The victory in the duel left a metallic taste in my mouth — a mixture of blood, adrenaline, and deep mistrust. The King Elandor's safe-conduct was a piece of parchment that weighed like lead. It allowed us to leave Lytheria, but his cold eyes as he handed it over carried a clear message: "You're a problem for another time, in another place."
There was no celebration, no farewell. We were escorted in silence to the gates of the Silver Tree City by guards who barely hid their disdain. Kaelen was nowhere to be seen. The humiliating defeat by a "clumsy mortal" must have wounded him more deeply than my sword did.
Sylva and Gorr awaited us outside, in the dense forest that marked the border of Lytheria. Their faces were grim.
"You got lucky, mortal," Gorr growled as soon as we reached them. "Kaelen is vain. He underestimated you. That won't happen twice."
"He's no longer our biggest concern," Sylva interjected, her eyes scanning the surroundings with renewed suspicion. "News of the duel will spread. Elandor gave us breathing room, but he also marked us. Other factions will come after the fragments. And the dwarves… Durin won't be pleased to hear we were in the elven den and survived."
The mention of Durin made my stomach twist. The debt of 35 coins still existed, and now we had the enmity of royal elves as an unwanted bonus.
"We need to return to Kharzag," I said, resigned. "Settle accounts with Durin and… decide our next step."
Liriel, walking with her regained air of superiority, scoffed. "Next step? The next step is finding a proper bath and a wine that isn't that sweet syrup these elves call nectar. Mortal politics are so exhausting."
"A bath would be nice," Elara murmured, still pale from the ordeal. She looked at me, silent concern in her eyes. "Takumi, your wounds…"
"I'm fine," I lied, feeling the sting of cuts with every movement. Liriel's blessing of clarity had faded, leaving behind only fatigue and a throbbing ache.
The journey back through the forest was tense. At every sound, we flinched, expecting an elven arrow or an ambush from bounty hunters who might already have heard of us. The fragments in my backpack were strangely quiet, like a satisfied pet after a meal, yet I could feel their awareness — a constant, watchful presence at the edge of my mind.
Vespera, as always, seemed immune to the oppressive atmosphere. "At least the duel part was exciting!" she commented, hopping over a root. "That final punch? Brutal! I almost thought you were going to use dark magic, but nope — just pure clumsy talent!"
"Talented isn't the word I'd use," I muttered.
That's when we saw smoke rising on the horizon. Not the clean smoke of a hearth, but thick, black, oily smoke. Coming from the direction of Kharzag.
"Fire," Gorr said, his voice a low growl. "Big fire."
I quickened my pace, a new kind of dread creeping up inside me. When the dwarven stronghold came into view between the mountains, my heart sank in my chest.
Kharzag's main gates were shattered, reduced to charred splinters. The stone façade was blackened with soot, and the air reeked of burnt wood, molten metal, and… death.
Dwarves rushed back and forth, carrying the wounded and trying to extinguish the last flickers of flame. The sound of hammering and shouted orders filled the air, replacing the usual order and rhythmic clanging of mining.
Amidst the chaos, we found Durin. He stood in what was left of the main courtyard, his face blackened with soot, his once immaculate beard now disheveled and singed. He held a battle axe, his expression promising violence.
"You," his voice rasped like metal scraping stone. His eyes, filled with icy fury, moved over each of us. "Where were you?"
"In Lytheria," I replied, my voice weak before the devastation. "What... what happened here?"
"What happened?" he repeated, a bitter, hollow laugh escaping his lips. "What happened is that, while you were playing politics with elves, your plague came to visit us!"
He pointed his axe at a group of dwarves carrying a body covered by a cloth. One of the dwarves, his face creased with pain, pulled the cloth back for an instant. The corpse was of a young dwarf, his chest pierced by... not by an elven weapon or a clean blade. The wounds were irregular, cruel. And around his neck, a black and sinister mark had been burned into the skin — a symbol I had never seen before, resembling an eye surrounded by tentacles.
"They came at night," Durin continued, his contained fury about to boil over. "They weren't elves. They were humans, some renegade dwarves... mercenaries. But they weren't after gold or ore. They asked for you. For the fragments."
A chill ran down my spine.
"They said... they said they were following the orders of the 'Stormbearer'." Durin spat on the ground. "Sound familiar?"
Stormbearer. The fragments in my backpack vibrated slightly, a whisper of recognition.
"No... we have nothing to do with this," Elara protested, her face pale with horror.
"No?" Durin took a step forward, his presence threatening. "They knew you were here. They knew you had gone to Lytheria. Someone betrayed you. Someone betrayed them." His piercing gaze fixed on me. "And the only outsider who knew of your plans, besides the elves, was that chatty bard of yours!"
Ragnar. The bard who had joined us briefly, who had sold us out to the elves once. We forgave him, fools that we were. He left before we went to Lytheria, saying he had "business" to attend to.
"Where is Ragnar?" my voice came out as a hoarse whisper.
"He's gone!" Durin roared. "Like smoke in the wind. But he left a present for you."
He gestured, and two dwarves brought forward a man severely beaten, but still alive. He was one of the human mercenaries, his face swollen and bleeding. He wore a tattered cloak, and pinned to it, a cheap metal brooch — the same symbol of the eye with tentacles.
"Talk," Durin ordered, kicking the man on his injured side.
The mercenary groaned in pain. "We... we were only following orders... the bard... he paid us... he said the 'Bearer' was gathering the fragments... that it was our chance to take a piece of the power..."
"What bard?" I demanded, grabbing the man by the collar.
"Ragnar... his name was Ragnar... but he worked for... for him..."
"For whom?" Sylva asked, her voice as sharp as a blade.
The mercenary coughed blood. "He never said a name... he only showed us the symbol... the Eye of the Abyss... he said the 'Bearer' was only a pawn... that the true master... the Lord of the Rifts... is coming..."
A deadly silence fell over us. Lord of the Rifts. The Eye of the Abyss. They were only words, but they carried a weight of darkness that made the air grow colder.
The mercenary spat again, his glassy eyes fixed on me. "He... he told me to give you a message, Bearer... 'The board is set. Come and play.'"
Then his body was seized by a violent tremor. White foam poured from his mouth, and he fell to his side, dead. Poison. A hidden capsule.
Durin looked at the corpse, then at us, his rage now contained in a deadly chill.
"Hear me," he said, his voice low and dangerously calm. "Your debt to me is now the least of your concerns. You brought this shadow to my door. To my people's door. You have until dawn to leave my mountains."
He pointed to the ruined gates.
"If I see you again, it doesn't matter the reason, it doesn't matter the excuse... I will kill you. And I will throw your bodies — and those cursed fragments — into the deepest volcano I can find. Understood?"
There was no room for discussion. There was no room for anything except the knot of fear and guilt tightening in my stomach.
We nodded in silence.
We turned our backs on the burning fortress, the wounded dwarves and Durin's murderous stare. We walked toward the dark valley, aimless, burdened by the weight of a double betrayal crushing our shoulders.
Ragnar had betrayed us not only to the elves, but to something much worse. Something that called itself the Lord of the Rifts. Something that saw the fragments — and me, the "Bearer" — as pawns in a much larger game.
The night swallowed us, and the whispers in my mind began again, but this time they were not of temptation. They were of triumph. They finally had a name for their master. And they were eager to bring me to him.