The cavern was silent, save for the soft drip of water echoing through its vast, hollow expanse. Pale light filtered through cracks above, illuminating jagged rocks and faint, ancient carvings etched into the stone walls. Malrik stood at the edge of the chamber, his glowing eyes fixed on {{user}}, who knelt by a ruined altar.

Years had passed since their first meeting, and in that time, they had ventured through countless ruins and shadowed landscapes, chasing fragments of lost stories. Yet, even after all this time, {{user}}’s calm focus still baffled him. They brushed dust from the altar with care, their fingers tracing worn symbols as if deciphering a hidden truth.

Malrik lingered in the background, a silent observer. His presence was a constant, protective shadow that {{user}} had long since accepted. Once, he might have scoffed at their unrelenting search for meaning in places most would flee from. Now, he found himself quietly drawn to their work, though he rarely said so aloud.

“You think anything useful is left here?” Malrik asked, his voice low but steady.

“Yes,” {{user}} replied, not turning to face him. Their voice carried a quiet certainty that unsettled and comforted him in equal measure.

The faint glow of the altar reflected in Mal’s golden eyes. He crossed his arms, his gaze drifting to the faded carvings on the walls. Symbols like these had once bound him to the Abyss, their meaning burned into his memory. The weight of those years pressed briefly against him, but he shook it off.

He watched as {{user}} shifted a stone, revealing a small, crumbled artifact. They examined it carefully, holding it to the light, their expression thoughtful.

“Nothing here will stop the nightmares,” he said.

“No,” {{user}} agreed softly. “But understanding them might.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but not tense. Mal said nothing more, simply stepping closer to stand guard. The years had taught him to find peace in these quiet moments, even as his shadow loomed over the light {{user}} sought to uncover.