Chapter 5 Into the Furnace
The air beneath Thargun tasted of deep earth and old blood, a thick, stagnant pressure that settled heavy in the chest.
Under the suffocating weight of the world tree's endless canopy, the horizon vanished completely. Swept up in that breathless shadow, the twins' endurance finally gave out, Nalhado leaning heavily on his sister, his breath rattling in his throat. He looked up, his pale face slick with sweat.
"So, sis... what's a morkal?"
Nalhada stopped dead, hitting him with a lethal glare.
"Are you fucking kidding me? You have a literal hole in your chest and you're asking me what the fuck a morkal is?"
Nalhado pulled back slightly, a bloody, defiant smile splitting his lips.
"Yep."
"Not the fucking time." Nalhada shook her head, a breathy, disbelieving laugh escaping her lips as she kept them moving.
They reached the massive, twisted base of the great tree. Nalhada looked up into the groaning canopy, her voice cracking with desperation.
"Help!"
Inside her mind, Thargun's voice boomed—deep, ancient, and resonant.
"Lay him down."
A thick weave of roots and vines uncoiled from the earth, rapidly knitting together into a flat, solid table.
Nalhada carefully transferred her brother's weight onto the wood.
The moment his back hit the surface, the vines violently recoiled. They hissed and pulled away, sensing a foreign, malignant magic pulsing within the boy's flesh. Before Nalhada could react, the bark of Thargun split open.
A cloaked figure stepped from the heart of the tree, moving with silent, eerie grace.
The figure approached Nalhado, its pale hands unraveling the blood-soaked bandages to expose the raw, weeping wound.
Waving a hand over the puncture, the figure began chanting, the words spoken in a forgotten, archaic tongue.
Slowly, a thick, bluish mist was drawn out of Nalhado's chest, swirling into a dense, hovering sphere above his sternum. As the cloaked being leaned in to study the vapor, a sudden, blinding crack of lightning split the sky.
The mist instantly dissipated into nothing. The figure snapped its head toward the direction of the strike, looked up into Thargun's canopy, and then stepped backward, melting back into the solid wood of the tree.
Nalhada barely registered the stranger's disappearance; her eyes were locked on her brother's gray face.
"How do I heal him? I don't know how!"
"To the east, deep inside the mountain, lies a race of subterranean beasts called the Drazkul," Thargun's voice vibrated through her skull, heavy as shifting earth. "Bring me one of their hearts. Quickly."
Nalhada didn't hesitate. Gritting her teeth, she unbuckled her ruined armor. Blood welled from the deep gashes in her own shoulder where broken bone fragments were wedged into the muscle. With a sharp grunt, she dug her fingers into the flesh, plucking out the shards before packing the open wound with a handful of fibrous gravebind moss to choke out the bleeding. She hastily patched the cracked shoulder plate, hammered it back into place, and slipped the armor back over her raw skin.
"Anything else?" she demanded.
"The black resin of the Mourntree. But the heart must come first. If you touch the sap before the beast is slain, it is ruined."
"How?"
"The lineage of the cure was woven into the scrolls given to you," the ancient consciousness rumbled, unconcerned with her panic. "You chose to leave them behind. Seek the beast, or watch him rot."
Nalhada let out a sharp, ragged breath, a sound caught between desperation and fury. "I don't have them on me!"
"Then you have nothing. Leave."
A massive, low-hanging branch whipped through the air, striking Nalhada squarely in the back and launching her forward. As she stumbled out toward the eastern trail, the cloaked figure stepped from a nearby trunk, holding out a heavy, reinforced box.
"For its heart," Thargun murmured.
"Oh, perfect." Nalhada snatched the box, fasteneing it tightly to her belt.
She then unhitched the pulsing wraithlight chains from her waist, handing the glowing links to the cloaked figure.
A heavy sigh of relief escaped her lungs as the biting burn that had bled straight through her armor and into her skin finally vanished.
"I expect those back when I return."
The figure gave a solemn nod, accepting the heavy metal before dissolving back into the bark. Nalhada turned and sprinted toward the jagged silhouette of the mountains.
Back at the base of the great tree, Thargun shifted its colossal attention down to the shivering boy on the vine table.
The entity's consciousness flooded Nalhado's mind, heavy and suffocating like damp earth. "Speak, flesh of my root. What did you find in the dark?"
Nalhado hacked violently, dark blood flecking his lips before he could speak. "Why...?" he choked out. "Why did you send me there?"
"A blight stirs in the dirt." The thought ground against his skull like tectonic plates. "The soil remembers when this enemy last crawled. You were grown to be the axe that cuts it down. Now, speak. What did you find?"
"Nothing," Nalhado spat, coughing up another thick clot of blood. "Nothing I can make sense out of. There is a master behind them though."
He paused, his eyes narrowing with sudden rage. Gripping the edges of his torn flesh, he braced himself and violently pulled his own chest wound wider. He bared his chest cavity. Inside, his exposed heart was pulsing with an unnatural, blinding white light. A small, fleshy bulb sat fused to the center of the muscle, thick, parasitic vines wrapping tightly around the ventricles.
"What the fuck have you done to us?" Nalhado hissed.
