ADMIRAL
The dwarves have been waiting a long time in their provisional camp, set on the edge of the dragon's clearing. The fire they lit remains discreet, a faint flicker among the imposing shadows of the forest. The trees here are unlike anything I’ve known—or rather, seen in images. For the first time, here , I have seen real trees up close. I've always been on a spaceship or station until now ; and trees were a rarity. Those things are fascinating, in the fleeting moments I allow myself to reflect on it.
The one I guessed to be their leader sits on a rock, carved by the roots of a tree that shattered it. My droids are hidden, clad in camouflaging suits that give them a "chameleon" effect, making them almost impossible to spot. Among the small creatures, some sharpen their weapons while others prepare defenses by tracing patterns into the dirt around their camp. They argue, their voices low, as if warding off an invisible threat. Their language is strange, harsh, and far from pleasant.
Eventually, they make a decision. They will protect the dragon—for now, at least they do not seem immediately hostile. I'd rather they do not wake it anytime soon. The leader, whom I’ve been observing, takes his time. He’s not one to rush. He measures, evaluates. Clearly, the false tracks have managed to sow confusion.
I can’t help but admire them a little, despite the situation. These warriors seem unafraid of the dragon; its presence doesn’t disturb them. For me, even seeing it through the droids is enough to unsettle me. That thing has a thermal signature surpassing that of ancient nuclear reactors. It’s terrifying that such a being, alive no less, even exists.
When their group finally moves, I feel a wave of relief mixed with apprehension. They follow the tracks my droids left—simulated footprints made with scraps of synthetic leather likely scavenged from seats, broken branches, and furrows in the ground. It’s working. They’re taking the bait and moving slowly in the direction I’ve indicated: toward the humans.
Through the VR feed, I watch them. I feel so detached from all of this—like a conductor, seeing and directing, but unseen by those I guide. No, that’s a poor analogy. A conductor must be seen by the musicians. I’m more like a puppeteer, pulling strings without fully knowing what’s moving at the other end.
A few kilometers away, the humans continue their march south. The contrast is stark. Where the dwarves advance as a tightly knit pack, the humans move in orderly columns. Their scouts scan the woods carefully, but their fatigue is apparent. They’ve been walking for hours, and earlier they faced that monstrous colossus.
I switch between feeds, observing the two groups converging. The trap is working. The dwarves suspect nothing of the fake human tracks, and the humans remain oblivious to the stout warriors heading their way. I smile faintly, satisfied, though a shadow of doubt lingers. I have no control over what will happen when they meet. Their mutual distrust might spark conflict, or they might find common ground. I have no way of knowing.
The transporter droids continue moving the reactor. The constant hum of their engines serves as a brutal reminder: I can’t afford to waste time. The reactor—my ticket to survival—must reach the karst peaks before either group discovers me. I can’t dwell on what the dwarves and humans will do. My objective is clear: buy time.
Leaning against the metallic wall of my rickety cabin, I keep my eyes on the feeds through my goggles. I murmur to myself, "Come on, play your parts well. Let this meeting make enough noise to keep their attention..." A darker thought crosses my mind: what if it’s not enough? What if one of the groups finds me anyway? My jaw tightens. For now, all I can do is watch and hope what I’ve set in motion holds long enough.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
My smile fades. I know everything could change in an instant.
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ALBION (Human)
12:42 PM – The column moves slowly through this desolate landscape, and my thoughts wander as much as my eyes. My stomach growls, and not just from hunger. Between the adrenaline of battle and Lyrel’s presence beside me, everything feels heightened. Ever since we faced the troll, our conversations have flowed more naturally. She has a laugh that lingers in my mind, and I fully intend to take advantage of that. Maybe I’ll ask where she stays in Benamire—if we survive this.
The break was brief, just enough to bandage wounds and catch our breath. The poor elf still complains about her headache, but after taking some herbs, she’s back to her usual spirited self. Now we’re moving again, and according to the scouts, we’re nearing the outskirts of the draconic crater. The weight of that idea bears down on everyone, but my attention is elsewhere, drawn to what surrounds us.
These ruins... It’s obvious they aren’t the dragon’s work. Not these massive debris, not the strange metallic remnants I occasionally glimpse between the piles of rubble. Some structures almost resemble creatures—legs, torsos, humanoid forms twisted by the impact of their fall. As if these things were once meant to move, to live, before ending up here, dead and frozen in chaos.
Metal creatures? No, that’s too absurd. Fiction. A metallic race falling from the sky? And yet, there are these capsules... I noticed them earlier, scattered everywhere. Thousands. They look like sarcophagi, but their material glows faintly in the light. They give off an odd feeling—what could be inside? Every time I approach one out of curiosity, a sharp voice from the Inquisition snaps me back.
"Touch nothing," growls one of the inquisitorial soldiers, his face stern.
Seriously, what’s their problem? They treat us like unruly children in a forbidden sanctuary. Kael and his lackeys keep everything under their control, imposing their authority without the slightest respect. King Aldrik might be powerful, but the Inquisition acts like they’ve already annexed this zone. That fool commander, Sir Eldan, does nothing to oppose them. I’ve heard some direct complain, only for him to shrug: "The king told us to deal with the dragon. The rest, we’ll handle later."
I grit my teeth. This field of ruins, these capsules, these dead metallic creatures... They hold answers—clues that could change our understanding of what happened. And more importantly, they hold the promise of wealth. Selling trinkets and broken artifacts to the highest bidder would make a fortune. But these vultures forbid us from going near. They’d rather keep everything for themselves.
Lyrel notices my irritation and nudges me lightly.
"Let them growl, Albion. Their little power only lasts as long as we stay in their ranks. Maybe we can return here—quietly. Who knows what we might find?"
I glance at her in surprise, then smirk. This elf is insane—she just got her head nearly smashed in by the finger of a troll, and she’s already itching for more adventure! I might just add her in our group right now.
"And you’d come with me, wouldn’t you?"
She rolls her eyes, but I catch a glimmer of amusement. My charm worked.
The scouts report increasingly clear signs. Massive tracks, as if a giant creature dragged its weight along the ground. Deep claw marks etched into the rock. And the smell... A mix of ash, sulfur, and something more primal.
The dragon is close.
Despite the fascinating ruins behind us, a creeping fear rises within me. This is no longer a troll or shards of metal. This is a living force—a legendary being capable of wiping out an entire army with a single breath.
The forest shifts again, coming alive as if trying to erase the chaos left behind. The towering trees form a natural cathedral around us, the air growing thicker, almost sacred. It’s more likely the collective pressure and stress that makes it feel like we’re holding our breath. The transition is as abrupt as what we faced further north when stepping into the ruined zone. It’s clear now: we’re entering the beast’s lair.
And then, it happens. Not the beast we expect, but another kind. Three silhouettes emerge from the shadows ahead of the column, solid ghosts stepping into the light. They aren’t human. My eyes widen, and my heart clenches.
"Damn... dwarves," I whisper to Lyrel.