Chương 55: Heroes of Avangard #2: Prologue Sneak-Peek

The Lunaranites moved in slow, deliberate silence through the temple's throat of darkness. The air felt wrong—stale, ancient, watching. Beneath their talons stretched a narrow bridge of fractured stone, its surface webbed with ancient cracks. High above, jagged spires clung to the ceiling like broken fangs, groaning softly as unseen winds whispered through them. Every echo traveled far, bouncing endlessly through the cavern as if the temple itself were breathing. They crossed the bridge in their dragon forms.

One of them carried a lantern forged from old Lunaranite alloy, its pale flame spilling outward in trembling waves. The glow revealed walls etched with scars of time—splintered glyphs, shattered reliefs, warnings worn smooth by centuries. The wind slid across their scales, cold and intrusive, tugging at loose edges as their claws tapped softly against the fragile stone below.

At the far end of the bridge waited solid ground—a massive slab of sandy rock surrounded by two colossal pillars that rose like silent sentinels. Their surfaces were carved with ancient sigils, layered atop one another from thousands of forgotten eras. Between them stood a monumental golden door, wide and seamless, its surface alive with a radiance that outshone the lantern completely. The light pulsed gently, as if it knew it was being watched.

Below the bridge stretched an abyss—an endless void swallowing all light, depthless and absolute, promising nothing but oblivion. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. The lead Lunaranite stepped forward.

Even in dragon form, his attire was unmistakable: a dark brown tracksuit reinforced with travel-grade plating, worn thin by dust and time; a battered adventurer's hat secured between his horns; and around his neck, a chain bearing a yellow gem that glimmered faintly, resonating with the temple itself. Harbringer slowed and turned his head toward the one behind him.

"This is it," he said lowly.

"Where Avangard buried its truths. Without the Gold Stone, this place would've stayed lost forever." Behind him stood Zod. Zod was taller, broader—his build heavy with restrained strength rather than confidence. His scales were a muted slate-gray streaked with pale lunar veins that glowed faintly when his pulse spiked. Old scars lined his forearms and jaw, the kind earned through survival, not glory. His eyes—sharp silver with fractured pupils—never stopped moving.

He wore layered explorer armor strapped over dark cloth, reinforced boots magnetized for unstable terrain, and a weathered satchel slung across his side. Around one wrist, a cracked Lunaranite bracer hummed softly, barely functional. Zod lifted a trembling claw, hesitation etched into every inch of him.

"I don't like this," he muttered.

"You know what touching that door does. One wrong move and the whole temple comes down. They don't protect secrets—they bury them." Harbringer's lips curled into a snarl.

"Then let it cost a life," he said coldly.

"Avangard deserves the truth."