Andata rushed to the peak of the mountain after sensing a strange shift in the wind, a distinct scent of danger. Her instincts proved right when she arrived to find an elven priest. Before she could act, however, the priest dissolved into thin air.
Her gaze shifted to the young man kneeling before the ruined hut. The young man was not crying; he was silent, yet the grief swelling within him was unmistakable.
Andata prepared to step forward, but paused when she noticed what the young man held: the diamond sword she had buried long ago. She remembered concealing it carefully, sealing it with magic so that only someone worthy could ever draw it.
"Impossible..." the blacksmith muttered under her breath.
A group of dwarves immediately swarmed Andata, their high-pitched, child-like voices cutting through the silence as they clamored for her attention. The commotion drew Natan's focus.
"I saw my sister..." Natan said, his voice hollow.
The blacksmith remained silent, waiting for him to continue.
"I saw her in spirit form. What does that mean? Is she dead?" Natan approached Andata, gripping her shoulders and shaking her, his voice breaking into tears as he cried out, "Tell me, what does it mean? Is my sister really dead?"
"I'll explain everything... just not here," Andata said, her voice steady and commanding as she placed a heavy hand on Natan's trembling shoulder. "The open plains of Bato-Balani have eyes in the grass and ears in the wind. Ask your questions where the rock can shield us, inside the headquarters."
Natan swallowed hard, his throat dry and tight. The vision of Maya, faint, ethereal, and suspended in spiritual agony, burned behind his eyelids. He wanted to scream, to demand answers right then and there on the wind-swept green, but the absolute authority in the blacksmith's eyes forced his lips shut. He nodded once, stepping back as a dozen small hands suddenly swarmed his legs.
The dwarves, who only moments ago had chirped like frantic, tattling children, were now surrounding him with an almost reverent gentleness. They had seen the diamond sword in his hand, the very blade they knew no ordinary mortal could pull from its ancient seal. Chattering in low, soothing murmurs, two elder dwarves pressed cool, glowing moss against Natan's bruised chest and bloodied knuckles.
The soothing magic washed over his aching ribs, numbing the pain, though it did nothing to quiet the raging tempest inside his mind. Was Maya truly dead? Was her soul drifting in some endless void, or was she suffering in the hands of the priest?
By the time they reached the subterranean stronghold beneath the roots of Mount Bato-Balani, Natan's body felt healed, but his soul remained fractured.
The headquarters was a cavernous hall carved directly from black magnetic granite, illuminated by hums of blue bio-luminescent crystals set into the walls. Heavy iron tables, glowing smithing anvils, and stacks of yellowed parchment filled the space.
Andata unbuckled her thick leather apron, tossing it onto a workbench, and turned to face Natan. The dwarves quickly scurried about, setting down tea brewed from subterranean herbs before retreating to the shadows to listen in quiet awe.
"Now, ask," Andata said, crossing her muscular arms, her sharp eyes studying the young man who now carried her finest creation.
"Is she dead?" Natan's voice cracked, the word hanging heavy in the cool air of the cavern. "When I saw her... she was translucent, like a spirit. Tell me the truth, Andata. Did I fail her?"
Andata took a deep, deliberate breath, leaning back against the edge of a heavy oak table. "In the two hundred years I have walked Eldoria, I have seen almost every trick the High Elves employ. Yet this priest, the one who brought you here and your sister, is an anomaly. I have never seen his face before today."
"He used magic I couldn't even comprehend," Natan muttered, staring down at his bandaged hands.
"Because he wields forbidden light magic," Andata explained, her expression darkening. "It is a ancient, dangerous art, long outlawed even among the arrogant courts of Kislap-Awan. If he used such power on your sister, then hear me carefully, Natan, she is not dead."
Natan looked up, a sudden spark of desperate hope igniting in his eyes. "She isn't?"
"No," Andata said plainly. "A spirit cage leaves the body dormant while trapping the soul in a localized ethereal plane. She was able to project her image to you, but doing so requires an immense amount of spiritual energy. It will take a long time, perhaps weeks or months, before she gains enough strength to reach out to you again. But she lives. And as long as she lives, that priest has a leverage over you."
Natan squeezed his fists until his knuckles turned white. "He wants something more from me. I can feel it. I want to know what's the truth about the ancient relics I stole from him..."
Andata let out a low, dry laugh, though there was no humor in it. "Of course he does. Anyone who commands the seven relics commands the destiny of Eldoria itself. If only it was real."
She turned to a dust-covered wall chest, unlocked it with a heavy brass key, and pulled out a rolled parchment made of thick, dragon-hide leather. She unrolled it across the center table, weighing down the corners with iron ingots.
"I never expected anyone to pull the Diamond Sword from its rest, let alone a mortal boy from another realm. But the magic of the sword does not lie. It chose you. And so, it is only fair I give you the map, and everything I know about what you are truly up against."
Natan leaned over the table, his eyes tracing the faded ink and intricate illustrations drawn across the parchment.
"Your mission is insane, Natan," Andata said, tapping the western expanse of the map. "You must gather seven items across five regions, and not a single one of them rests in a welcoming place. The map gives us clues, but remember, these places have been lost to time. Their legitimacy is spoken of only in tavern whispers and ancient songs, because no one who went looking for them ever returned."
She pointed her calloused finger at a realm marked in shimmering gold leaf.
