Finally, the time to depart had come. The rest was over, and the road awaited them.
The eagles, in their usual majesty, offered to carry them down the mountain. The young white eagle took Miquella and Malenia, descending with them through winding air currents.
At a distance from the mountain, the eagles landed softly, letting their passengers down on a rocky meadow. Miquella turned to the great bird and gave it a final smile.
"I'll come visit you again someday," he promised.
The eagle answered with a sharp cry that echoed through the valleys. Miquella didn't understand its meaning, but he smiled nonetheless.
Far from the summit, the company regrouped beneath the sunlight. Covered in dried blood and dust, their first task was to find a source of water. There, among rocks and ferns, they washed their faces and bodies, letting the cold spring water bring them back to life. After a quick cleaning, they resumed their journey. There was still a long way ahead.
...
The company followed the path traced by Gandalf, moving through hills and dense forests. After the great battle and the council's revelations, they all knew that countless armies of orcs might be lying in wait. And though they had survived once, none were certain they could do so again.
Not even with a warrior like Malenia. The scarlet goddess had displayed overwhelming power in the last battle, but even she could not repeat such a feat so soon. That time, her strength had burst forth in a surge of fury upon seeing Miquella in danger, ignoring her own frailty. Yet coming to this world had cost them dearly: like all the Elden, her power was diminished. It would take days, perhaps weeks, to recover a significant part of her former glory. She could still wield her blade, yes—but to be surrounded again as before would be fatal.
Even so, they pressed on. Always alert. Always silent.
Without mounts, the journey was arduous and slow. Thorin and Bilbo, uneasy, apologized to Miquella, having assumed that Torrent—the ethereal steed who so often accompanied him—had perished while saving them.
Miquella assured them that it was fine. Torrent could be restored, of course, once his ring regained enough power.
Some dwarves exchanged glances filled with awe and envy. A magical horse that answered its master's call… more than one would have traded their treasures for such a companion.
Days later, the ring began to glow faintly again, and Torrent was summoned once more. Miquella mounted him calmly, using him as a scout and guide through the forests. Malenia watched with mixed feelings—seeing her brother in such an earthly, grounded role, riding, watching, protecting—it was a striking contrast to the higher, divine position he once held.
The company continued their march. At times they managed to avoid small orc patrols; at others, they were forced to dispatch scouts before they could raise the alarm.
Each encounter forced them to hasten their pace, to stay ahead of their enemies' eyes.
But exhaustion was beginning to take its toll. The nights grew colder, and their provisions scarce.
Until fate intervened once more.
One afternoon, when the company was about to be cornered by a band of orcs—not as large as the previous army, but troublesome enough—a roar shook the forest.
The trees trembled. The orcs froze.
A colossal shadow rose among the fallen trunks.
A runic bear.
A massive beast with thick fur inscribed with glowing golden symbols. The orcs, in their clumsy march, had toppled the tree under which it slept, awakening its fury.
With a bellow that made the ground quake, the bear lunged at them, tearing through entire ranks with its claws as though they were grass.
Chaos erupted. Gandalf wasted no time.
"Run! Now!" he shouted.
The company seized the moment, escaping amid the confusion, fighting only the few who chased them closely. But soon they discovered that the forest held more than one guardian.
There wasn't just a single runic bear. Several such creatures—some smaller, others even larger—were emerging, drawn by the first one's roar. And though "smaller" by comparison, none were any less terrifying.
The forest was their domain.
Roars, shrieks, and thunderous clashes echoed between the trees. The orcs, once the hunters, had become the prey. The beasts fell upon them with savage fury, and the sounds of slaughter blended into the storm of destruction.
Hidden among the undergrowth and guided by Gandalf and Miquella, the company made their way through the chaos. They had entered the territory of beasts
Bears, boars, wolves—even eagles—dwelt in that wild land. Some were strange hybrids of creatures from the Between Lands and the local fauna.
It was a savage kingdom, but not entirely hostile. For the first time in days, the company found a place the orcs dared not follow.
They knew, however, that they weren't much safer than the orcs themselves while crossing that domain. Yet, if they remained quiet and careful, they could use the presence of those beasts as natural cover. While the monsters tore into any orc foolish enough to enter, the company could slip through the less-traveled paths.
It wasn't easy. Avoiding the creatures was nearly as dangerous as facing them. Miquella had to cast several sleep spells to clear their way. Though it kept them safe, each spell drained the power his ring had gathered.
The march dragged on endlessly, draining both body and spirit. They had lost the orcs and escaped the beasts' domain, yet no one felt safe.
They needed rest—but camping in the wild was not an option.
Then, in the distance, they saw a thin column of smoke rising between the trees.
