“What—What was that?” Ash asked between quick, shallow breaths, his eyes like disks. He stumbled, reaching out for any kind of support. Finding a tree, he leaned his back against it and slid to the ground.
Moradin’s footsteps crunched in the snow as he walked up and crouched to his level. “Deep breaths now, Ash,” Moradin said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It should wear off any moment now.” Subtle worry played in the man’s eyes.
Ash clutched his hair in his hands, his breaths coming quicker and more panicked. The air around him felt heavy. Everything felt too close. It was as if his consciousness itself was trying to smother him.
Moradin’s eyebrows furrowed as an aura started to seep out from Ash, weighty and sharp. It was growing by the second. “Look at me, Ash,” he probed, worry in his eyes.
Ash instead curled deeper into himself, his breaths becoming gasps. He felt like he was drowning. He couldn’t breathe. Tears and spittle fell from his face, mixing with the snow below him.
His aura continued to grow, expanding like blood in the water. It reached Moradin, making the man wince, a razor-thin cut appearing on his cheek. The worry in his eyes quickly turned to alarm.
“Look at me, boy!” Moradin demanded, cupping Ash’s face between two large hands, forcing Ash’s wide, crying eyes to meet his. “Deep. Breaths,” he continued, his tone soft but stern. “Through the nose, down into your stomach, then up into your chest.”
Eyes locked with Moradin’s, Ash gave the man a shaky nod. He took a long, faltering breath in through his nose, then exhaled unsteadily out through his mouth.
“Good. Now, again.”
Ash followed the instructions, his breath a bit steadier this time.
“Again,” Moradin repeated, a weight seemingly lifting off his shoulders as Ash’s aura began to recede.
Ash focused on the rhythm of his breathing, each inhale and exhale bringing him further from the grip of panic. The memory of the black doe still lingered, but its hold on him weakened with each passing moment.
He looked up at Moradin, who watched him with a mix of concern and relief. "I'm okay now," Ash assured him softly.
"Good to hear," Moradin replied, a genuine smile on the big man's face. "Shall we continue?"
*********
Ash followed Moradin up a snowy incline, the last remnants of his panic attack beginning to fade. The wind had blessedly returned, blowing Ash's winter-white hair about. It brought along with it the welcome oaky scent of the lumberwood trees. The sun shone past the branches that intertwined above and delivered a comforting warmth to Ash's pale skin.
The forest feels alive again, he thought as two red birds chased one another from tree to tree.
They walked a bit longer in silence, their boots crunching in the snow, before Ash spoke up.
“So what was it?” he asked, a few feet behind Moradin, any sign of his previous panic seemingly gone.
“A black doe, I've heard it called,” Moradin responded casually, leading the two up an incline. “Ran into one when I worked with the Solventum. Wicked things.”
The conversation lapsed for a moment—matching the tempo of the unhurried pace they walked at.
“What did you mean when you said, ‘it can't see you?’” Ash finally asked.
“Just that. The things are totally blind,” Moradin answered, stopping a moment to dig around the pockets of his coat. “They rely on sensing movement.”
“But it was looking right at me. The damn thing didn’t take its eyes off me for a second.” Ash countered.
“A conjured illusion. A strong one at that,” Moradin responded, pulling out a waterskin and taking a swig. “It's how it hunts. If you rely on sensing movement to find your prey,” Moradin continued, turning to hand Ash the waterskin, “then you need a way to make them move,” he finished.
Ash took the waterskin but didn’t drink, instead pausing to think. “But why the face of a crying woman?”
The mention of that made Moradin pause for a moment, a hint of pity touching his face, before quickly disappearing. “Everyone sees something different, lad. A mouse might see the face of a hawk, whereas a fox might see one of a hound. The illusion, along with its devastating aura, makes for an effective strategy for getting things to run,” Moradin explained, reaching to take back the waterskin.
Ash took a hearty gulp and handed it back, Moradin storing it in his coat.
Ash wiped the excess water off his lips with his sleeve before speaking. “But it didn't have an aura. I couldn't sense it at all, even when it was right in front of me.”
“Oh, it didn't now?” Moradin's smile grew as he turned to move up the incline once again. “Then explain to me why you just spent the past hour curled up in a ball.”
Ash's eyes went wide in realization, but quickly went hot with embarrassment.
Moradin gestured with a dismissive hand. “Auras are complicated, kid. You're still new at this, remember?”
Ash stood there, trying to piece everything he had just heard together.
Moradin reached the peak of the incline they had been climbing and looked back. “Come on then. We’re just about there.”
*********
The topography of the Old Wood changed, the dense woodland cutting off at a distinct tree line. The sun's rays that had treated them only moments ago were quickly replaced by a windswept cloud-covered sky of twisting grays. With the tall lumberwood trees no longer blocking the view, Ash could now see the snowy expanse in front of him gradually rise into an enormous jagged peak that pierced the clouds. Ash had only seen the mountain from a distance—even then it seemed massive, but from up close it was monstrous in scale. Its white-covered slate surface towered over everything; immovable and unyielding.
