THORVAK

My good old Bran ran like a deer when the hunting horn sounded, when the hounds—if we had any—would have been released on the beast. Of course, we dwarves don’t keep hunting dogs, but a human once told me about noble hunts, and I found the idea amusing at the time.

In reality, Bran isn’t the prey. He’s the mad dog of the pack—the wildest of us all. He ran like a madman the moment an arrow pierced flesh. The sound of pain, of blood spilling—I won’t deny, it almost made my mouth water.

It gets us warmed up for the coming battle, a fight that promises to be epic, dantesque, and deadly!

But it also has the unfortunate effect of making me think too much. That kid—his skull split clean in two by Bran’s axe—what was he doing here? Certainly not picking mushrooms. And even if he was, his family won’t be seeing him again.

— “Fuck, Torlin! That could have been one of ours!” Nimak shouts, his voice raw with anger. He’s new to the scouting party under Torlin’s command.

I don’t like how he’s speaking to his superior, especially when Torlin has been a friend for years.

— “Shut it, Nimak. I saw he was too tall,” she replies bluntly. Straightforward, efficient—that’s Torlin for you.

The others don’t look pleased. Not just my guys, but the royal contingent too.

I make a dramatic gesture. “See, lads? That’s why we don’t dawdle! You act like you don’t want us to kill the damn dragon!”

From the corner of my eye, I see Bran wipe his forehead with the back of his hand, his axe still dripping with the boy’s blood. He’s calmed down—at least outwardly. But that gleam in his eye is still there—the thrill of the fight, the adrenaline rush, the euphoria of cutting something down, even if that something was just a hapless kid. His runes crackle and spark, tiny arcs of energy dancing along his skin.

It only fuels my rage against the pathetic captain leading this contingent. I want to hunt. I also want my runes to pulse with fury!

The captain steps forward with two of his officers, throwing a dark look at Bran.

— “If your idiot cousin hadn’t killed that boy, we might have learned where he came from…” he says acidly.

How dare this dwarf speak that way about my noble-blooded cousin?

It seems like everyone’s looking for a fight today. The only one who hasn’t had a say yet is the dragon—but he’ll be paying the price for all of us soon enough.

— “Blah blah, he’d have just slit his own throat anyway. A kid from the Inquisition wouldn’t let himself be caught like some cave eel,” Bran mocks, showing the insignia skewed into the silk. No time for this nonsense.

It’s always the same with these royal bastards—too busy playing diplomats when we have a fucking dragon to slay. Still, its true Bran should have held back, or at least let the kid suffer a bit before finishing him off, so we could get some answers. But it’s not like I can blame him.

War is war.

— “Alright, are we standing around jerking off, or are we going to kill this dragon before the Inquisition gets here and does it first?”

My voice slams through the camp like a hammer on an anvil, snapping the slackers out of their daze. The captain of the royal contingent clenches his teeth. Not happy, huh? Good. I’m not happy either.

Bran chuckles, his runes still flickering and crackling, filled with energy. A good omen. The air already smells of powder and damp earth, and the tension in the ranks is enough to make me grin.

— “We must proceed methodically,” the royal captain finally says, stiff and cold as an unfinished blade.

That makes me laugh. Methodically? We’re not waltzing with this dragon.

— “Oh yeah? And while we take our sweet time, the Inquisition shows up and sticks its nose where it doesn’t belong? That your plan?”

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The captain doesn’t flinch, but his officers exchange glances. Torlin stands beside me, silent, but I can tell this annoys her too.

Nimak is still fuming over the kid. “Damn it, we could’ve found out if they were already here!” he growls.

I step closer to him, my shadow stretching over him despite my dwarven height. He shuts up immediately.

— “His skull was split in two. You think he was going to sing us a fucking lullaby, Nimak?”

He swallows hard, lowering his gaze. Good. I don’t need to justify myself to him.

But deep down I’m not stupid. I also saw the insigna, the Inquisition. They’re out there.

I can feel it in my bones. Those vultures are never far. If that boy was here, he wasn’t alone.

— “Torlin, any movement ahead?”

She narrows her eyes, listening to the heavy silence of the forest. No wind. No birds. Just our boots pressing into the moss and the breath of my warriors, itching for blood.

Then, in a firm tone, she mutters:

— “Someone’s watching us. We need to regroup fast.”

