I watch the sparks swirl, waiting for my mana to drop lower. The sounds of battle stopped some time ago. I wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing yet.
I stare at the screen, confused. "What?" Is it... trying to make small talk?
I blink. I guess it was. I chuckle to myself as I feel a presence enter my Mana Sense—a small, flickering flame. The same candle-sized mana signature as Vorondil.
"How did I sense it this time? I thought I had to see mana to detect it."
Oh. I guess that makes sense.
Then, something changes. My whole body tenses as another source of mana flickers into my perception—a raging inferno behind Vorondil.
"What the hell is that?" I push myself to my feet and dart behind a nearby building, sweat already forming on my brow. The heat radiating from it is unbearable, even from this distance.
That actually sounds… helpful? Maybe Guidance is learning how to give actual advice.
I force myself to focus on the two figures approaching. Vorondil looks the same as when he left, though his brow is furrowed in thought. Behind him lurks a massive, looming figure. Horns frame a monstrous head, burning embers where eyes should be—or are those just its eyes?
As it moves closer, the fog itself turns to steam, unable to cling to its pitch-black scales. It walks with heavy, deliberate steps, thick muscles rippling with each movement.
A hand waves in front of my face. I jump back, startled, to find Vorondil standing right in front of me. Did I get so focused that I didn't even notice him approach?
I might’ve just imagined it, but I swear I saw the hint of a smile on his face.
"Már nalyë cuilë sina. Elmë termaruvalyë. Man haryalyë?" His voice shifts mid-sentence, the latter half turning into something that sounds more like a question.
Vorondil watches me in silence, a slight furrow to his brows, as if confused by my hesitation.
…Cut that part out?
How often does it do that?
Before I can dwell on it, a deep, rumbling voice shakes the air.
"Human..."
I turn, wide-eyed, as the dragon leans down, its massive nostrils flaring as it sniffs the air heavily.
Vorondil’s hand immediately rests on his sword hilt. The dragon snorts and straightens to its full height, towering over us both.
"Náto quentë essenya terhante."
Vorondil relaxes slightly, but his hand stays firmly on his blade.
Then, the dragon leans forward again, lowering its head to my level.
"What… is your… name?"
Its voice is slow, deliberate—as if struggling to remember the words.
I open my mouth to respond, but it takes me a few tries to get the words out.
"N-Narmo," I finally manage.
The dragon hums, the deep vibration rolling through the air like distant thunder. Its ember-like eyes narrow slightly. "An elven name? Were you raised by them?"
Its voice is careful, like it's deliberately softening its tone. Despite the effort, the weight behind each word remains intimidating. But even in the short time it has spoken, I notice the dragon's speech is already smoother, more fluid.
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I steady my nerves and shake my head. "No—Or, well, I don't think I was. I can't remember anything before I woke up yesterday." I scratch the back of my head, feeling a little awkward under its intense gaze.
Drazuul's eyes flick to Vorondil for the briefest moment before nodding.
"Well, it's a pleasure—" the word catches in his throat like something foul. He shudders slightly before forcing the sentence out. "—to meet you. My name is Drazuul."
He leans back, shifting his massive frame into a more comfortable position.
"What level are you currently at?"
I straighten slightly. "I'm only at level one, but most of my skills are almost at level ten!" I grin sheepishly.
Drazuul scratches his chin, deep in thought. "We'll have to remedy that..."
Before I can ask what he means, he abruptly turns and strides into the fog.
"I'll be back. Don't go too far." His voice is already fading as the mist swallows his towering form.
The moment he's out of sight, Vorondil visibly relaxes.
I hadn't realized how tense he was until now. He catches me watching him, then gives me a slight, almost imperceptible smile. Without another word, he turns and motions for me to follow.
I hesitate for only a second before stepping forward. I was getting tired of sitting around, anyway.
Vorondil leads me back to the building he had been in earlier.
As I step inside, I watch him move with effortless familiarity, reaching for a jar from a shelf near the door. He hesitates for a fraction of a second before pulling down the only cup.
He pours a liquid from the jar into the cup and hands it to me without a word.
I peer into it—water.
The moment I realize what it is, I down the entire thing in one gulp. I hadn’t noticed how dry my throat was until now. The water tastes slightly dirty, metallic, but right now, it’s the best thing I’ve ever had.
