Under the guidance of the Dwarf King, Mamir and his companions were led into a colossal hall. Fires roared at its center, and each strike of the dwarven smiths' hammers sent sparks flying into the air. Every blow felt like the heartbeat of the mountains themselves.
The Dwarf King looked around proudly, then turned to Mamir with his booming voice:
— "For thousands of years, we dwarves have forged the finest weapons and armor the world has ever seen. No iron has ever been as strong as that from our forges. And now, we are forging enough armor and weapons to equip your entire army, Prince Commander Mamir!"
Mamir watched the glowing steel under the firelight, nodding firmly.
— "Truly, I can feel the strength of your ancestors in every strike. These armors will be the shields of our cause."
The Dwarf King laughed and placed a heavy hand on Mamir's shoulder.
— "But we give you more than steel—we give you our hearts. Come, let me show you our army."
They stepped outside. On the vast training grounds stood hundreds of dwarven warriors, solid as the mountains themselves. Their axes, hammers, and shields glinted in the sun as they lifted them high. At each command, they moved as one, their stomps making the very earth quake.
The Dwarf King spread his arms wide with pride:
— "We dwarves may be short in stature, but our hearts are greater than mountains! For thousands of years, with our tactics, we have turned these peaks into tombs for those who underestimated us!"
Mamir drew a deep breath, determination burning in his eyes.
— "From these noble-hearted warriors, you give us one thousand to fight at our side. Know this—these one thousand give us the strength of a hundred thousand!"
The Dwarf King was moved by these words, his eyes shining.
— "Thank you, Prince Commander… Thank you!" he said with a voice like stone.
---
One Month Later
Days and weeks passed. The sound of hammers never ceased within the heart of the mountains. At last, the day arrived: thousands of armors and weapons had been completed, carefully loaded onto three thousand wagons.
As Mamir and the Dwarf King planned strategies in the king's chambers, a messenger rushed in.
— "Majesty! Prince Commander! The armies are ready! The armors and weapons are loaded onto the wagons. We await your command to march!"
Mamir turned to meet the Dwarf King's gaze. The king nodded solemnly. The time had come.
When they stepped outside, Mamir beheld the sight of a mighty army: six thousand elves stood united with one thousand dwarves. A force of seven thousand now stood before him, with three thousand wagons filled with armor and weapons behind them.
Mamir marched to the front of the host. Thousands of eyes fixed upon him as his voice thundered across the mountains:
— "Today, with this army of seven thousand, we set forth! Perhaps we march to our deaths, or perhaps to a victory that will echo through the ages. But whatever awaits, we shall not bow to the darkness! We fight against Ostomas, who seeks to drown the world in shadow and rule over it! He would smother all light—but I swear this: as long as blood flows in my veins, the darkness shall never prevail!"
The army roared as one:
— "Long live our Prince Commander Mamir! Long live Mamir!"
Kirarya, his mother, gazed upon her son with pride, tears of joy streaming down her face. Runya looked at Mamir with eyes filled with loyalty and love, whispering softly to herself:
— "To the end of my days, I am yours… I will follow you, my beloved."
Ener and Necor exchanged a knowing smile, while Bete watched her nephew with shining pride.
And so the army began its march. Ahead of them lay a long road. They would cross the continent of Elandur and set sail for Trolos—the land of Mamir's kingdom.
The greatest chapter of the war was about to begin.
---
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