Bastian turned toward the dwarf, meeting his gaze with calm resolve. The coalition had brought in their spellcasters, high-ranking, powerful wizards; sensing the importance of the information Bastian carried. And as he spoke further, speculating on the nature of the elves' seemingly limitless magic, one by one, the other leaders of the coalition began to gather. The air in the room grew thick with tension.
The gray dwarf's accusation hung in the air, but Bastian remained silent, his jaw clenched, a fire burning inside him. He could feel his dragon blood rising, threatening to overtake him. But he wouldn't let it. Not here. Not now.
With deliberate effort, Bastian suppressed the dragon blood coursing through his veins. A moment later, his draconic features vanished entirely, leaving in their place the image of a tall elf, his skin smooth and unmarked, his appearance wholly unremarkable, save for the fact that he stood just a little taller than most elves.
Bastian raised a hand to his pointed ears, drawing the attention of everyone around him. "I am half-elf and half-dragon," he said, his voice steady. "I've learned to suppress the dragon blood in me, which is how I've been able to move unnoticed among the elves. And as for this," he reached into his cloak and produced a dagger, a mithril blade etched with dragon scales, "this is a token of my other bloodline. Perhaps some of you might know its origin."
The room fell into silence as several elders stepped forward, their eyes narrowing as they examined the dagger. The intricate dragon scale patterns, the delicate etching of ancient characters, this was no ordinary blade. Bastian had never met the one who had given it to him, but he knew it was a key to unlocking the attention he so desperately needed.
The elders muttered amongst themselves, their voices low but hurried. They passed the dagger between them, scrutinizing every inch of its surface. Bastian, standing tall despite the weight of the moment, overheard a few of their whispered words, titles that made his blood run cold.
"Prince… Red King…"
He sighed quietly, unsure of what to feel. He had guessed correctly. His so-called 'father' a distant, ruthless figure he had never truly known; had status, though Bastian had always assumed he was nothing more than an arrogant noble. Now, the truth was starting to unravel. If the man could afford such luxuries as mid-tier magic circles and enchanted gems for nothing more than his personal affairs, then surely he held sway in places far beyond Bastian's small world.
Bastian had anticipated this. He knew that coming to plead for help as a mere outcast from a forgotten northern tribe would hardly turn heads. He needed leverage, something to demand attention. And now, it seemed, the dagger and his bloodline had done just that.
As the discussion continued among the giants and wizards, other coalition leaders approached Bastian. Their questions were politer, though no less pressing. The matter of the "lost souls" still loomed large in their minds, a troubling phenomenon they had not encountered in their own lands. The room buzzed with uncertainty, and Bastian felt the weight of the world settling on his shoulders.
He had delivered his message. Now, all he could do was wait.
"Solesia? That's not something unique to the North," a voice called out, sharp and filled with doubt.
Another chimed in, "Are you sure you weren't just imagining things? Perhaps you saw what you thought were spirits during one of your attacks."
Bastian felt the weight of their skepticism like a heavy cloak draped over his shoulders. The tension in the room thickened as more voices joined the fray.
"Too many coincidences," someone muttered darkly. "How convenient that you stumbled upon confidential information. Perhaps the elves have been guiding you all along, revealing only what they want you to see. I'm not accusing you of betrayal, but you are still young, too young."
Another stepped forward, their voice biting with suspicion. "Can you guarantee the truth of everything you've told us? Can you swear you're not an elf spy, half-blood?"
The words stung, but Bastian remained silent, his expression calm even as anger roiled within.
"Snow Owl?" A dwarf scoffed. "You expect us to believe that? This half-blood is not to be trusted. If he can betray half of his own bloodline, what's to stop him from betraying us? I say we take him captive, interrogate him. This is a golden opportunity to extract the secrets of the elves."
The room buzzed with murmurs of agreement. Bastian tensed as a figure stepped forward, ready to act on the dwarf's suggestion.
But before anyone could make a move, the ground shook with a thunderous crash. A giant hand slammed into the earth, creating a deep crater between Bastian and the others. The force sent shockwaves rippling through the air, nearly knocking Bastian off his feet. Dust swirled around them as the giant's booming voice cut through the chaos.
"That's enough."
The voice of the Bram The Great echoed, deep and commanding, silencing the room instantly. The sheer power behind his words left no room for further debate.
Slowly, Bram straightened to his full, towering height, the earth groaning beneath him as he reached for the colossal weapon beside him. Without another word, he turned and walked away, each of his steps sending tremors through the valley.
Bastian stood frozen in place, his mind reeling. What had just happened? Why had Bram intervened?
"Wait for me to return," Ion's voice rumbled, fading as he disappeared into the horizon.
The air remained heavy with uncertainty as the coalition leaders exchanged glances, unsure of what to do next. Should they continue the interrogation? Should they wait, as Bram had commanded?
Yet they didn't have long to dwell on it. Less than half an hour passed before the earth once again trembled, signaling Ion's return. The ground quaked violently with each step he took, heralding his approach.
"Boom!"
The sound of something massive hitting the ground reverberated through the canyon, shaking the very foundations of the valley. Dust and debris filled the air as the Bram The Great dropped a dark, towering object before them.
"Is this what you spoke of?" Ion's voice reverberated through the air, his question heavy with finality.
Bastian's breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at the massive black structure lying in ruins before him.
"This… this can't be…" he stammered, stepping closer in shock. "How is this possible? It was supposed to be in the North…!"
What Bram had carried back on his shoulder was none other than the black spire, the very soul-sucking tower Bastian had described in his report. But now, it was a shadow of its former self. Cracks ran along its jagged, fortress-like surface, and debris littered the ground around it. The lower portion of the tower had been torn from the earth itself, the saw-like fractures revealing the raw, terrifying power of the Bram The Great.
As Bastian struggled to process what he was seeing, one of the dwarf leaders, who had remained silent until now, stepped forward.
"I've seen this tower before," the dwarf said, his voice low but firm. "It stands in the elves' territory. I asked them about it, and they told me it was just a... childcare tower."
The room fell into a stunned silence, but the dwarf wasn't finished.
"There's more. We've found another battlefield, one kept hidden. A place where the Argonians wage their secret wars."
Bastian's mind raced. The spire, the tower, the hidden battlefield, all of it, connected somehow. He felt the weight of the situation closing in around him, and the pieces of a much larger puzzle began to fall into place.
But even as the coalition leaders whispered among themselves, the question hung in the air: If the tower was here now, uprooted and laid bare, what else had they yet to uncover?