We returned to the hideout, boots dragging on the tunnel floor.
"You two wait here," I told Laboritus and Alythiel, their silhouettes framed by the desert dusk.
Torglel and I ventured deeper. The air hung heavy—thick with ash, blood, and silence. The kind of silence that knows it's too late.
Debris littered the floor. Shattered stone. Splintered wood. Chairs smashed to kindling. Tables cracked in two.
Lifeless bodies sprawled across the stone. Blood pooled beneath glassy eyes frozen in shock.
"They hit us while we were away," Torglel said quietly, hands tightening on his hammer.
And then I saw him—
Arcainius, crumpled where he'd fallen, his cloak dark with blood.
He didn't move. The crimson kept spreading, slow as spilled wine.
I dropped to my knees beside him. At first, I tried to see something else—a shadow, a wound that could be mended, a trick of the light. But his eyes found mine.
The truth cut through any hope I had left. His wounds gaped in the shadows—jagged cuts, deep and lethal.
"Telgarani betrayed us," he rasped, breath shallow. "He let them in. Ran me through."
"Who are they?" I asked, voice sharp.
"Nox Arcanus," he whispered.
The last words thudded—a pulse. Not dramatic. Simply final.
For a moment, I just knelt there, watching the light go out of his eyes. The world shrank to that single, final breath. His chest stilled, light gone from his eyes. His legacy ended.
The world felt unreal.
Telgarani? That cold, calculating bastard—sure. But a traitor?
It hit lower than rage—somewhere between betrayal and pity. The kind of wound you don't bleed from. Just carry.
Nox Arcanus. A name I would come to wish I'd never heard.
I stood slowly, knuckles white around the hilts of my blades.
"I know Telgarani was strict," I said, staring into the wreckage, "but I never thought he'd sell us out."
Torglel didn't answer. He just shook his head. Grim. Pale beneath the beard.
I rested a hand on his shoulder.
"It's time we found out what the Drydalis, or Nox Arcanus, is really planning."
We searched the ruined hideout for supplies.
Not much remained. A few bent knives. A cracked shield. A pouch of runes half-buried in rubble.
Then we stepped back into the wind and rejoined the others. I told them everything.
When I finished, Alythiel said nothing. She just closed her eyes for a moment—shoulders tight, jaw locked—then opened them again, steady as ever.
Laboritus's expression didn't change, but his fingers tightened on his bow. His silence spoke more than words.
"What's our next move?" he asked.
"I need to see if Tolgarn knows anything. About my people. About what they're trying to do."
The Shadow Hand was nearly gone.
I'd wanted to learn where I came from. Who I was.
But now, I regretted ever chasing that truth.
Still... Desperation makes fools of kings.
We traveled toward Thoringard beneath a burning sunset. The mountains rose before us, painted in hues of flame and shadow.
The ancient gate towered—scarred by time, weathered by history. I used to feel at home here. Now, it felt hollow.
"I'll wait out here," Laboritus said as we approached. "Thuumar and tight halls don't mix."
Inside the city, our footsteps echoed in the quiet.
Blacksmiths worked in the distance. Muted voices drifted from stone-hewn homes.
Eventually, we reached the obsidian palace at the city's heart.
Alythiel gasped softly.
The palace gleamed like liquid night—torchlight dancing across gold inlays and towering stone walls carved with stories of Dwarven glory.
The entrance hall was lined with columns—each etched with the faces of Thoringard's long-gone kings.
Their stone eyes stared down, proud and severe, their features carved with the kind of unyielding authority that outlasts flesh.
The marble beneath our boots clicked with every step.
We passed ancient tapestries and carved reliefs of long-forgotten battles. History layered thick on every wall—heroes, legends, all etched in stone and thread.
I searched for a glimpse of my people. Found nothing.
It was as if the Drydalis had been erased from memory.
Finally, we reached the throne room. The crowd packed in shoulder-to-shoulder, murmuring with barely-contained fear.