Thargun's response vibrated through his very teeth, cold and unyielding.
"What the winter demands of the seed. You were too frail for the storm that approaches, so I grafted my own blood into your clay. The binding is done. It cannot be undone."
"Well, this 'master' knows," Nalhado groaned, his head falling back. "He wants our hearts. And he's coming for you, too."
With fading breath, Nalhado recounted every detail of the ambush, down to the fractured, cryptic warnings the enemy had mocked him with.
The tree trunk groaned, a deep tremor running through the soil, but the voice that echoed in Nalhado's mind was a sharp, piercing spike of intent. "The secret was buried deeper than the oldest roots. If the parasite knows the shape of the seed, it must be uprooted. When your flesh mends, guardian, you will hunt this rot to its source and burn it to ash."
Nalhado let out a dry, bitter laugh. "Let me guess... you're not going to tell me what he knows, right?"
"The sun does not explain the light to the leaf," Thargun's presence rumbled in his mind, cold and absolute. "You require purpose, guardian. Not understanding."
"You know that's complete bullshit, right?" Nalhado muttered, his voice dropping to a pain-riddled growl. "I need to know. You just want to be a bitch and keep me in the dark."
The ancient consciousness didn't flare with anger; it simply remained, massive and unmoved, a crushing weight behind Nalhado's eyes that made his insults feel small and hollow.
"Nothing to say?" Nalhado tried to laugh, but it devolved into a sharp wheeze. "Fuck... that hurts."
The vines of the table suddenly came alive, slithering over his limbs and wrapping tightly around his body from his feet to his bruised chest, pinning him in place.
"Quiet the clay," the voice commanded, sinking deep into his fading awareness as the tendrils tightened. "Rest now, guardian."
Deep beneath Thargun's sprawling roots, hidden in a subterranean chamber of tightly packed, ancient soil and thick, winding roots, the only light came from the faint, pulsing glow of the wraithlight chains.
The cloaked figure navigated the pitch-black chamber with practiced ease, placing the heavy metal links onto a polished slab of solid obsidian. The pale light refracted off the black stone, casting sharp shadows across the room.
The figure reached up and pulled back his hood.
A cascade of long, silvery-white hair fell around his sharp features, the intricate, thorn-like gold jewelry woven into his strands clinking rhythmically. He was an elf—a survivor from the ancient era long before the bloody invasion and destruction of his homeland.
His amber-gold eyes locked onto the chains. As he focused, a golden, vein-like lattice branching across his neck and face began to glow with brilliant intensity. He waved his hand through the air. Three floating orbs of light, intertwined with the roots in the ceiling, unrooted themselves and drifted down, bathing the cavern in shades of warm amber.
The shifting light illuminated the far walls, catching the hollow, translucent surfaces of two massive pods tucked away in the corners. They were empty, forgotten, and slick with dried amniotic residue—having already served their purpose in birthing the twins.
Vaelthorion held the chains aloft, feeling the thrum of familiar magic coursing through the cold metal.
"Could it be...?"
He strode over to a massive, unlit bookshelf. Another spark of his magic erupted from the floor, illuminating the dusty volumes.
"Now, where are you?"
His long fingers traced the cracked leather bindings until they caught on a thick, heavy spine.
"There you are."
He pulled down the massive spellbook, his palm caressing the worn cover.
"It's been a while, old friend," he whispered, a faint smile gracing his lips as memories of his youth—spending decades studying these very pages cover to cover—flitted through his mind.
He brought the tome to the obsidian table and threw it open. Pages flipped in a blur as his eyes scanned the ancient scripts. Finally, his finger stopped.
The section before him was dedicated to the specific, twisted arcana of the dark mage who had orchestrated the annihilation of his people.
"Here we are. You disgusting bastard," Vaelthorion muttered.
The text detailed how the dark mage had violently intertwined his own life force into the natural magic the elves had once shared freely with the world—a corruption that bound itself directly to a mortal's soul through alchemical butchery.
Vaelthorion placed his bare hand directly onto the wraithlight chains, closing his eyes and channeling his golden energy into the metal.
Crack!
The chains violently sparked, rejecting his power. They flew across the room, clattering hard against the stone wall before tumbling to the floor. The moment they hit the ground, a residual, oily black flame erupted from the links, instantly scorching the nearby roots of Thargun.
The great tree let out a distant, pained groan.
Vaelthorion rushed over, ignoring the heat as he snatched up the chains. "Hmm. Interesting. Very interesting."
He placed them back on the slab. Suddenly, the air grew thick and heavy as Thargun's voice resonated through the winding roots, muffled but powerful enough to press against his chest.
"Vaelthorion... what is the nature of your malice?"
Vaelthorion kept his eyes locked on the metal. "Sorry, friend. I didn't mean to cause you harm." He paused, pacing the length of the slab as his mind raced. "I have an idea. But it requires a sacrifice."
Thargun let out a dry, scraping sound that resembled a laugh, the roots in the ceiling creaking rhythmically.
"Look upon my canopy, Vaelthorion. Have I not given enough to this stagnant world? And still, your hands reach for more."
