The first traces of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow on Nord's face as she lay in bed, snoring softly. Baal watched her from across the room, a smile tugging at his lips. He wished he could record the sound just to prove to her that she was indeed a snorer—a fact she has always vehemently denied.
Baal tiptoed, approaching the bed with the grace of a shadow. He sat beside her, gently sweeping a strand of hair from her forehead and tucking it behind her ear. She stirred, her eyes blinking open, hazy with sleep.
"No bucket today?" she murmured, referring to the last time he woke her up with a splash of cold water.
"No, I forgot. But I can go get it if you want," he replied, grinning.
"No, it's too cold. This is fine," Nord mumbled, closing her eyes again.
"I sent the raven," he said, watching her closely.
Her eyes snapped open, and she sat up short. "You did?"
"Yes, I told you I would," he confirmed.
Suddenly, Nord threw her arms around him in an uncharacteristic display of affection. He was taken aback; ever since the Initiation, without her memories, she'd been distant, maintaining a cool detachment—unless he was bleeding out, on the brink of death.
But now, she was embracing him like before. His arms closed around her by instinct, his nose nestling against her neck. He breathed in her morning scent, a mixture of sleep and serenity that he missed too much. In that instant, everything felt perfect, as if nothing had happened, nothing had changed.
However, the moment was tinged with a bittersweet undercurrent. Baal knew what she expected the raven's message to convey, and it was not what he had sent. His chest tightened at the thought, a shadow passing through his mind.
But as he had told Merlin earlier, he would rather endure her hatred than see her in danger. And so, as the room lightened with the advancing dawn, Baal held her tightly as if he could protect her from all the unseen hazards lurking around.
"Enough, now. Get up; we're going to train. You have five minutes," he announced, letting go of her embrace before standing up and leaving the room.
Soon, they were darting through the woods, the morning air crisp and invigorating. They circled around Tear Lake, Nord pulling ahead with a burst of speed that surprised even Baal. When they finally paused to catch their breaths, she taunted him, "You're slow today!"
"I’m not slow! You are fast … just need to… try…catching my breath," Baal retorted as he crouched down, his hands resting on his knees. When he looked up, his heart skipped a beat. Nord was standing perilously close to the edge of the frozen lake. "Morningstar! What are you doing?" he shouted, panic tingeing his voice.
"The lake is frozen," she replied, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she stepped onto the ice and began to glide.
"Nord, come back. It might not be completely frozen," Baal warned as he stood up, approaching the edge cautiously with his hand outstretched.
She turned and beamed at him, still twirling gracefully on the ice. "Come on, it's fun!"
"I don't like this, Nord. Come back now!"
"Catch me!" she called, laughter in her voice as she picked up speed, gliding further away from him.
Finally, she stopped, looking back at Baal, who remained gripping the edge. "Come on, it's fun. I've got you!"
With a reluctant sigh, Baal stepped onto the ice, struggling to maintain his balance. "This is such a bad idea."
Nord skated toward him, circling him with an effortless grace that made him feel like a lumbering beast in comparison. "You got this!"
Gradually, her laughter and her presence bolstered his confidence, and as she glided backwards, she guided him, helping him get the hang of it, step by sliding step. The ice held, and for a few minutes, their worries were left behind on the shore.
With each new stride, Baal felt less like a demon burdened with dark choices and more like a man—perhaps a foolhardy one—enjoying a stolen moment of joy.
Their laughter filled the air, a rare carefree sound that melded with the morning stillness. As they skated, they avoided saying anything that might break the spell, as if speaking their fears would give them form.
Then came the faint crack—a sound nearly swallowed by their laughter and the soft scrape of boot soles on ice. Neither of them noticed it; it was subtle, a soft splintering noise emanating from a weak point hidden beneath the frosty surface.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Baal was finally getting the hang of it, mimicking Nord's graceful twirls with less finesse but equal enthusiasm. He glanced at her, captivated by how the morning light played on her features, making her seem almost like a winter nymph.
They finally returned as another day was started, leaving behind a crack willing to expand, shooting out like a spiderweb from its hidden point, just waiting for the right moment.
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Dumdum reined in his woolly pony, pulling to a stop in the muddy streets of Cooperstead. His legs had gone numb hours ago, and his back felt like it had been trampled by a herd of wildebeests. His mission—to reach Ravendrift before the undead hoard—loomed in his mind like an unscalable mountain. But damn it, he had to do something!
Eying the weathered sign of an inn, he dismounted. The time for heroics was now. Well, after a quick meal and some fresh lemonade, of course. A hero couldn't function on an empty stomach and dry lips.
Dumdum nudged the door open and shuffled inside. The atmosphere was a mixture of stale beer, sweat, and grease, underpinned by the distant aroma of cooking meat and dust from the mines. He spotted an empty table and claimed it, his short goblin legs swinging freely from the tall chair.
A young waitress sauntered over, her nose wrinkling as though she'd stepped in something foul. "What'll it be, Greenie?"