Ash bundled his coat around him, the lumberwood trees no longer protecting them from the wind's chill. “We're not climbing that, are we?”
“Just a bit,” Moradin answered, walking forward and giving Ash a firm pat on the back, a white-toothed smile appearing on the large man's face. “You’ll be fine.”
Ash stumbled forward and glared at Moradin's back before reluctantly trudging after him.
After thirty minutes of wading through knee-deep powder, Ash finally saw something man-made. A four-foot-wide jagged pillar carved of onyx stone jutted out of the snow at an odd angle, the top seemingly lost to time.
Must be getting close, he hoped. The wind and snow were getting worse by the second.
Another similarly worn pillar appeared, then another. The pillars soon accompanied crumbling stone walls, archways, and stairs leading to empty air. The elements did an effective job of wiping away their original purpose, whatever it was.
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Soon, they approached a cliff face; its sheer top disappearing into the whiteout above. Built into it, Ash could barely make out a structure of stone similar in color to the dilapidated buildings that surrounded them. Whatever it was, it was massive; standing at what Ash assumed to be a hundred feet tall and fifty feet wide—its rectangular base curving into a rounded arch at the top.
Almost looks like a giant door, he thought, before quickly dismissing the idea. No way that could be right. Who in the gods' names would need a door that big?
“Do you see the giant door?” Moradin yelled over the screaming wind.
Ash simply stared at the man, his face flat and expressionless. Of course it's a door. Why wouldn’t it be?
Out of the snow emerged a wide stone staircase. Large braziers, most destroyed, decorated its sides. The stairs led to the base of the imposing structure, the distance and angle still making it difficult to make out any discernible features.
Ash climbed the staircase’s many steps, meeting Moradin at the top. Embedded into the cliff face stood the mother of all doors. Thick stone covered in intricate geometric shapes framed the massive thing; the door itself was embedded a dozen yards deeper into the cliff. Despite its size, the shallow grooves that ran up its surface were incredibly detailed. Ash couldn't imagine how something like this was made.
Following Moradin, Ash approached the door. He let out a sigh of relief as they entered the frame, the blessed thing giving them a reprieve from the wind and snow. Looking the door over, he couldn’t find a way in. Seeing neither a handle to turn nor a knob to twist, Ash instead bunched up his coat tight around himself and looked at Moradin. “What now?”
“We enter, but first, a few ground rules.”
Ash frowned slightly, clearly impatient, but nonetheless nodded for Moradin to continue.
“First, we don't know what we're walking into. Old places like this can be strange and deceptively deadly. Things that might have been common sense for the people of the old could go right over our heads. How dangerous does a knife seem to a man who's never been cut?”
Ash nodded, his previous impatience now replaced with focus.
“So,” Moradin continued, “we move with a cautious curiosity.” He pointed at the ground. "If we get separated for any reason, your only objective becomes to meet back here.” Moradin paused for a moment and looked at him with serious eyes. “I expect you to hold your own.”
“I will,” Ash said.
“Good!” Moradin replied with a smile, his serious gaze melting away.
The large man turned toward the door and flared his aura, making Ash take a step back. It felt like hot steel. It radiated off of him like fire in a forge.
Moradin raised his hand out to the side as if he was reaching for something. A heartbeat later, a hammer of solid steel appeared in his outstretched hand, seemingly formed out of thin air. The handle, marked with bronze filigree, was almost as long as Ash was tall. Pressurized jets of steam hissed loudly from the back of its massive head; the weapon seemingly trying to push itself forward in Moradin's grasp.
Although Ash wished for nothing more than warmth at that moment, the steam shooting from the hammer was uncomfortably hot, even from this distance. Thankfully the steam quickly abated, instead only releasing thin wisps of smoke. Ash had seen Moradin conjure a multitude of weapons over the years, but the war hammer seemed to be a favorite.
Moradin spun the handle a few times in his grip—as if trying to get reacquainted with it. After another moment, he looked at the door and began to raise his hands towards it.
“Hey! Big man with hammer,” Ash called from behind—being sure to over-enunciate his words. “Forget about something?” He held his hands out in front of him to emphasize their emptiness.
“Ah,” Moradin said with mischievous eyes, “almost forgot.”
Ash assumed he was going to conjure a weapon for him like he usually did during their training. Instead, Moradin reached into his coat pocket and searched around.
“Not in that one,” Moradin said with clearly fake confusion. He let his hammer fall to the ground—the weight of the head keeping the handle upright—and began to search the other side of his coat with a furrowed brow.
Ash's bored eyes and straight face screamed that he was unimpressed at the man's spectacle.