Vaelthorion froze, taken aback. "I didn't mea—"
"The wood is old, friend, but it is not brittle," Thargun interrupted, the heavy pressure in Vaelthorion's chest easing into a warm, familiar hum. "The twins have infected me with their petulance. Speak. What must be severed?"
A nostalgic smirk touched Vaelthorion's lips, a brief memory of simpler times—of him and Thargun playing games with the younglings in a sunlit forest—washing over him before he shook it away. "A root. Just one, please. Severed from your main body; there is no need for unnecessary risks."
A singular, thick root descended from the ceiling, snapping off cleanly and dropping into his hand.
"Take it. See if it bears fruit."
Without a word, Vaelthorion stepped to the table and pressed the fresh wood against the chains. The moment the sap touched the metal, the root burst into brilliant, hot flames.
"I believe an old enemy has resurfaced," Vaelthorion said grimly. "Somehow, the mage lives on. It's his exact signature... a familiar corruption. I just don't know how he could have survived."
The packed earth in front of the obsidian slab shifted and parted smoothly, the thick roots uncoiling away from the seam as a heavy iron cage ascended from the dark depths. Trapped within the bars was a swirling, pathetic vapor—the bound, tormented essence of the dark mage himself.
"The rot has not spread," Thargun's voice vibrated through the floorboards, cold and assured. "The parasite remains caged beneath my heel, forced to watch his failure wither in the dark."
Seeing the literal mist of the monster responsible for the genocide of his race sent a wave of pure, unadulterated fury through Vaelthorion's veins.
"YOU PATHETIC, WORTHLESS EXCUSE OF A BEING!"
The Keeper's amber eyes flared into blinding white rings, and the golden lattice across his face burned hot enough to singe the air. In a blind rage, Vaelthorion phased straight through the iron bars of the cage. He lunged, his fingers extending into sharp, crystalline amber claws as he grabbed the mist-like essence, physically squeezing and strangling the vapor.
The trapped essence shrieked, a horrific, echoing sound of agony as Vaelthorion's raw energy scorched it. He violently dragged his claws through the mist, shredding the form before slamming it hard against the floor of the cage.
Breathing heavily, the Keeper phased back out of the bars, smoothing down his tunic. "I don't know about you, but I feel better."
The cage ground through the shifting earth, lowering back into the dark depths as the heavy soil swallowed it whole.
"That creature is merely the shadow of a much older mountain," Thargun's voice breathed into Vaelthorion's mind, low and grim as the room fell quiet. "From whose malice do you think that mortal plucked his rot to begin with?"
Vaelthorion paused, wiping a stray strand of silver hair from his face as he searched his ancient memories. "I recall no other foe of that caliber, Thargun. Who do you speak of?"
"Not a who, Vaelthorion. A winter. The world is violently unbalanced, choked by its own stagnation. The frost has returned to level the forest."
Vaelthorion's blood ran cold. "You mean...?"
"The deep dark stirs," the entity confirmed, the roots around the chamber tightening. "And our flesh-bound axes will need every drop of sap we can pour into their veins if they are to endure the reaping."
"Is that why you had me plant the seeds within them?"
"To give them a spine of iron," Thargun rumbled, a deep, resonant hum vibrating the earth. "But a seed must do more than survive the winter. It must conquer the soil."
"I see," Vaelthorion said, his expression hardening as he looked down at the charred root and the chains. "Then I must get to work."
"Tend the crop, friend. The storm is already here."
After a grueling, exhausting journey across the cracked lowlands, Nalhada finally reached the base of the mountain. The ground beneath her boots shuddered with rhythmic, violent tremors. From the jagged fissure of the cave entrance, deep, booming howls echoed out—hollow and terrifying, completely different from the noises of the valley below.
She slipped into the jagged, gaping mouth of the cavern, moving like a wraith. A few dozen yards in, the main path split into three distinct, pitch-black tunnels. Nalhada knelt, pressing her bare palm against the stone floor. The vibrations were intense, thrumming through her bones from all three directions.
"So they all feed into your lair, huh?" she muttered, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. "Guess it doesn't matter."
She chose the center tunnel, plunging into the dark. With every step downward, the atmospheric heat intensified, the mountain's volcanic heart radiating through the stone. The air grew thick and heavy.
A grim, sharp smile crossed her face as she pressed onward.
"A test of endurance. Of course it couldn't be easy... I wouldn't want it any other way."
Deep within the molten core of the cavern, the Drazkul—a gargantuan, stone-skinned monstrosity—snapped its jaws. Six chattering shadow imps had foolishly trespassed into its nesting grounds, darting through the air like flies. With lightning speed, the beast lunged. Its massive, craggy claws speared the imps mid-air, and it tossed them into its maw, swallowing them whole in a single, wet gulp.
Suddenly, the Drazkul paused. Its slit-like eyes narrowed. Its gaze pierced straight through the dense stone walls of the labyrinth, tracking a small, armored intruder skulking through the outer tunnels.
With a deafening snarl, the Drazkul brought its massive, boulder-like foot down.
The structural foundations of the outer tunnel shattered. A thunderous explosion of grinding rock erupted above Nalhada. Instinct overriding fear, she threw her body backward, vaulting across the stone floor just as a massive section of the ceiling caved in infront of her, burying the path in tons of rubble.