This was not new for Dumdum. People treated him like yesterday's trash despite the fact that he'd seen humans far uglier than himself. All he had was just a tiny bit of a large nose and a set of crooked teeth. But behind those teeth was a green heart of gold. Too bad nobody cared to find that out.
"Uh, something quick and a lemonade, please," Dumdum replied, forcing a smile.
"Lemonade?" she scoffed, eyeing him as if he were a misplaced child. "What, you think this is some kind of daycare? We serve beer and ale here, pal. Make a choice."
"Oh, well…water then?" Dumdum's fingers twitched nervously, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.
With a roll of her eyes and an audible click of her tongue, the waitress turned on her heels and walked away. Dumdum sighed, feeling diminutive in a room where even the chairs seemed too large for him.
His pointy ears pricked up when he caught wind of a conversation between a burly human and a Hobruin, a creature with the bulk of a bear but the intellect of a scholar.
"I'm telling you, it was moving!" the human insisted, his eyes glassy but earnest, "I never saw something like that!"
"You've got to lay off the spirits while on duty, Al," the Hobruin retorted, clearly unimpressed, "I mean, think of your daughters. You need to get it right, Al!"
"But I saw it moving! I did!"
"Al, you've had too much. Towers don't just get up and stroll around."
"I saw it with my own two eyes! Eyes that'll be worm food someday!"
Dumdum's ears perked up. Towers that moved? Could it be a lead? Could this be a clue about the undead hoard? Of course not. What could a tower do against a horde of undead? Nothing!
He needed to focus. He needed to eat and drink. Even potential heroes needed sustenance. And then, Ravendrift. One step at a time, he reminded himself. One step at a time.
The air outside the inn was cool, tinged with the scent of impending rain. Dumdum settled into the saddle, his legs still tingling but notably more alive than before. A hunk of bread and a bowl of greasy stew could do wonders, he thought, patting his pony's mane affectionately.
But as he urged the pony into a trot, the weight of his mission settled back on his shoulders. The royal court had already dismissed his warnings about the approaching undead horde, a decision that puzzled and infuriated him. What politics could possibly be worth more than the lives and safety of Ravendrift's people?
His thoughts tangled like weeds. Dumdum might not have been a scholar, or a philosopher, or even particularly savvy in the ways of human governance, but he understood the value of life—whether it belonged to a human, a Hobruin, or a Nixbob. Or someone with hooves, horns, wings or... Even if that life had green skin and a big nose.
Jostled from his thoughts, he glanced down at the trail that lay ahead, winding its way through rolling fields and over hills. He nudged his pony into a quicker pace, urging the small creature as fast as its stubby legs would allow.
He knew they were at a disadvantage, his pony and him. Short legs were not made for the sprinting needed to outpace an entire army of the undead. But what they lacked in speed, they made up for in tenacity and heart. The pair pushed on, hooves pounding against the muddy path, the wind whistling past Dumdum's ears.
Dumdum's eyes followed the gleaming train rails that stretched out ahead of him, an unbroken line from Cooperstead to Legward. Just then, the roar of a steam engine filled the air, reverberating through the very marrow of his bones. A steam train blasted past him in a flash, its speed a reminder of how agonizingly slow his own journey was.
He pulled his pony to a stop, staring at the receding tail lights of the train. It was like watching his hopes of reaching Ravendrift fade into the horizon. He felt foolish, naive even, for thinking he could be the hero Ravendrift needed.
His pony, too, seemed to sag beneath him, as if the weight of their failure was too much for even the plucky little creature. They both meandered at a lethargic pace beside the rails, every clattering hoof-beat echoing Dumdum's plummeting spirits.
That was when the ground shook.
It was a low rumble at first, something easily mistaken for the aftershock of the passing train. But then it intensified, a deep, resonating tremor that seemed to rise up from the bowels of the earth itself. Dumdum's heart pounded in tandem with the vibrations, his thoughts racing even faster.
"What in the Atua?" he muttered, dismounting and placing a palm flat against the shaking earth. This couldn't be real. Had the waitress spiked his water with ale?
His eyes widened as he looked up, his jaw dropping so low it nearly hit the ground. It was as if a mountain itself had sprouted legs and was walking across the landscape, each footfall a mini earthquake, each step a crash of thunder. But it wasn’t a mountain!
For a moment, Dumdum could only stand there, frozen in awe and disbelief. The ground quivered beneath him, and he clung to his pony for balance, both of them staring at the impossibility before them.
His mind snapped back into focus. "Towers don't just get up and stroll around," the Hobruin had said. But this—this was no ordinary tower. It was a gargantuan structure of stone and magic, walking on colossal legs across the earth as if it were a giant set free from some ancient tale.
Could this be the miracle he'd been waiting for? Could this impossibility, this walking tower, be the key to saving Ravendrift?
Dumdum didn't know. But what he did know was that miracles didn't just fall into your lap; you had to chase them down. With newfound energy, he vaulted back into his saddle.
"Come on, buddy! We've got a tower to catch!"