I move to return the cup, only to see Vorondil tipping the jar back, drinking straight from it. He takes the cup from me with one hand but doesn’t stop drinking.
I glance at the shelf, noting it’s lined with more jars of various designs and sizes. Some look ancient, their surfaces worn and cracked.
I scan the room again, wondering if I had missed anything earlier.
In the corner, I notice something new—a small anvil. Next to it, a table holds several clear bottles of oil and a pile of cloth.
There’s not much else in here. No bed. Just a single chair and the fireplace.
Vorondil finally sets the jar back onto the shelf. Without a word, he turns to the table, drawing his sword with practiced ease.
I shift my stance slightly to get a better view as he pours oil onto a rag and begins polishing the blade.
A beep sounds, and my silver screen flickers into view.
"What are you—"
A thunderous roar from outside cuts me off.
"NARMO! COME OUT!"
The voice shakes the walls.
Drazuul.
I glance at Vorondil. His expression remains unreadable, but there's a moment of thoughtful silence. Then, finally, he gives me a slight nod.
I stand and step outside, activating Mana Sense to help me navigate toward the massive, burning presence waiting for me in the fog.
As I get closer, I notice several smaller flames flickering beneath the inferno.
They’re faint, fragile, barely clinging to existence—threatening to be snuffed out at any moment.
Drazuul looms over them, a towering figure of muscle and menace. He stands before a pile of writhing creatures, some of them coated in saliva. They squirm weakly, limbs twitching as they desperately try to crawl away.
I slow my pace. "What are those?" My confusion is plain in my voice.
Drazuul grins, exposing his bloodstained fangs.
"These?" He rumbles. "These are experience. They'll help you increase your class level."
I blink. "You mean... I have to kill them?"
Drazuul nods. "Any way you'd like. But I'd recommend using a skill." His eyes narrow slightly, watching me closely.
I hesitate. "It'll take a few minutes. I'll need to drain most of my mana first. If I use my skill at full power, it might kill me too."
Drazuul’s smirk fades slightly, his expression shifting to something almost unreadable. But after a moment, he nods and settles onto his haunches, a dozen or so feet away.
"Some of them might die before you're ready," he says, watching the creatures wriggle in the dirt. "And if any of them still have enough strength to fight back, I’ll handle them." His tail flicks idly behind him.
I nod and turn my focus back to the crawling figures.
They're sickly and deformed—but almost human.
Almost.
Their soulless black eyes stare blankly, their bloated skin peeling away in places. A mixture of curiosity and revulsion twists in my gut.
A thought strikes me. I glance back at Drazuul.
"What is this place?"
Drazuul’s tail slows.
For the first time, he hesitates.
"This place..." he begins slowly, as if tasting the words. "Is a place where the weak put the strong when they don't know what else to do."
He nods to himself, as if satisfied with his own answer.
"But it can’t hold us forever." His embers-for-eyes glow slightly brighter. "We grow stronger here. And eventually..." He bares his fangs in anticipation.
"We return to Vealith."
I absorb his words, but they only lead to more questions.
How did I end up here?
What even is Vealith?
I open my mouth to ask—
Beep.
A message flickers into view.
A slow smile tugs at my lips.
I step forward, positioning myself within range of the writhing creatures.
Some of them have crawled further away than the others. But none of them will escape.
I activate Mana Surge.
A sharp pop echoes through the mist—then an explosion.
The writhing creatures are torn apart, their bodies scattering into bloody mist and shredded limbs.
Through the red haze, I see Drazuul’s burning eyes flicker with excitement. His fanged maw spreads wide in a draconic grin.
Beep.
I stagger slightly, feeling the rush of experience flood through me.
Level 4. Already?
A deep rumbling laugh shakes the air.
I turn just as Vorondil bursts from the fog, sword drawn, lips curled into a snarl.
His sharp eyes dart around, scanning for danger—until they land on the scattered creature remains.
His features relax.
With a smooth motion, he sheathes his blade.
Meanwhile, Drazuul’s laughter continues to build.
His head tilts back, the sound deep and thunderous, like rolling flames consuming dry wood.
After a few moments, he calms himself, shaking his head in amusement.
"You humans are full of surprises."
His massive frame shifts as he stands, stepping back into the swirling mist.
"Be ready when I return," he calls over his shoulder. His burning eyes linger on me for a brief moment longer.
"We’ll get you to the second tier in no time."
And then—he’s gone.