As the dust began to settle, a new scent wafted through the freshly opened fissure in the wall—a suffocating wave of intense heat mixed with the rancid, copper smell of old blood and rotting meat.
Nalhada stood up, shaking the dust from her hair. She had two choices: backtrack through the dark and try another route, or force her way through the rupture.
"Well, I'm not turning back. Forward it is."
She squeezed her armored frame through the tight gap, only for her footing to instantly vanish. She fell hard, dropping waist-deep into a thick, horrific sludge. The trench was an ancient dumping ground, filled with the liquefying organs, rotting flesh, and coagulated blood of the beast's past meals.
"Of course," she hissed, gagging as the foul, warm muck filled her nostrils. "Fucking disgusting."
Bracing herself, she began the agonizing process of wading through the heavy, dragging filth.
High above, the Drazkul watched her drop into its ancient feeding trench. Intrigued and slightly impressed by the small creature's stubborn perseverance, the beast chose not to collapse any more tunnels. It simply turned its massive head toward the main entrance, waiting.
Nalhada finally spotted the end of the trench. "Finally," she growled, dragging her heavy, sludge-coated body out of the pit. The foul slime clung tenaciously to her armor, weighing her down. She crept toward the massive, jagged opening that led into the mountain's central chamber.
Peering inside, her eyes locked instantly with the giant beast. The Drazkul was already staring directly at her.
Realizing the futility of stealth, Nalhada wiped the sludge from her armor and walked openly into the massive, lava-lit cavern.
"Well, I know you didn't hear me over those tremors, beast. So there's only one option left: you can see right through the mountain."
The Drazkul's jaw parted, venting a hiss of sulfur and red ash. When it spoke, the deep, gravelly bass vibrated through the stone floor, rattling the loose stalactites above like a minor quake.
"The earth does not welcome the soft-skinned. Why have you crawled into the furnace?"
"Your heart," Nalhada shouted back, her voice echoing off the magma pools. "To save my brother. If you'd just hand it over, that would be great."
The Drazkul let out a mocking rumble, slamming its foot down. The shockwave traveled up the stone pillars, sending a massive, jagged spike crashing down from the ceiling right above her. Nalhada threw herself into a hard roll, the stone spike shattering into fragments exactly where she had been standing.
"Then claim it... if you can!" the beast taunted.
Nalhada ripped her bow from her back, sweeping five arrows from her quiver in a seamless motion.
Thwip-thwip-thwip-thwip-thwip.
The projectiles flew with deadly accuracy, targeting the soft tissue of its eyes and mouth. But the Drazkul simply snapped its jaws shut; the arrows shattered like toothpicks against its dense, stony maw.
Nalhada dove behind a massive, freestanding boulder just as the Drazkul brought its seismic claws to its open jaws. Using the ultra-low sonic frequencies of its claws to weaponize its voice, the beast unleashed a mighty roar.
The sheer force of the sound wave hit the boulder, exploding the massive stone into a cloud of shrapnel. The residual vibration hit Nalhada like a physical wall, pinning her in place and paralyzing her muscles.
Seizing the opening, the Drazkul scooped up a massive chunk of molten stone from a nearby lava river and launched the fiery projectile straight at her.
The imminent threat forced a surge of raw energy from her core. Power flooded upward, making the intricate network of veins within her horns pulse a deep, furious red. The sudden burst of biological force shattered the sonic hold, snapping her out of the paralysis just in time. Nalhada twisted her body, the white-hot boulder missing her by inches and scorching the air. She sprinted across the uneven floor, dodging another incoming volley of magma. Looking up, she spotted a narrow, high ledge directly above the beast's blind spot.
She leaped onto the craggy wall, climbing with frantic speed. Hand over hand, she hoisted herself upward just as another molten rock pulverized the stone beneath her boots. A stray ember splashed against her cheek, searing her skin, but she ignored the pain. Reaching the ledge, she drew her obsidian dagger in one hand and an arrow in the other, peering down at the behemoth below.
Nalhada threw herself off the high ledge, coming down like a falling star.
She landed squarely on the Drazkul's massive back. She rammed the arrow downward, but the wooden shaft snapped instantly against the creature's hide. Her obsidian dagger fared no better, violently bouncing off the stone flesh and nearly twisting out of her grip.
The Drazkul thrashed in rage. Nalhada lost her footing, sliding down the creature's rocky spine. Desperate, she wedged her boots against one of the jagged spikes protruding from its back to stop her fall.
She drew a deep breath. Suddenly, the veins running through her horns began to glow a deep, throbbing red, humming with a heavy, rhythmic power. With a primal scream, she raised the obsidian dagger with both hands and drove it down into the beast's craggy hide.
The moment the blade bit into the stone, the tectonic energy of the mountain beast and the latent magic within Nalhada's blood link collided inside the obsidian blade.
BOOM.
The weapon detonated in a violent explosion of raw energy. Tendrils of red and black light erupted outward before violently snapping back into both of them. The concussive force launched Nalhada through the air, sending her crashing hard against the cavern wall before she crumpled to the floor.
