The forest at night was a different world. Every sound was amplified — the rustle of a leaf, the distant hoot of an owl, the creak of a branch. Our shadows, cast by the faint moonlight, danced like specters around us. The euphoria of victory over Kaelen had evaporated, replaced by a cold that went beyond the night wind. Ragnar's betrayal and the threat of the "Lord of the Rifts" hung over us like a toxic fog.
We didn't dare light a fire. We crouched in a small, rocky clearing, eating cold, bitter rations that Sylva had pulled from her bag. The silence between us was thick, broken only by the occasional groans from my wounds as I changed the makeshift bandages.
Elara sat beside me, her hands trembling slightly as she applied an herbal ointment to a deeper cut on my arm. "This will get infected if we don't take care of it properly," she whispered, her voice heavy with concern.
"It's the least of our problems," I replied, trying to push away the image of the dead dwarf and the symbol of the Eye of the Abyss burned into his skin.
Across the clearing, Vespera watched us. Since the kiss at the festival, a palpable awkwardness had hung between us. Now, her gaze was different — no longer teasing or embarrassed, but calculating. She stood and came toward us, ignoring Elara's furious glare.
"We need to talk, Takumi," she said, her voice unusually serious. "Not about... well, you know. About this." She pointed to my backpack, where the fragments rested. "They're quieter, but... it's the quiet of waiting. They know something's coming. And this so-called Lord of the Rifts... Takumi, this is big. Bigger than quarreling elves or angry dwarves."
"What are you suggesting?" I asked cautiously.
"That maybe... maybe we can't keep running forever. Ragnar betrayed us because someone with more power bought him. If this Lord of the Rifts is after the fragments, he won't stop. He knows we're weakened, hunted, without allies." She glanced at Sylva and Gorr, who were keeping watch on the edge of the clearing. "They're good, but they're not an army."
Liriel, who had been pretending to sleep against a tree, opened one eye. "The succubus is finally using her brain instead of other... attributes. It's disturbingly perceptive."
"Thanks, I guess," Vespera rolled her eyes. "The point is: we're cornered. The only way out is through. We need to find out who this Lord of the Rifts is. And for that, we need information. And power."
"And where exactly would we find that?" Elara asked, her voice icy. "Going back to Lytheria is suicide. Kharzag is closed to us. Vaelor is full of 'wanted' posters with our faces on them."
That's when Sylva joined the conversation, her silhouette emerging from the shadows. "There is a place," she said, her voice low. "A place neither elves nor dwarves dare to go. A place where forbidden knowledge and lost artifacts are kept. Or at least, were."
"Azeron's Laboratory," Gorr finished, his growl carrying deep reluctance. "The Fortress of Clouds."
The name echoed through the clearing, laden with dark legends. Azeron, the Mad Archmage. It was said that he had tried to unravel the secrets of creation itself, fusing magic and technology in a way that disturbed the very gods. His fortress, a floating castle trapped among the clouds in the Wind's Cry Mountains, was a place of nightmares and wonders equally deadly.
"That's insane," Elara protested. "Azeron vanished centuries ago. They say the place is a maze of demented traps, guarded by deranged constructs and... other things."
"Exactly," Sylva said. "No one would look for us there. And if there are any records about the fragments, the Eye of the Abyss, or this Lord of the Rifts, that's where they'll be. Azeron was obsessed with primordial power. He surely studied artifacts like yours."
"And how exactly do we reach a floating fortress?" I asked, logic already sounding like a joke.
"Gorr grumbled, "There is a teleporter. Hidden on the Peak of the Lone Eagle. Azeron used it to come and go. They say it still works. If we can get it activated."
"And what stops us from being torn to pieces, electrocuted, or turned into frogs during the teleport?" Liriel asked, now genuinely interested.
"Absolutely nothing," Sylva replied, dryly. "It's a risk. But it's a calculated risk, compared to being disemboweled by elves, crushed by dwarves, or captured by a cult of lunatics who worship a 'Lord of the Rifts.'"
The choice was between known horrible deaths and an unknown horrible death. It wasn't exactly a choice.
It was then that the fragments in my backpack reacted. Not with whispers, but with a tug. A sharp, stabbing pain behind my eyes, followed by a fleeting vision: a circular chamber full of spinning gears and gleaming glass, an empty throne made of the bones of unknown creatures and, hovering above it, a symbol — the Eye of the Abyss.
I fell to my knees, choking.
"Takumi!" Elara cried, holding me.
"The fragments… they… they showed me," I gasped, sweating. "They show the fortress. And the symbol… it's there."
A heavy silence fell over the group. The confirmation was terrifying. The Lord of the Rifts, whoever he was, had a connection to the Fortress of Clouds. Going there was no longer just a desperate option; it was a trap we were voluntarily accepting.
"Then it's decided," Vespera said, her voice determined. "We go there. We face this so-called Lord on his own turf."
"That's what he wants," Elara argued, her face pale. "He's luring us there!"
"And what's the alternative?" I asked, rising with difficulty. The vision had solidified my decision. The fear of the unknown was better than the certainty of being hunted. "Run until we are cornered and killed? Hand the fragments over to Kaelen or to that cult? No. If there are answers in the Fortress of Clouds, then that's where we go."
Liriel studied my face for a long moment. "The determination of a mortal about to make a catastrophic mistake," she murmured. "Very well. A goddess does not flee a challenge, no matter how stupidly suicidal it is."
Sylva and Gorr exchanged glances. "The teleporter on the Peak of the Lone Eagle," Sylva said. "It's a two-day climb. And it won't be easy. The slopes are guarded by Storm Griffins."
"Griffins!" Vespera exclaimed, her eyes shining. "Now that sounds like an adventure!"
As we prepared for another night of watchfulness and discomfort, Elara pulled me aside, away from the others.
"Takumi, please," she begged, her hands holding mine. "This is madness. The Fortress of Clouds… the stories… people don't come back from there. I… I can't lose you."
Her look was filled with a genuine terror that had nothing to do with magic or monsters. It was a simple, devastating human fear.
"Elara…" I began, but the words failed. What could I say? That everything would be fine? It was the most obvious lie in the world.
That was when Vespera appeared again, her presence breaking the moment. She looked at our clasped hands, and a flash of something — jealousy, pain, resignation — crossed her eyes before being replaced by her usual mask of nonchalance.
"The watchers are positioned," she announced. "Gorr says he smells a storm coming. We'd better hurry if we want to reach the peak before the weather turns."
She turned to leave, but stopped and looked back at me.
"Choose wisely, Takumi," she said, her voice soft but carrying an underlying seriousness. "Some doors, once opened, cannot be closed."
She disappeared into the trees, leaving Elara and me alone in the dark, the enormity of our decision crushing us. The path ahead led to the sky, to a fortress of nightmares and to the secrets of an enemy we did not even know. And deep down, I knew Vespera was right. No matter which path we chose, we had already opened a door that would change everything forever.