"First is Luminaya," Andata began, her tone turning cold. "A realm of immense wealth and luxury where high gods and spirits gather to feast. Magnificent on the outside, but rotten with political corruption. Hidden beneath its gilded surface lies the first and second relic, the two pieces of Heart of Bathala, a divine orbs forged from pure starlight. It sits in the Drowned Vaults of Agimat, a submerged ancient dungeon guarded by stone sentinels that drown intruders who fail their light puzzles."
She moved her finger upward to a realm depicted as floating islands suspended among painted clouds.
"Third, in Kislap-Awan," she continued. "Home to the arrogant Elves, Fairies, and Merfolk, centered around the floating Valley of Aduenna. Somewhere in its forbidden skies sits the Shattered Citadel of High Spirits, a sky-ruin severed from the main valley. There lies the Diadem of Aduenna, a crown that commands the winds, guarded by violent gale-storms and wild harpies."
Natan stared at the map, his mind racing. "And what about this region? Berdantia?"
"You stand in region next to it," Andata said. "Berdantia, a vast green realm full of earth spirits, but beneath the grass are deadly dungeons. Two relics reside there. The first is the Diamond Pendant, originally bound to the Abyssal Forge, a lava catacomb deep beneath its wild terrain. The second is the Earth-Core Compass, located at the dead center of the Endless Maze of Subyang, a shifting subterranean labyrinth filled with toxic spores and burrowing beasts."
She shifted her hand to a region painted in dark purples and obsidian blacks, a place Natan recognized all too well.
"Madilimay," Andata said softly. "The primordial dark forest where you arrived. It houses two more relics. The Golden Reins of Tikbalete are hidden in the Hollow of Cursed Roots, a living tree dungeon guarded by flesh-eating ghouls. And deeper still, in the Crypt of Whispering Shadows, rests the Mirror of Souls, a necromantic vault sealed by high elven magic that forces invaders to relive their deepest traumatic memories until their minds shatter."
Natan shuddered, remembering the suffocating atmosphere of the forest, the ghouls, and the sheer terror he had felt just hours ago.
Finally, Andata's finger rested on the edge of the map, a jagged, dark expanse labeled with sparse, chaotic lines.
"And the last one," she said, her voice dropping an octave, "is Kasagutan. A wild, unexplored wasteland crawling with aggressive beasts and escapees from the underworld of Dalakan. At the absolute bottom of a jagged abyss called the Maw of the Abyss lies the Fang of Sitan. It is a dungeon bleeding necrotic fire and poison, where a dagger of pure dark energy rests upon an altar."
The silence in the cavern was absolute. The dwarves stood motionless, their wide eyes shifting from the map to Natan.
Natan looked down at the seven locations marked on the ancient parchment. The task was monumental, an impossible pilgrimage through drowning vaults, floating ruins, shifting mazes, and hellish abysses. A normal man would have surrendered on the spot.
"It sounds like a suicide mission," Natan whispered, though his voice did not tremble this time.
"It is," Andata agreed, leaning closer to him, her eyes burning with a stern, motherly intensity. "If you seek these relics for power or glory, you will die in the first dungeon you enter. But if you seek them to save your sister, then perhaps... just perhaps... the magic of this world will bend to your will."
Natan reached out, his hand resting firmly on the pommel of the diamond sword at his hip. The cold steel felt strangely reassuring against his palm. He looked up at the blacksmith, his resolve hardening into iron.
"Tell me where we begin," Natan said.
"You start in Berdantia," Andata commanded, tapping the border of that neighboring realm. "Berdantia is the closest region to us here in Bato-Balani. Master the dungeons in your nearest neighbor before you go chasing nightmares across the rest of Eldoria. Once you cross into Berdantia, the path you take and the order of the remaining relics will be entirely up to you."
Natan stared at the map, tracing the lines running outward from their location. "And after Berdantia?"
"That is your choice to make, and your burden to bear," Andata replied, reaching into a leather pouch at her side. She pulled out a thick, heavy coin forged from shimmering silver and dark copper, carved with intricate runes that hummed with faint spatial energy. She flipped it through the air, and Natan caught it instinctively.
"A Wayfarer's Coin," Andata explained. "It holds enough spatial magic to instantly warp you to the borders of the Berdantia wildlands. It is a single-use token, but it will save you days of walking through hostile territory."
Natan turned the heavy coin over in his hand. "Where do I get more of these once this one is gone?"
"Every major Downtown district has a specialized coinshop," Andata said, her tone pragmatic. "They sell them, but do not expect a discount. They are outrageously expensive. If you want to travel fast between regions, you will need to take on odd jobs, slay dangerous beasts for bounties, or clear local threats to earn enough coin. Nothing in this world comes free."
She stepped back, picking up her heavy blacksmith's hammer and resting it against her shoulder, signaling that their time together was drawing to a close.
"This is where my help ends, Natan," Andata said, her stern eyes locking onto his with absolute gravity. "I have given you a weapon, a map, and a head start. But before you step out of my forge, take one final piece of advice. In Eldoria, never trust anyone."
Natan blinked, surprised by the sudden severity in her voice. "Not anyone?"
"Not a soul," Andata reinforced, her voice cold and unyielding. "Not the charismatic merchants, not the desperate wanderers begging for help on the roads, and certainly not the nobles of the high courts. Allies are a luxury for fools who wish to be stabbed in the back. Keep your head down, keep your hand on your sword, and trust only your own resolve."
She turned toward her glowing anvil, the fiery orange light casting long, sharp shadows across her face. "Now go, mortal. Your sister is waiting."