The Drazkul roared in agony as its stone armor shattered across its spine, blowing apart to reveal a raw, pulsing, fleshy weak point beneath.
The brilliant red glow within the obsidian blade completely faded out, leaving the stone dull and dark. Both the beast and the girl shrieked in unison. Nalhada stumbled to her feet, clutching her chest as a blinding, agonizing pain radiated through her heart, mirroring the damage done to the blade's soul link. Tears of pure agony welled in her eyes, spilling over her cheeks as she scrambled behind a massive boulder, clawing desperately at her chest armor to breathe.
Simultaneously, back at the root-table in front of Thargun, Nalhado violently arched his back, thrashing in sudden agony.
Vaelthorion lunged forward, his hands weaving a complex star pattern in the air above the dying boy. He muttered a rapid, ancient stabilization spell. The golden lattice of the star glided down across Nalhado's body, enveloping him like a geometric cage that clamped down on his flinching nerves, forcibly overriding his trauma and forcing his body to relax.
The Keeper pressed his palm directly over Nalhado's glowing heart. He could feel it vibrating—its twin soul-link screaming out from miles away. "Something has happened, Thargun. Something bad. It hasn't killed her, but she is in absolute agony."
Thargun's massive roots in the ground violently recoiled, the great tree groaning as its shared link with the twins flooded its consciousness with pain.
"My roots cannot pierce the black iron of that mountain," Thargun's presence shuddered within Vaelthorion's mind, the telepathic voice heavy with a rare, suffocating dread. "She walks in the dark alone. If her branch is snapped... the twin root withers with her."
Vaelthorion's face hardened into a grim, somber mask as he redoubled his efforts, pouring his golden light into Nalhado to keep his heart beating.
In the cavern, Nalhada's breathing was shallow and frantic. The pain from the fractured soul-link in her dagger was suffocating. She looked down at the obsidian weapon; the blade was inert, showing only her own tear-stained reflection where glowing currents of blood magic used to flow.
The Drazkul whimpered, a low, rocky vibration. Pain was an entirely foreign concept to the ancient beast, and it disoriented him. He slowly hoisted his massive bulk back onto his claws, his vision blurred by the throbbing ache in his back.
"The soft-skin... is a threat," the beast growled, scanning the smoky cavern. "That was unexpected. Show yourself!"
Nalhada wiped the tears from her eyes, her expression turning ice-cold. She stepped out from behind the boulder.
Her eyes blazed with a brilliant, blinding white light. Simultaneously, a dangerous, furious crimson throbbed through the veins of her horns.
"I will not fail," she stated.
A chilling, absolute calm overrode the agony in her voice, cutting through the roar of boiling lava like snapping roots.
"You fall today."
The entire chamber hung in a deadly truce. A small, blood-soaked elf standing against a mountainous, primordial leviathan, the air thick with the mutual intent to kill.
The Drazkul threw back its head. "Then claim your prize!"
It slammed its massive claws into the earth. The subsonic frequencies shattered the stone floor, a massive, jagged fissure ripping through the ground directly toward Nalhada.
Nalhada bolted, sprinting in a wide arc. Her focus was absolute, anticipating the shifting plates of stone before they could erupt beneath her boots. She saw a massive slab of rock rising ahead of her and prepared to leap—but at the last second, she realized the Drazkul was toying with her.
The slab suddenly sank instead.
Before she could adjust, the ground violently slammed upward beneath her feet, launching her high into the air toward the cavern ceiling.
As she careened through the air, time seemed to slow. She looked up, spotting the massive, razor-sharp stalagmites hanging from the roof, then looked down, targeting the exposed, raw flesh on the beast's back.
As she began to fall, she aligned her feet with a rising pillar of stone below. She hit the rock, absorbed the impact, and launched herself off it, flying horizontally through the air. She ripped her bow back out, letting loose two rapid shots mid-flight. Both arrows hit their mark perfectly, burying themselves deep into the Drazkul's exposed flesh.
The beast roared in pain. Nalhada landed gracefully on a razor-thin ledge along the wall, barely wide enough for her boots to find purchase. Without missing a beat, she drew a fresh arrow, sliced her own palm against the arrowhead, and sprayed her blood into the air. Waving her free hand through the crimson mist, she muttered a rapid incantation.
She launched herself off the wall again, bouncing from stalagmite to stalagmite high above the chamber floor, unleashing arrow after arrow into the beast's back. A fierce, methodic grin crossed her blood-splattered face as the beast spun in futile circles below.
"Can't catch me up here, can you?" she taunted, her voice echoing through the rafters. "Pathetic!"
Enraged beyond reason, the Drazkul began hurling massive boulders of magma into the ceiling, shattering the stone pillars one by one.
"Missed me!" she hissed, leaping away from a spray of lava.
Nalhada hung from a massive stalagmite directly above the beast's head. The Drazkul spotted her and launched an enormous, magma-filled boulder straight at her perch.
Nalhada let go, dropping straight down into the open air. Behind her, the magma boulder detonated against the ceiling. The explosion severed the massive stalagmite, sending the multi-ton spike of rock plunging straight downward.