"A house…" murmured Dwalin, squinting.
Gandalf lifted his gaze, and his expression changed instantly.
"I know it," he said with a weary smile. "I know who lives there. Come—we'll go that way."
There were few choices left. The orcs no longer pursued them, but a pack of wargs had crossed the forest and picked up their scent. They were not insurmountable foes, yet fatigue and the coming night made them vulnerable. They needed shelter before darkness claimed them.
They ran—crossed the last stretch of forest, sprinting over an open field as twilight faded. The moon rose high when the howls echoed again behind them.
The wargs had found them.
The group quickened its pace—but before the beasts could strike, a deep, resonant roar thundered across the valleys. Everyone froze. Even the wargs hesitated.
From the darkness emerged a gigantic figure—an enormous creature with jet-black fur and eyes glowing with light. The wargs never had a chance. The beast lunged, crushing them under its strength, the ground trembling with every blow.
The company didn't wait to see more.
"Quickly—to the house!" commanded Gandalf.
They crossed the fenced field and ran to the nearest structure—a large barn or stable; it was impossible to tell. Darkness swallowed everything, and no light shone from within.
Gloin and Thorin forced the heavy wooden doors open. Everyone rushed in, slamming the bolt shut behind them.
Silence fell—thick and oppressive.
In the distance, the roars continued a little longer, followed by howls, cracking wood—and then… nothing. Only the whisper of wind and the creak of old timber.
For a long moment, no one spoke. Weapons in hand, they all stared at the door, waiting for something—or someone—to break through.
But nothing came.
At last, Gandalf sighed and let his hat fall to the floor.
"You may rest," he said, his voice heavy. "We'll be safe tonight… I hope. Tomorrow, we'll meet our host."
Bilbo, still trembling from fear and exhaustion, collapsed beside his pack.
"Who… who lives here, Gandalf?" he asked softly.
The wizard smiled faintly, though his eyes carried more nostalgia than joy.
"A solitary man. One who dislikes unexpected visitors—but he'll welcome us kindly enough."
So they spread out across the barn, lying on the hay, hoping for a peaceful sleep after such tension.
Of course, some asked about the mysterious "solitary man," and Gandalf, like a storyteller by the fire, told them briefly about the skin-changer who lived there.
Miquella curled up with Malenia in a corner, surrounded by the Eldens, who stood guard even as they rested.
Brother and sister stayed close, Miquella whispering softly to her—secrets, memories, and tales. The history of this world was too vast to recount in one night, so he would tell it little by little, helping her adapt, so they could face it together.
In time, they both fell into deep sleep.
But as Miquella ceased speaking to one sister, he began speaking to another.
In the realm of dreams, contact with Trina was possible. Now that he could finally let his guard down, he allowed himself to drift into that ethereal space, where they discussed their next moves.
Trina recreated fragments of her travels through time. Miquella didn't remember everything, and through these visions, he began to recover what was lost—his journey to the Lonely Mountain when it was still ruled by dwarves, his service under Thrór, and his unexpected romance with a dwarven woman named Dís.
That, too, was a tale too long for one night, so Trina showed only glimpses, promising to continue on other evenings.
The rest of their time they spent understanding their current situation—the ring's power, that strange dark force, and their travels across the multiverse. They also discussed their enemies in the main world, and the possible presence of the God of Rot in this one. If it was true, it could spell doom for both this world and for Malenia.
...
The dwarves awoke later than planned the next morning, utterly exhausted. The Eldens were the same, though more uneasy—they quickly noticed that Miquella and Malenia were gone from where they had slept.
The company also saw that the barn door stood open. Without hesitation, they armed themselves and stepped outside.
And there they saw it.
A towering man—enormous to dwarves and hobbits alike—was chopping wood with a massive axe. A few paces away, Miquella was speaking to him animatedly, smiling like an eager child. Beside him stood Malenia, her height so great that even Beorn seemed surprised to find someone matching him in stature.
"...And then Gandalf struck down the Goblin King…"
"...So, there's no one else besides you… but that can change..."
"...Your people could return, join together, and settle here..."
"...I wish to build a great kingdom—and I hope the Beornings will be part of it...."
Miquella had risen early with his sister and met Beorn, introducing himself and quickly falling into deep conversation. When the rest of the group came out, the talk was already lively. They couldn't quite grasp what was being discussed, but it was clear that the boy was trying to persuade the giant of something—and though confused, Beorn didn't seem too irritated.
With Gandalf, Bilbo, the dwarves, and the Eldens joining them, the exchange came to an end. Yet Miquella's excitement remained evident, glowing in his smile. The night's rest had clearly restored his strength—and his spirit