My jaw tightens. We don’t have time for this bullshit.

Bran senses it too. He grips his weapon tighter, and I see the sparks dance along his rune-etched blade. The best confirmation I could ask for.

— “Go wild, my wolf. Don’t get yourself killed.”

A wicked grin splits my face. Bran’s is even wider. He charges into the forest. Whatever he finds, whatever he does, it’ll be enough to stir the hornet’s nest.

I glance at Torlin. She doesn’t need to say anything—I can see in her eyes she agrees.

— “Bran’s gonna flush them out, huh?” I grunt.

Torlin nods. Nimak, on the other hand, still looks bitter about the boy. If he can’t handle this, maybe he shouldn’t be here, he's getting on my nerves.

Bran vanishes into the misty underbrush, his stocky form disappearing between the trees. He’ll sniff out our enemies, do what he does best—spread chaos and return with blood on his hands.

The captain of the royal contingent steps forward, shoulders squared, his ornate armor gleaming, and gives me a hard look. For once, he doesn’t argue.

— “MOVE! YOU HEARD THORVAK BLOODRUNE!”

The contingent moves at double pace. Back at camp, we’ll have my warriors—over a hundred of them, with Hilda’s group likely arrived by now. There, we can reposition, prepare for a possible battle.

I just hope we don’t wake the beast too soon.

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AMIRAL

I couldn’t have dreamed of anything better. Well, maybe I could have, but at least I finally got to talk to Leia. A little.

That was before those lunatics hurled themselves at my droids, throwing stones against their exoskeletons—droids that emerged functional from an interdimensional crash or whatever caused that black hole to swallow the ship, or a part of the Colossus, without annihilating us completely.

It remains a deep mystery, an absurd question that lingers in my mind when I set aside all the other problems—the consequences of my bad decisions, of my misfortunes. How could I have predicted that Leia would act this way?! No, I was just foolish. I should never have given these humans a chance. I should have considered them as mere variables, risky uncertainties to be eliminated—or at the very least, controlled with absolute precision.

A well of information—that's what they are. So why did I dive headfirst into it? Learning their language? Their magic? Nonsense. A few implants in their brains, a handful of forced trials and interactions, and I could have extracted everything I needed.

But maybe not everything. Maybe not the sight of living skin, lips moving, a beating heart. Maybe not the unique contact one has with another life form—one so eerily similar to mine despite their small differences, the rougher skin textures, the varied proportions, and the pointed ears that some of them bear.

I realized, during my brief escape—the sprint that led me straight back to the cave entrance—that I have been alone for a long time. Even before the crash. And that almost brought a tear to my eye. Even now, lying on the grassy ground, my face pressed into the dirt, I hold back tears. But not for the same reason.

The droids finish hauling everyone out. Here, I don’t know why precisely, nor what Leia is planning—for them, for me. But I spoke to her! Yes, I got information… vital information. More important than any fleeting human warmth, than the satisfaction of a fragile heart. Maybe everything would have gone better if I were a program—cold and logical like Leia—if I hadn’t been weak…

Again, I feel like I’m trying to justify my bad decisions—my hesitation at times. But it’s also the thrill of excitement making my thoughts spin a hundred miles per hour, the questions, the hopes, the countless uncertainties.

Leia’s message rattled my brain.

— “Leia! Do you hear me?! Update me on your status! On the requested tasks! We need to restore communications immediately!”

I barely had time to demand this, while my captives still struggled to break through the wall of robots, while one of them dragged me further up the pass.

— “Admiral. Acknowledged. Severe bugs due to computational losses—working on maintenance and capacity reinforcement. Cryopod…” Yes, that moment. It keeps playing in my mind.

— “Cryopods intact. High probability of survival. Calculations currently impossible. As per your prior requests, contact will remain severed.”

And that was another blow.

Yes, I yelled at her earlier—when she was sending glitched messages into my head—to remove the implant, to shut up. Who wouldn’t, after hearing themselves scream something like ‘Plumbing services not working’? I don’t even remember what she actually said, but it was something just as absurd.

But now, when I explicitly order her to restore communications, she refuses?

I can’t quite bring myself to be angry at her yet—the news about the cryopods is far too exhilarating, far too motivating. More than anything since I fell into this… this low world.

This strange dimension. This vast unknown that keeps me captive among its debris.

So yes, I nearly cry.

Because I am so damn happy.