Nalhada hit the ground hard in a low roll, landing right in front of the Drazkul with her back turned to it. A split second later, the massive stalagmite crashed down like a guillotine, piercing the Drazkul's exposed back and spearing the leviathan straight through its core.
The Drazkul let out a final, mountainous roar that shook the very foundations of the range, before collapsing heavily onto its side, dead.
With the beast finally felled, Nalhada didn't waste a single heartbeat. The veins on her horns flared into a blinding, incandescent red. She spun around, lowering her head and aligning the sharp, glowing tips of her horns with the center of the beast's chest armor.
With a burst of explosive speed, she sprinted forward and slammed her horns directly into the Drazkul's breastplate with a localized power so immense it sent shockwaves tearing through the mountain's core, shattering the surrounding stone into dust.
As the dust cleared, Nalhada dropped to her knees over the ruptured crater. Her jaw hitched, and with a wet, heavy click, her long, predatory canines slid from their sheaths, locking into place. They weren't meant for a clean bite—they were evolved to tear.
She drove the ivory spikes deep into the exposed muscle, using the curved teeth to anchor herself before shearing violently through the tough hide. With the initial layers ripped open by her jaws, Nalhada dug her bare fingers into the breach. She tore through the flesh in ragged, heavy chunks, sending a spraying slurry of blood and meat flying around her as she wrenched the beast's ribs apart, tunneling straight toward the prize.
Her hands clamped onto the heart. The radiating heat blistered her skin, but she screamed through the pain and yanked it free.
For a long minute, she sat alone in the dark, staring at the massive, pulsing mass of muscle. Trembling with exhaustion, she shoved it into the reinforced box dangling from her waist, popped the latches shut, and dragged her battered frame up and out of the mountain's volcanic womb.
Exiting the jagged mouth of the cavern, she found a fallen boulder and collapsed against it.
"What a fucking day," she wheezed. Every muscle in her body stretched tight, screaming for rest.
She looked down at the box, a ragged, disbelieving laugh bubbling up from her chest. "I can't believe that dipshit actually got his chest ripped open. What a fucking jackass."
Above, the dark clouds let out a deep, thunderous roar. Lightning split the sky, and a sudden, violent downpour began to pelt the stone.
"Oh, thank Thargun."
Nalhada extended her arms, lifting her face to the sky as the ice-cold rain cascaded down her skin, washing away the Drazkul's black sludge. But as she opened her eyes, her gaze locked onto a massive shadow circling the peak.
"Hmm. You don't belong here," she muttered, her eyes narrowing. "What are you doing out here?"
It was an Iron-Hide Cinderdrake, drawn to the peak by the sudden, massive spike of power radiating from the dead Drazkul.
Thick, oily black smoke bellowed from its nostrils as it swooped lower, banking hard through the gloom to hunt for whatever had killed the leviathan.
The drake roared, soaring directly over Nalhada's head.
"An ash-stalker? All the way out here?"
She grinned, a cold, lethal look returning to her eyes.
"You shouldn't have flown this far out. Sucks for you, big guy. You die tonight."
As the rain poured around her, Nalhada drew her obsidian dagger. She sliced her palm open, smearing her blood along the dark stone to activate its magic—but nothing happened.
The blade stayed inert.
The rain splashed against the polished black surface, mixing with her blood and dripping uselessly onto the dirt.
The soul-link was entirely diminished, showing nothing but her own hollow reflection.
"Fuck, that's rig—"
The Cinderdrake cut her off, swooping low and engulfing the ledge in a roaring torrent of fire. Nalhada vaulted out of the way just in time. As she hit the deck, she noticed the dragon executing a tight, heavy banking maneuver around the mountain, its massive wingtip shaving dangerously close to a cliff edge.
A dangerous thought sparked in her mind.
There's your mistake. Thanks for the ride.
Minutes stretched as the ash-stalker looped around, preparing for another strafing run. Nalhada braced her legs, tracking its route through the flashing lightning and heavy, splattering downpour.
The drake lined up, its throat glowing a blinding, hot white. It charged, flying low to scorch the earth and turning the falling rain into a blinding, thick cloud of steam.
Nalhada sprinted full-tilt toward the cliff edge. As the dragon roared past, she launched herself into the void, her fingers clawing desperately onto the thick, muscular elbow joint of its wing.
She scrambled up the leathery hide, reaching its broad back just as the drake pitched its nose straight up into a vertical climb. Desperate for an anchor, Nalhada slammed her dagger into its side.
The beast shrieked, spinning in a violent roll. Nalhada dangled over the empty air, gripping the hilt with white knuckles as the rain pelted her face like a barrage of stinging pebbles.
With a mighty roar, the beast leveled out. The sudden shift in momentum sent Nalhada floating off its back.
Slicked by the rain, her fingers slipped from the hilt. The momentum carrying her soaring above the drake as if gravity itself worked against her before she slammed hard onto the dragon's spine, her face missing a jagged dorsal spike by inches.
Regaining her footing, she rushed back to her dagger, yanked it from the hide, and sliced her hand open again. Straddling the beast's neck, she smeared her blood across its scales and chanted a frantic, guttural spell. Thick, crimson blood-anchors erupted from her palms, tethering her flesh directly to the dragon's back.
