[Special] The Mission of the Dark Heartbeat
"Master…?" Tyson stepped closer, peeking through a massive doorway that opened into what looked like an enormous forge. The sound of metal being struck rang through the space, echoing off the walls like bursts of contained power.
And the one hammering without pause was none other than the First Dragonborn, Miraak. His body was slick with sweat, his upper half bare, revealing muscles carved with precision; not excessive, but perfectly balanced, as if they had reached their ideal form. Every strike he delivered made the place tremble, a clear display of the sheer force he wielded. And at the same time, it proved that the metal he was working on was just as extraordinary, enduring each blow while barely yielding.
The heat inside was overwhelming. Even Tyson, with his natural resistance to fire, couldn't get too close to the massive furnace in front of Miraak before feeling a faint sting crawl up through his feet.
So he simply stopped at the entrance.
Seeing his master at work, Tyson remained silent, standing still as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his smithing coat. He waited patiently, knowing that interrupting a blacksmith was truly bad manners.
After what felt like several minutes, during which Miraak never once stopped striking the metal, he finally paused, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
He glanced at the piece he had been forging, then took it in his bare hand despite the red-hot glow, examining it closely before giving a small nod and setting it aside with several other metals of the same kind, stacked nearby.
Miraak turned to face Tyson.
"What is it?" he asked, having sensed his presence long ago, but choosing to finish his work first.
"Percy should've received his mission by now. Don't you want to go see what he's been assigned?" Tyson said, a hint of curiosity in his voice, along with a faint smile.
"No. We have more important matters to deal with," Miraak replied without hesitation.
"Uh… but I thought the exchange was already finished," Tyson said, glancing toward a corner where several identical swords were lined up in a row. They shimmered faintly, their material unfamiliar, their style unmistakably… if Percy saw them, he'd call them very Viking.
"Yes. That's done," Miraak said casually, before pulling out what looked like a strange stone etched with markings he recognized all too well.
It was Dovahzul.
And it wasn't the first time he had received a stone like this.
This one, however… felt different.
…
A man stood before him while he had been watching over the brats at Camp Half-Blood.
His face was something Percy would never forget; a grotesque blend of beast and dragon scales, the kind that had terrified him more than anything during his first quest.
"What do you want?" Miraak asked, his gaze fixed coldly on the man.
The man opened his mouth, and only a sharp, grating sound emerged; a language long lost.
Miraak studied him for a moment, frowning slightly, before parting his own lips and echoing the same sound. For an instant, it startled the man, who even seemed… relieved.
"You can understand me… that is gratifying, my lord," the man said, his tone genuinely respectful.
"Well?" Miraak replied dryly, narrowing his eyes. Learning a language after hearing it once wasn't difficult for someone like him.
But the real reason he understood it was because the words carried a strange resemblance to Dovahzul.
"My lord, my name is Nyar'Kaath. It is known across the divine world that you accept… exceptional tasks; the kind no other deity would dare take," the man said slowly, as if afraid Miraak might not fully grasp his speech.
Miraak watched him in silence for a moment.
"I don't take jobs without payment," he said bluntly.
That seemed to genuinely please the man, who immediately began searching through his garments. Beneath his dark robe, his attire looked ancient; far older than anything Miraak had seen among the gods.
After all, even gods adapt to the modern age over time. Only a few remain trapped in their own era.
"Here," the man said, pulling out what appeared to be a stone tablet. The moment Miraak saw it, he frowned; it looked far too similar to the one Hermes had once delivered to him on behalf of someone… unusual.
"Where did you get that?" Miraak asked directly.
"I cannot say, my lord. You have my sincerest apologies," the man said, lowering his head in respect.
Miraak watched him in silence for a moment, his gaze lingering on the tablet as if weighing something in his mind.
"Fine… then what do you want?" he asked directly.
At that, the man looked almost ecstatic.
He opened his mouth to speak, but before a single word could come out, a sudden pain seemed to tear through him. He clutched his chest tightly, his body flickering, turning partially transparent as if something was unraveling him from within.
Even so, he forced himself to move, pulling out an object; a fragment that resembled volcanic rock, carved with an unreadable script.
"Mother…" he managed, his voice strained.
Miraak's eyes narrowed as he watched him.
"You will succeed, my lord… free Mother… I beg you," the man said, a faint smile forming despite the agony, his body already reaching its limit.
And then he began to fade, breaking apart like dust.
Even so, he held that smile until the very end; one filled with absolute trust, even as he endured the pain of being erased from existence itself.
Miraak could only watch as he disappeared, the first time he had seen a higher being; or a god, as they were called in this plane, be completely erased right in front of him.
After giving one last glance to the place where the man had stood, Miraak lowered his gaze to the object in his hand.
As he turned it slightly, his eyes opened just a fraction when it pulsed once; like a heart trying to beat on its own… toward the sea.
And it wasn't just a feeling.
It was calling him.
He looked once more at the spot where the man had vanished, as if that alone had already given him all the answers he needed.
Even so, in his other hand, he still held the payment for the mission, which he stored away without concern.
Then he turned.
First, he had to finish what he was already doing.
Watching over the brats in this place…
until his disciple returned.
After that…
the thing in his hand wouldn't be kept waiting any longer.