The ancient script had been translated, and the Master proudly approved its presentation for Treaty Night. Alaric, now reveling in the joy of their accomplishment, and Elwen, who had contributed significantly, both basked in the triumph of receiving an A+ grade. The entire class was now tasked with bringing the script to life for the Treaty Night celebrations. Everyone needed to work together, and Alaric, still holding onto his arrogant streak, declared, “I’m the leader! You all follow my word, to the letter!”
Despite his past improvements, Alaric was still far from an ideal leader. His attempts to manage the production faltered as he made poor decisions and issued confusing orders. It quickly became evident that the team’s progress was slow, and many classmates, remembering his history of bullying, silently hoped to see him fail.
Aethyr, watching the chaos unfold, quietly took the reins behind the scenes. He led by example, offering guidance and solving problems without demanding attention or credit. However, as skilled as he was, he couldn’t do everything—especially when it came to the complex stage setup. That’s when he noticed something remarkable: a beautifully crafted wooden gate, intricate in its design, with decorations made from resin that gave the appearance of life-like flowers frozen in time. It was a masterpiece, clearly the work of a skilled craftsman.
Aethyr approached the creators, a dwarf and his son working efficiently. "This is incredible work. How did you two manage to create something this exquisite?" he asked, genuinely impressed.
The young dwarf grinned. "Name’s Thrain, and that’s my father, Tallwood. We’ve been doing this for years. This kind of craftsmanship runs in the family."
Realizing the dwarves’ potential to save the failing production, Aethyr asked, “Thrain, your work is amazing. Could you help us with the stage decor for the show?”
But Thrain’s face darkened. “Nope. Not gonna happen. I’m not working with that boy,” he said, clearly referring to Alaric, the same kid who had tormented so many before. Aethyr sighed, realizing that the resentment toward Alaric ran deep.
With only three weeks left until the show and less than 15% of the set complete, Aethyr feared the production would be a disaster. Days passed, and while walking home from the forge at sundown, Aethyr noticed some trouble near the city gates. Debt collectors had come to Mr. Tallwood’s house, harassing and threatening him. Aethyr, ever the observer, crept closer, listening to the conversation.
“Your bill’s due this week!” one of the thugs snarled.
“I’ve already paid this month, in full!” Mr. Tallwood defended himself.
“New rules,” the thug sneered, before kicking Mr. Tallwood to the ground. Aethyr, knowing that the city guards were often negligent outside the gates, felt powerless but filed the event away in his mind. He couldn’t directly intervene, but perhaps there was another way to solve this.
The next morning, Aethyr spotted Alaric’s friend, whose father was a high-ranking guard. An idea began to form in his mind. Later that day, he took Alaric and his crew to admire a noble’s house with a newly installed gate.
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“You see that craftsmanship?” Aethyr pointed to the signature carved into the pillar. “That’s Thrain’s work. He built this in just three days while we’re struggling to finish even a fraction of our stage in weeks.”
Inspired, Alaric decided to approach Thrain. Though he still struggled with his behavior, his past intimidation tactics accidentally resurfaced as he awkwardly asked for help. “Thrain, I like your craft. Make us stage décor, now!” The command, delivered with all the wrong energy, was quickly met with a flat refusal. “What? No!” Thrain walked away, leaving Alaric standing there, dumbfounded, while his friends turned pale in embarrassment.
Aethyr, watching the scene unfold, could hardly believe it. He facepalmed in disbelief but decided to execute his backup plan. “Alaric, let’s go fishing. There’s a river just outside the city, and it’s a good break from all the stress,” he suggested.
Later, as they sat by the river, Aethyr skillfully caught fish after fish. The conversation drifted from school to personal challenges, and Aethyr knew it was time to teach Alaric a more valuable lesson. On their way back, they passed Mr. Tallwood’s house again, only to witness the same thugs harassing him.
Fueled by the sight of injustice and emboldened by the day's reflections, Alaric and his crew rushed in to defend Mr. Tallwood. Though they were beaten badly, their courage caught the attention of a nearby patrol. Aethyr, who had been observing from a distance, quickly summoned the guards, knowing that timing was crucial.
The guards arrived, and Alaric’s connection to the high-ranking official finally proved useful. After an investigation, Mr. Tallwood and his family were placed under the city’s protection, recognized as valuable artisans. Thrain, realizing the efforts made on his father’s behalf, approached Alaric and Aethyr the next day.
“Thanks for what you did. I’ll help with the stage decor,” Thrain said, his pride tempered by newfound gratitude. His father even offered to assist, adding his skill to ensure the production would be spectacular.
As Aethyr watched the group work together, he smiled, knowing that though one problem had been solved, many more challenges awaited. However, for now, the class had found a way to bridge their differences, and the stage was set for a grand performance.
The festival preparations marched forward with precision. Thanks to Thrain and his father’s craftsmanship, the stage was now 75% complete, a structure of towering artistry. The scholars practiced tirelessly, refining their performances. Yet, as always, challenges arose. Supplies dwindled, and the rare gems required for the Elven princess’s tiara were nowhere to be found. Mr. Tallwood’s connections promised delivery, but the shipment would take twelve days, while the show was only ten days away. Unless they dared to cross the treacherous swamps of Draugr Keep — the land of the Scaleskin — all seemed lost. Aethyr knew the risk. The Scaleskin were a tribe of cold-blooded warriors, their homeland shrouded in mist and crawling with ghouls, the souls of the restless dead. Few returned from those swamps.
One does not simply wander into Draugr Keep and return unscathed.
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One afternoon, during lunch, Aethyr sat with his friends Vaan and Rex at a long wooden table. The seats could accommodate more, but the nearby Scaleskin tribe kept their distance. They were a proud race, hard-headed and distrustful, preferring the company of their own. Among them was Zirk, a victim of Alaric’s past arrogance.
The scaleskins came from the southern marshes, where the fog was thick and the land was a graveyard of the living and the dead. The creatures of that swamp moved with silent malice, pulling anyone foolish enough to wander too far into a watery grave.
Suddenly, bad news struck — they were short of funds and materials. Without the gemstones, the replica of the Elven princess’s tiara would remain unfinished. Worse still, the shipment from Thundermount Hold would be delayed. Despair threatened the entire production.