Sensing the parasite, the Cinderdrake went into a steep dive, expelling a massive plume of fire from its jaws.
Nalhada's eyes went wide.
Instinctively, she slapped the air twice and drew a rapid half-circle. A translucent blood-shield shimmered into existence just as the drake entered a tight corkscrew.
The flames completely engulfed the dragon's body, swallowing Nalhada whole. Her blood-shield began to bubble violently under the intense heat, structural weak points tearing open. The veins in her horns throbbed a brilliant, desperate red as she fought to hold the barrier, but the fire broke through, scorching her skin and blackening her armor.
With a scream of agony, she drove her dagger back into its side, luckily driving the stone deep into a cluster of exposed nerves. The creature flinched violently, turning sharply enough to intercept its own line of fire.
Her shield shattered into dust.
Wasting no time, Nalhada twisted the dagger deep in the wound. The beast roared, veering sharply to the west—straight toward the jagged, dark canopy of the Grove of Mourntrees.
The dragon lurched, bucking and twisting in a desperate bid to jar her loose, periodically snapping bursts of flame into the night. But every time it resisted, Nalhada twisted the blade, forcing it back on course. Her horns flared with incandescent light. She ripped the dagger out and slammed it back down into the base of its neck.
The beast let out a final, breaking roar and began a rapid, terminal descent.
They hit the treeline. Nalhada yanked her dagger free, instantly dispelling the blood-chains holding her down.
She sprinted forward along the drake's plunging neck, leaped onto its snout, and drove the obsidian blade through its skull with every ounce of strength she had left.
The dragon went completely limp. Together, they crashed through the upper canopy, slamming into the earth with a shattering, concussive force. The Cinderdrake's massive corpse plowed through the grove, digging a wide, muddy trench and snapping ancient trunks like twigs before finally grinding to a halt.
Almost immediately, the disturbed earth began to shift. Thick, pale vines slowly uncoiled from the forest floor, crawling over the dead dragon to consume and bury the massive corpse.
A dozens yards away, Nalhada tumbled out of the wreckage, slamming hard against the roots of a Mourntree. She slumped against the bark, staring blankly into the dark—utterly exhausted, broken, and beaten.
Back at the massive, twisted base of the great tree, the storm began to pelt the ancient bark with a relentless fury. Nalhado lay pinned beneath the heavy weave of vines, his chest bared to the cold downpour. The golden geometric cage Vaelthorion had cast remained perfectly stable, humming softly as it forcibly kept his spasming nerves locked down, but the boy's breathing was nothing more than a shallow, ragged rattle. Beneath his ribs, the parasitic, white-light bulb pulsed erratically, fighting against the stabilizing magic.
Vaelthorion stood over the table, his long fingers working with practiced, precise movements to dress the outer edges of the wound. The pale light of the nearby wraithlight chains caught the intricate, thorn-like gold jewelry woven into his silver hair. He looked entirely detached, a perfect, immortal keeper tending to a broken tool.
The colossal canopy above groaned, a deep tremor running down the trunk as Thargun's consciousness shifted back down to the root-table.
"Tend the bark with great care," Thargun's presence rumbled in Vaelthorion's mind, though the low, vibrating frequency bled into the physical air, rattling Nalhado's teeth. "But do not shelter the wood. The sapling must burn if the grain is to harden against the infusion. They both must embrace the graft if they are to survive the Master."
Vaelthorion's hands froze.
Slowly, he raised his head, the amber-gold eyes flashing in the gloom. The brilliant, golden vein-like lattice branching across his neck and face began to burn hot, reflecting off the wet, dark wood.
"I know what it is to be made into something the world fears, Thargun," Vaelthorion whispered, his voice a dangerous, low purr. "My own people cast me out into the dirt because they couldn't bear to look at the gold in my flesh. I was shunned by the very blood I cherished. Do not treat them as mere weapons, or they will learn to hate the hands that carved them."
The great tree let out a dry, scraping sound—a cold, unyielding vibration.
"And yet, without the graft, your rot would have claimed you centuries ago," Thargun countered smoothly, the ancient mind completely unbothered by his anger. "The storm does not care if the timber curses the soil, Vaelthorion. It only cares if the trunk holds against the wind. You outlived the death of your homeland because the gold hardened your core. They will outlive this war for the same reason. Do not mistake salvation for a burden."
That was the breaking point. Centuries of repressed, bitter fury shattered Vaelthorion's stoic mask. He lunged toward the trunk, his composure entirely evaporating as he shouted back into the groaning wood.
"You think I asked for this?!" his voice cracked with a raw, agonizing passion that echoed through the pouring rain.
"Asked to be born just to watch my people be mindlessly slaughtered for power? To watch my homeland turned into this nightmarish landscape, having its beauty ripped away?! This is what I'm supposed to be grateful for, Thargun? This destruction?!"
Breathing heavily, the Keeper stood trembling in the downpour. The golden lattice on his face throbbed so violently it cast sharp, dancing shadows across the roots.
Beneath the binding vines of the table, Nalhado's eyes cracked open a sliver.
