CHAPTER 43: WHAT ENERGY?
ALBION
The man looks at me bemused; I see his lips slightly twist. He seems thoughtful for a moment, then makes a gesture and speaks for the first time. He hesitates, almost as if searching for his own name, unsure whether he should say it.
“Admiral,” he pronounces. His name is strange, starting with the same sound as mine, but the rest means nothing to me.
I glance at my companions, fellow adventurers, who are already beginning to relax. I point at the man.
— “My friends, this guy, Admiral, just saved me from getting hit by those damn Bavils.”
— “He doesn’t seem hostile,” Salina adds, catching on immediately to where I’m headed.
This guy might not look like much, but he surely knows more than we do. Maybe he’s been here longer? Maybe he can help us escape, distract the statues. I glance back at them—their eerie silhouettes cut from unnervingly smooth metal, their shadows stretching across the cave despite the strange lamps that light the room.
It must be daylight outside, and I wonder what fate awaits us—time pass. The stench is unbearable: sweat, piss pooling in a corner. For now, everyone’s holding back from shitting. There aren’t even latrines, nothing remotely decent. We’re being treated like animals!
Some have tried speaking to these things again, pleading to get us out of this miserable hole. The Bavils only respond by shoving or threatening to hit them. There’s nothing we can do—we’re powerless, stripped of our weapons, and the three mages, including Groboln, don’t dare attempt any spells. We’re in a cave—the risk of collapse, lack of oxygen, and side effects in such a cramped space are too high. We’ve discussed it before: stay as far from the golems as possible for now—spells are too dangerous if we don't plan it.
Lyrel’s eyes are strained from staring at the lights, trying to figure out how they work, what makes them glow—their energy—but she can’t find the source. Her left ear twitches slightly as I approach her, stumbling over the damn moss.
— “Albion.”
— “Tell me?”
— “I don’t understand any of this—why are we here? Why lock us up? Why are they here?! Look at this light.” She sounds defeated and exhausted, and we all feel the same. I have no answers to offer. Despite that, she’s still as beautiful as when I first met her in the woods. Before we saw that damned mutant troll, those dwarves…
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I place a comforting hand on her shoulder. I sigh and stay silent for a moment, then step closer to the light.
— “They’ve intrigued me too. No magic, no oil. Just these strange tubes?”
She turns, her clear, slightly gray eyes locking onto mine, her pupils fully contracted from staring at the light for too long.
— “We can’t stay here much longer, Albion…”
I sigh again.
— “Yeah… what do you want to do? Smash all the lamps? Use the darkness to cast spells? Sneak between them? What if they can see in the dark?”
Our conversation goes in circles, and we quickly tire of it. We’re not at the point of absolute urgency yet. But she’s right—what if they just leave us to starve, living in our own filth? I can already smell the acrid piss a few meters away. One of the guys adds his to the corner, unable to hold it any longer. Soon, the moss will absorb everything, and we won’t be able to walk without stepping in it.
It disgusts me. It enrages me. I’d rather die than be treated like this.
I hear voices—Groboln is laughing. The absurdity of the situation almost makes me smile, quickly wiped away.
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ADMIRAL
Two men and a woman approached me after Albion introduced himself. He briefly tried to talk to me, but seeing my confusion, he turned away, thoughtful. I heard him repeat “Admiral” several times, a name so foreign to him—more than he realizes. I hesitated to give him my real name, maybe it would have sounded even stranger. No, Admiral suits me fine—even if I no longer have a ship…
I still haven’t had a chance to speak with Leia! Instantly, other curious ones approached me; one of them, an old, wiry man in a sort of robe, speaks words I don’t understand. We try to communicate with gestures. He points to the ceiling and says, “cave roof,” then gestures to himself: “Groboln.” He has a peculiar way of pronouncing things—his language is very tonal, sometimes even guttural.
I try repeating the words he gives me. It’s easier than I expected. Leia helps a lot, giving me real-time tips on where to place my tongue, repeating the words with the man’s intonation so I can absorb them. The old man looks surprised and amused by my attempts, and so do the others around us. I catch him casting a mischievous glance at a younger woman before turning back to me.
He adjusts the moss under his butt, then signals me to come closer. He snaps his fingers. A flame, small but vivid, appears! I instinctively recoil—is this magic?! He bursts out laughing at my surprise. How isn’t he burning himself? What fuels that flame?
I’m astonished. There has to be an energy source, some combustion—something that powers that little flame. I point at his fingertips, which show no signs of charring despite the heat, and make an expression of astonishment, surprised.
— “Magic,” he says simply, winking.
So that’s what they call it.
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ALBION
As usual, the old man finds a way to amuse himself, no matter the situation. What a rogue.
— “Put out that flame before you suffocate us…”
Already, plans race through my mind—combustion, explosion. Maybe something to do with the moss. Dixtra and Sergo could easily join Groboln for that…
“Admiral” seems shocked by the magic—more than shocked, utterly amazed and captivated. When Groboln extinguishes the small flame, he touches the old man’s fingers, almost to see if any residual heat or magic lingers.
This poor guy must really come from the deepest parts of the forest to have never seen fire magic before.