They found themselves in a new and uncharted location on a bridge about half a mile long, with a cliff behind them. Ahead of them was a soaring castle, gray and unsightly, reflecting the melancholic atmosphere of the place. A place that could hardly be distinguished from a chiseled copper engraving. The size was staggering. “Malbork is a mere bedbug by comparison,” Illyseh said.

Hundreds of pointed tracery towers connected by flying buttresses filled their view. On the faceted pyramidal tops sat dozens of wyverns with black-red skin and glowing golden eyes. Another dozen circled along with dark gray tornadoes. On the domed roofs trembled red flags with a black pattern that could barely be seen from afar. Above, below, and to the sides, thick clouds floated through which the sunlight tried to seep. Along their borders flowed water rings filled with white crystals. Their bases were connected to the north and south. “They look like the ones we saw in the temple,” Illyseh said. Ronnie agreed and walked over to the cliff and looked down. He could see nothing. The incredible noise drowned out speech. They could barely hear each other, even when shouting at each other.

There was no point in standing there, so they headed across the bridge, toward the castle, skirting the boulders that had broken away from the walls. Above and below them, a flock of wyverns flew by, making eager squeals and roars. A dragon with red-black spiked scales, four wings, and an inconceivable size landed on the roof of the castle. It stretched its serpentine neck and let out flames as strong as if a volcano had erupted, then flapped its wings and disappeared into an impenetrable gray veil of depressing clouds.

At the gate of the castle, they saw a girl. She was sitting on a chair like a lifeless statue, her head drooping to the side, leaning against the cold stone gate like a pillow. Most of the skin on her face resembled the stone scales of a dragon, but the rest was white, perfect, and smooth. Ronnie looked at her through the eyepiece of the scope and saw magical black bars thrust into her back.

“Whatever happens next, please don’t shoot first, okay?” shouted Illyseh in his ear.

Ronnie put the Barrett on the safety for show.

When they were within ten yards of the girl, they saw her face twitch and her dead eyes come back to life.

“Wait,” he said slower than usual, and blocked the way with his hand. “Let’s see what happens next.”

She struggled to rise from her chair. Her legs seemed thin and frail, her arms pale and weak.

“Is that the same girl as in the picture?” asked Ronnie.

“If only on her worst days.”

The black bars on her back came to life and stretched out. Some of them turned into wings, and some stabbed into her eyes and neck. She sighed in relief, and then uttered: “Astnogrivshen tofrog, nshotre os mo’os lason.” Her voice, clear and distinct, echoed throughout the surroundings.

Ronnie and Illyseh stood waiting. She turned toward them and her feet came off the surface of the bridge, while the wind intensified. The girl swung her hand and black rods burst from her eyes and shackled both guests. The healer felt as if all of his power, both magical and physical, had gone at once. He closed his eyes and tried to summon the orbs. Nothing happened. He tried to check the amount of mana through the HUD. Nothing showed.

“I understand nothing,” he said.

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“Tsehe ge do?” she asked and froze.

“What does she want from us?” Ronnie asked and fidgeted. “How hard can it be for these fucking developers to make everything in one language?”

“We don’t understand you!” shouted Illyseh, with little hope of being heard or understood.

She flew up to them and said: “Nosfestor mo’taka. Mo’os br da al,” and touched the healer’s forehead with fingers as cold as steel. Then she flew up to the sniper and her palm gently travelled from his cheek to his chest. She sighed and returned to the gate. Many wyverns descended on the merlons of the bridge walls, flapping their wings, and froze. The whirlwinds stopped, and the winds calmed. The girl spoke again, but this time Ronnie and Illyseh could understand her speech:

“I am Airemilme. Keeper of the amulet and first ruler of the kingdom of Orodril,” she summoned a chest with a gesture and opened it, and first took out the black cuisses and greaves and put them on, then repeated the process with the gauntlets and continued. “No one has been here for centuries. My consciousness has already begun to decay. Soon, all knowledge will go into oblivion.” She pulled out a pair of blades. “In my lifetime I knew no defeat, and it was not my rule to spare anyone.”

Airemilme pulled a helmet out of the chest, a helmet full of spikes, needles, and rods, with small slits for her eyes. She put it on, and a purple stream of blood ran down her neck and chest. The black bar restraining Ronnie came back to her and jabbed into her back. She wriggled and sighed and said:

“Keeper, you have laid upon yourself the burden of my people and are not afraid to come here, for you believe you are the true one.”

Ronnie looked at Illyseh and grimaced.

“Bosses in games are always hard to understand. Just kill her.”

“Okay,” Ronnie replied, and he took off the safety and turned toward the target and spread his legs shoulder-width apart and took aim and fired.

A twelve calibre spinning bullet flew from the Barrett rifled barrel, came in contact with Airemilme’s helmet, and left a huge hole in her head at the exit, and scraps of brains on the surface of the gate. She fell to her knees, releasing her blades from her hands and plopping down on the ground. Purple arterial blood gushed onto the stone floor, spreading out in a small puddle of blood, flooding the narrow crevices and dimples in rivulets. From somewhere in the depths of the castle, a bell sounded. Matafaire flew in for the fun and began greedily pecking at her naked flesh. Ronnie hung his rifle behind his back and looked at Illyseh and asked:

“How do I get your shackles off?”

“I don’t know. Search the body before it’s eaten. Maybe you’ll find a clue.”

Ronnie took a slow, triumphant step toward Airemilme, glancing behind him. The wyverns on the cogs of the wall froze and did not move. The Matafaire cackled.

“Power... worthy of a keeper...” the girl’s voice echoed throughout the surroundings.

Airemilme’s silhouette rose from the pool of purple blood, and then she stood before Ronnie without a scratch in all her shining armor and turned toward her dead body and sat down beside it and stroked the scavengers, saying: “Eat my darlings, eat.” Then she raised her paired blades and stared at her adversary with grey, empty eyes.

“This is the first time I’ve seen one like you. What race are you, creature?” she asked.

“The worst race,” Ronnie answered in a new language he did not expect to know.

“Of the human race,” added Illyseh.

More Matafaires swirled in the sky. Beyond the clouds, a huge snake-like dragon flew by, casting its long shadow across the battlefield. Ronnie became alert and removed his rifle and shouted to Illyseh, “What the hell is going on here?”

“I’m wondering the same thing myself.”

Ronnie asked Airemilme:

“What’s next?”

“One might be a fluke, two might be luck, and three might be an unconditional win,” she replied. “Three wins in a row.”

Before Ronnie could answer anything, the girl bent at a low start and, in an instant, moved to the sniper’s feet and thrust her sword into his belly. Illyseh gasped in surprise. Ronnie dropped his rifle and grabbed the blade with his hands. Airemilme lifted him effortlessly above her head, then with a light and quick movement drew the blade and sliced the body falling on her into two pieces, his blood washing over her body like long-awaited rain after a drought.

“Fuck,” said the frightened healer, trying to comprehend what had happened and shaking his head in denial.

The wyverns came to life and flew over to their mistress and clawed their teeth into Ronnie’s upper and lower body, biting off a small piece each and flying away. Airemilme turned to Illyseh and said:

“I can’t let accidents get out of here.”