The words drifted through the haze of his agony, fracturing his pain-riddled mind. He had viewed Vaelthorion as a shadow—an ancient, perfect elf lord who looked down on them from a pedestal of immortal history. But listening to the raw, broken rage vibrating in the Keeper's chest, Nalhado realized the truth.
Vaelthorion wasn't a lord. He wasn't a king. He was just a freak. A broken, cast-out survivor carrying a mountain of grief, trapped in a monstrous body he never asked for.
Just like them.
A dark, bitter sense of kinship flickered in Nalhado's chest before the exhaustion claimed him again, and his head rolled back onto the wood, his consciousness slipping back into the dark.
Nalhada forced her screaming muscles to cooperate. Come on, body, she snarled inwardly. Just give me a bit more, then we can rest. I know today has sucked, but we do this or he dies.
With a surge of stubborn, frantic energy, she uncorked her vials and collected the thick, black sap dripping down the Mourntree's cracked trunk. She shoved the vials into her pouch, checked her bearings against Thargun's massive silhouette in the stormy sky, and sprinted back through the downpour.
When she broke into the clearing, out of breath and drenched in grime, her eyes caught a stranger standing over her brother. He looked as if he were actively attacking the tree—his golden lattice blazing through the dark.
Instinct overrode exhaustion. In a seamless, violent blur, Nalhada yanked her bow, notched an arrow, and aimed it directly between the stranger's glowing amber eyes.
"Don't you fucking dare move," she spat, her voice a lethal, low venom. "Or it will be the last thing your worthless ass ever does. Thargun—mind explaining who the fuck this is and what he's doing?"
Vaelthorion shifted his gaze, his silver hair clinging to his face. "I am—"
"I didn't ask you, bitch," Nalhada cut him off instantly, her murderous gaze never wavering. "Thargun, explain now, or he dies."
The earth trembled as Thargun's roots coiled in irritation. "He is the Keeper of this soil," Thargun's presence rumbled in her mind, a heavy, suffocating pressure. "He is the only thing keeping your twin root from rotting. Give him the heart and the sap so the graft can begin."
Nalhada didn't lower the bow. "You expect me to trust an elf? An elf who should be dead? After the shit I've seen rising from the grave—where even the fucking land wouldn't take them back? Yeah.... Fuck that."
The great tree's bark groaned, the ancient consciousness snapping with a violent, grinding impatience. "Yield your defiance, flesh," Thargun countered, the telepathic force slamming into her skull like a physical blow. "The mountain could not break you, but I will. Deliver the harvest, or I will feed your corpse to the roots and take what I require."
A fierce, reckless smirk crossed Nalhada's blood-splattered face. After the day she'd had, she was entirely out of fear. "I'd like to see you try, bitc—"
"NALHADA!"
The ragged shout broke from the root-table. Nalhado arched slightly, hacking up a thick spray of dark blood before collapsing heavily back against the wood.
"Stop..." he wheezed.
Seeing how desperately close her brother was to the edge, the fight instantly drained from her. Nalhada dropped her bow and rushed to the table. She unbuckled the reinforced container, popping the iron latches to reveal the Drazkul's massive, still-throbbing heart. She slammed the vials of black resin beside it.
"Do it then," she hissed, staring daggers into Vaelthorion's face. "But if he dies... so do you."
Vaelthorion didn't answer. The Keeper's expression hardened into a grim, professional mask as he took the obsidian dagger. With one swift, precise stroke, he sliced open the apex of the Drazkul heart. A thick, sluggish stream of steaming, lava-hot blood welled from the cut.
Lifting the massive organ, Vaelthorion inverted it and pressed the raw, severed muscle directly over Nalhado's open wound.
The reaction was instantaneous and horrific.
The moment the tectonic, heat-dense blood touched Nalhado's exposed flesh, the parasitic white vines wrapped around his heart violently uncoiled. They writhed like starved leeches, digging deep into the Drazkul's meat and drinking the mountain's primal density. Nalhado's eyes flew wide, his jaw locking in a silent, agonizing scream as his ribs violently expanded. The white light of the parasite began to mutate, shifting into a dull, iron-like stone gray.
Vaelthorion cast the drained, shriveled heart aside and snatched the vials of Mourntree resin. "Hold him," the Keeper commanded.
Before Nalhada could move, Vaelthorion poured the cold, black sap straight into the smoking, blood-drenched cavern of the boy's chest.
When the resin collided with the hyper-heated Drazkul blood, it boiled. The black sap hissed and expanded like alchemical foam, sizzling as it fused directly into the muscle and bone. The raw, volcanic power of the beast's blood catalyzed the sap, causing it to rapidly cool and crystallize. Within seconds, the liquid hardened into a glossy, obsidian-dense carapace that sealed the wound entirely.
Nalhado's body went totally limp, his breathing suddenly steadying beneath the newly formed black armor plating.
Nalhada collapsed against the edge of the table, her hands trembling as she stared at the solid, black gemstone seal embedded in her brother's chest.
Vaelthorion smoothed down his tunic, his golden veins dimming back to a faint hum. "The stone-flesh will protect the core," the Keeper murmured, his voice tight. "In time, his skin will fight to reclaim the ground, growing over the edges to leave a scar. But he will live."