At first, I believed artifacts were relics of an ancient age.
I was wrong.
They are not ancient.
They are… familiar.
Objects recovered from the vaults are not always weapons, nor tools of war. Many are mundane—almost disappointingly so.
A container that holds more than its size allows.
A device that produces heat without flame.
Lights that shimmer without fuel.
Illusions that exist for no purpose other than amusement.
Fireworks. Toys. Fragments of joy.
It is unsettling.
Because these are not the creations of a struggling civilization.
They are the remnants of one that had already solved its problems.
A world… beyond this one.
In Dunskar, such artifacts are everywhere. Markets trade them casually. Even common folk can afford the lesser ones—trinkets, conveniences, curiosities.
But not all artifacts are equal.
There are those that defy reason.
Weapons that cut through reinforced steel as if it were cloth.
Containers that distort space itself.
And whispers—only whispers—of items capable of denying death once, if worn at the right moment.
Those… are not sold.
They are fought over.
Curiously, despite the existence of such relics, the people of Dunskar do not rely on weapons I would expect from a “more advanced” world.
No thunderous firearms.
No distant, impersonal warfare.
Instead—steel.
Blades. Spears. Axes.
At first, it seemed primitive.
Until I understood the truth.
The leyline does not only shape the land.
It shapes the people.
Those who live here—who endure its presence, who train, who draw from it—become stronger. Gradually. Inevitably.
Their bodies adapt. Their senses sharpen.
And so, weapons that depend on raw force alone… lose relevance.
A simple projectile cannot match a body reinforced by arcane flow.
Unless—
It, too, becomes something more.
Some have attempted this.
Arrows, bolts—crafted with care, infused with energy. These can still threaten even the strongest among them.
But such ammunition is costly. Limited.
And so, the people return to what works.
Steel guided by strength.
Skill refined by survival.
Power drawn not from the weapon—
But from the one who wields it.
If these artifacts truly come from another world…
then I must ask:
What happened to the people who made them?
And more importantly—
Why are their remnants
buried beneath ours?
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