“Ah!” Moradin exclaimed with faux relief, “there they are.”
Surprise alighted in Ash’s eyes as Moradin pulled out a long rectangular case of polished mahogany and presented it to Ash.
“Happy nineteenth name day, lad,” Moradin said, a warm and genuine smile reaching his eyes.
“I…” Ash didn't know what to say as Moradin placed the box in his hands. It was surprisingly light. “I had completely forgotten.”
“And what a day it's been,” Moradin chuckled, “if I had known we'd run into a black doe, I'd maybe have given you these sooner. Better late than never.”
Ash looked down at the box, rubbing its smooth surface with his thumbs. “Thank you,” appreciation clear in his tone.
“Oh stop. You haven't even opened it yet. Go on,” Moradin said, his smile only growing bigger.
Ash flipped up two metal latches on the box's side and lifted the lid. Resting in padded slots lay two daggers; their design incredibly simple. Steel wrapped in thick dark leather made up the handles. Above their minimalistic pommels gleamed two glossy white blades the shape of spearheads. The only unique details on the daggers were a small red gem embedded in each handle and the crafter’s mark engraved in the blades—a lowercase “t” with an extra line crossing the bottom.
“Moradin… I…” Ash again didn't know what to say.
“Well don't just stand there and drool on them, they might rust,” Moradin teased. “Take them out!”
Ash did as instructed and carefully grabbed both blades—Moradin taking the box and returning it to his coat.
They were light. Incredibly so. Ash flipped them around his hands, playing with the weight—perfectly balanced.
He went to go test the sharpness with his thumb, but Moradin spoke up, “Whoa there. Calling those blades sharp is an understatement. If you're trying to see if it catches on your skin, I'll tell you right now, it won't at all.” Ash's eyebrows rose at the comment.
“They're made from Iron Drake bones,” Moradin commented with pride. "Keeps an edge better than steel, it's a tenth the weight, and four times as strong.”
“Moradin, you didn't have to—” Ash started, but was quickly cut off by the excited man.
“I had some lying around. Thought it could go to better use than collecting dust. But don't mind that. What's important is, how do they feel?” he asked, a knowing glint in his eyes.
“Amazing,” Ash said, beaming, “beyond amazing, honestly.” He looked back down to the blades—a wide smile finally appearing on his face. “One quick question though. Where am I supposed to store them? I didn't see any sheaths in the box.”
Moradin grinned as if he was waiting all day for that question to be asked. “That's the best part,” he answered as he revealed a cherry-sized red crystal between his fingers—the color a perfect match to the ones in the daggers’ handles. “Open,” Moradin said, gesturing to Ash's mouth.
Ash went to ask why, but the second he opened his mouth, Moradin flicked the crystal, with surprising accuracy and speed, directly into the back of his throat.
Curses and the sound of choking filled the air—the mixture of both making Moradin laugh as if it were the funniest thing he'd ever heard.
After struggling for another moment, Ash finally decided to just give in and swallow that damn thing. “It's really not that funny,” he said between coughs.
Moradin's only response was to laugh even harder.
While plotting his revenge, Ash suddenly felt a burst of energy wash through his body, dissipating as quickly as it appeared.
Moradin seemed to sense this and calmed himself down a bit. “See? Not too bad. It will be worth it, I promise,” he said with the occasional giggle escaping as he collected himself. “Okay,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye. “Try asserting your will over the blades.”
Moradin had made him try this plenty of times in the past, but the most he could ever do was move a pebble a few inches. Ash nonetheless gave it a shot, focusing his will on the two blades. When he had tried this with other things, it always felt like wading through quicksand; here, it felt as simple as breathing. The second his will touched the blades, they disappeared, leaving faint wisps of red behind. Ash's jaw dropped.
Moradin just stared at Ash with his arms crossed, a knowing smile on his face.
Ash was about to ask how to bring them back, but he quickly realized that he already knew the answer. He could feel them. Floating in a space he couldn't describe—waiting to be called on. So he did just that. The two daggers instantly reappeared in his hands, the same red wisps as before drifting off the weapons. “Holy shit,” Ash said under his breath.
Moradin laughed. “I thought you might like that part.” Without warning, he grabbed Ash by the shoulder and pulled him in close—Ash dismissing the blades almost by instinct. Moradin ruffled his hair with a giant hand, the large man beaming. “Happy name day, kid.”
Ash thought he would get mad at the gesture, but found himself laughing instead.
“Alright,” Moradin said, letting Ash go from the embrace, “let's see if you can put those to good use.”
Ash nodded in agreement.
The giant man hefted his war hammer over a broad shoulder and turned towards the door. He once again extended his hand toward it, this time, pressing his massive palm against the marked stone. Moradin's aura flared, more vibrant than before.
Moments later, the stone began to shift.