seems weak here, swallowed by the ancient darkness. The walls are carved with symbols — the same symbols you’ve seen throughout your journey, on seals and signs and hidden places.
“This place is old,” your ally says. “Older than Eldermoor. Maybe older than the founders.”
The stairs end at a door.
It’s not locked. It doesn’t need to be. Anyone who reached this place either belongs here or was guided here.
You push it open.