At the center—raised above the restless crowd, framed by torchlight and shadow—stood King Tolgarn.
Iron-backed and broad-shouldered, he looked as if he'd been carved from the very stone of Thoringard itself. A cloak of midnight blue swept behind him, gilded with the Emberforge crest. The air seemed to press down around him, the murmurs dying to a hush beneath the gravity of his presence.
He surveyed the hall with eyes like molten steel.
When he spoke, his voice rang out—clear and cold, striking the chamber like the toll of a warhammer.
"The rumors are true," he said, "but be not afraid. Thoringard stands strong as it has for centuries. The assassins failed. Thalina and Volstruum Valley endured—and we will too. If they can't take those cities, they won't take our mountain."
Hope stirred. But doubt still clung like smoke in the rafters.
"Let's go," I said. We pushed through the crowd until we reached the king's side.
Torglel stepped forward, voice bellowing like a drum.
"We stopped the assassination. We helped Thalina and Volstruum Valley fight back."
He paused.
"And if they come here—we'll fight again. And we will win. Every. Single. Time."
The hall erupted. Cheers thundered through the marble. That day, Torglel gave them something they'd lost: belief.
Tolgarn turned, smiling faintly. "You always did arrive at the edge of a cliff, didn't you, son?"
"Can we speak somewhere private?" Torglel asked, voice lower now.
Tolgarn nodded and led us through winding corridors into a vaulted chamber filled with books.
His personal study.
Shelves stretched to the ceiling. Tomes packed tight like secrets. The air smelled of old ink and older memories.
This silence was different. Not hollow. Reverent.
"I'm guessing this isn't a visit to reminisce," Tolgarn said. "Tell me everything."
So I did.
The ambushes. The betrayals. The deaths. The whispers in dreams. And the name Arcainius died for: Nox Arcanus.
There were no signs. No hesitation. No bitter glances. Just Telgarani, cold and constant—until the knife was already in.
When I finished, Tolgarn looked older. Dimmed.
"I feared this day would come," he said quietly. "Ask your questions."
"What does Nox Arcanus want?"
"I don't know for certain." He rubbed his jaw. "But these attacks? They're just noise. There's something deeper beneath it."
I nodded.
Then asked the question I'd never had the courage to voice.
"What do you know of my people?"
Tolgarn's eyes went distant.
"The Drydalis were once a wise, peaceful people. But Zolphan rose from within them. He crushed dissent, sparked a civil war, and ruled the ashes that remained. When it ended, the land screamed for decades. Magic warped. Names were erased from the world—not by time, but by force."
His voice hardened.
"Then they vanished. Most think they never existed at all."
"And me?"
He paused.
"We found you alone. A baby wrapped in silence, like even the wind didn't want to touch you."
He reached into his robe. Pulled out something old and frayed.
"There was... a note."
He handed it to me. I took it with shaking hands.
Seek Petrus in the Adrasteia Forest if you want to learn about secrets long buried—of power, and betrayal, and blood.
My chest tightened.
This was it. My past, staring back at me in ink and mystery.
"Who is Petrus?"
"I don't know," Tolgarn said. "But if you want answers, you'll have to find him."
Alythiel's eyes flicked to me. "It was named once, in a scroll my father kept under lock and seal. He called it a myth. But myths do not echo like that—not unless they are waiting."
He studied me—eyes lined with years, but sharp still.
"The path ahead is dangerous. But you're not alone. Trust yourself. Trust your strength. And remember—your testament is only just beginning."
I folded the note. Slipped it away. And stood.
The weight of fate settled like armor. But so did something else:
Resolve.
We left the study in silence.
Outside, the world hadn't waited. The sky was darker now. The wind colder.
My past was a locked door. My future? The key.
And so we began our journey to the Adrasteia Forest—
Where truth, destiny, and danger waited like old friends in the dark. Good. I thrive in the dark.