It did not take them long to discover what wanted to kill them next. Well, more accurately, it did not take them long to discover what wanted to kill Elara next. Dwarves. Real ones. As soon as they appeared, Elara vanished.
Their armor bore deep dents and blackened edges, and the air around them carried a sharp, acrid tang. Their boots, still warm from recent heat, suggested they had just come from a fierce battle—or perhaps directly from a forge’s blazing heart.
They were squat and stocky, with arms as thick as tree trunks and beards braided with metal clasps that clinked softly as they moved. Their faces, weathered and scarred, bore faint, shimmering lines that looked like old tattoos, faded and stretched, hinting at some arcane ritual or grim history. A few dwarves coughed, wiping soot-streaked brows with hands covered in grime and dried blood.
The leader stepped forward, his halberd slamming into the stone with a resounding crack that echoed through the chamber. His gauntleted hand stretched out, the metal reflecting the eerie light of the cave. A blue a red spiral of a necklace hung tight against his stout neck. A grin split his soot-streaked face, his braided beard swaying with the motion.
“Lali-ho!” he boomed, his voice like a rolling avalanche. He extended his hand further, his fingers curling in anticipation of a shake. “What brings ye to these cursed halls, lad?”
Henry paused, the phrase sparking a strange sense of familiarity. “Umm, isn’t that what dwarves say in Final Fantasy games?” he murmured, shooting a brief, uncertain glance at the cavern walls as if expecting some hidden audience would jump out and laugh. He cleared his throat, managing a thin, uneasy smile. “Hello, sir.”
“Sir?” the dwarf bellowed, a hearty laugh rumbling from his chest. “Ahaha! No, son—I work for a living!” He clapped Henry’s shoulder with enough force to make him stumble.
“Name’s Chief Grellish Steelborn,” the dwarf continued, slapping a dented gauntlet against his chestplate. The metallic clang echoed in the chamber. “This here,” he said, indicating the ragged dwarves behind him, “is all that remains of my clan after the latest poisoned onslaught. Even down here, we can’t escape that foul haze.” His voice dropped, losing what little warmth it held. “It creeps in like a plague, warping the air, the stone, even our own flesh. It’s maddening, laddie. What were once our gentle veils of mist have turned into a choking darkness.”
Henry’s gaze shifted to the dwarves. They shuffled in place, their eyes flicking warily to the shadows at the edges of the cavern. Some bore makeshift bandages stained dark with blood, their movements stiff and pained. He noticed the shimmering scars on their faces again, now realizing they weren’t just signs of injury—they pulsed faintly, almost like the crystals above him in the cave.
Chief Grellish’s booming voice yanked Henry from his thoughts. “Now, what brings a long-legs down to my part of the planet? Didn’t they teach you any learnings back in school about us scary old dwarves?” The chief smirked, his teeth flashing white through the grime.
Henry’s heart fluttered as he met their expectant stares. The quiet pressed in on him, punctuated only by the distant drip of water and a lone cough echoing through the cavern. He drew a steady breath and stepped forward.
“I’ve come seeking a cure, or barring that, a certain necklace.” Henry said, his voice steady but edged with urgency.
The chief’s grin faded, replaced by a furrowed brow. His halberd’s butt struck the stone floor again, a sharp, deliberate sound. The dwarves behind him shifted slightly, eyes narrowing just a fraction, their expressions hardening like stone.
“A cure, eh?” Grellish’s tone was measured now, the humor drained away. He reached up and cradled the necklace in his hands not saying anything else. “Well, lad, you’ll find no easy answers here. But... speak your piece. We’ve seen more than most.”
Henry’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white. “It’s for my little sister. She’s infected, and... and she’s in a coma.” His voice wavered, but he forced himself to keep going. “We don’t belong here. I mean—we’re not from here. This isn’t fair. I’m the one who’s supposed to get sick and die, not her. She’s only twelve.”
The words hung in the cavern’s cool air, heavy and suffocating. Henry’s chest tightened, the damp chill seeping into his bones. The cavern seemed to shrink around him, the flickering light of the crystals casting long, ominous shadows. His vision blurred as tears sprang to his eyes. Coming to terms with his cancer had been bad enough, but now his sister? His stomach twisted with guilt and he felt his throat closing.
Grellish’s voice, usually gruff, softened—just a bit. “I’m not going to lie to you, lad. We don’t have a cure.”
Henry’s breath hitched, and the ground felt unsteady beneath him. The air grew thicker, as if the cavern itself were mourning. For a moment, there was only silence, the weight of despair threatening to crush him.
A sudden shimmer of golden light danced across the walls, like sunlight piercing a storm. Before he could react, Elara popped into existence midair. “Surprise!” she declared, wings fluttering with a sound like humming crystal shards. Her hands waved dramatically as she twirled to face Henry. “Did you miss me? Of course you did—I’m unforgettable.”
Grellish stiffened, his eyes narrowing into slits. His fingers curled tighter around his halberd, the veins on his hands standing out like cords of iron. The soft clink of the dwarves’ metal clasps echoed behind him as his clan shifted, their postures rigid. An uneasy current ran through the air, like a storm cloud forming just out of sight.
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Henry glanced at the dwarves, confusion prickling his skin. Their faces were unreadable, but something cold gleamed behind their eyes—a guarded tension he hadn’t noticed before.
Grellish’s jaw tightened, his voice dropping to a low growl as he moved into a fighting stance. “A fairy?” He spat the word like it tasted foul. His halberd’s butt struck the ground with a hollow, echoing crack. “How dare you set foot in these halls.”
The cavern seemed to darken, the crystals’ light dimming just a fraction. Henry swallowed, his mind racing. The hostility was palpable, old and buried deep. He didn’t know the history here, but he could feel it—like rusted blades hidden beneath the surface, ready to cut.
“Set foot?” Elara gasped, her face twisting into a wild grin. “Oh, you mean these?” She lifted one delicate foot—and promptly yanked it off her ankle with a sickening pop. Blood spurted in a brief, violent gush as she waved the severed appendage around like a trophy. “Whoops! My bad! Guess I’m not setting foot anywhere anymore!”
The cavern fell into horrified silence. The dwarves stared with wide eyes, their faces pale beneath the grime. Grellish’s grip on his halberd tightened, the metal creaking under the strain. Behind him, a few dwarves exchanged uneasy glances, a flicker of something deeper—something old—surfacing in their eyes.
“Relax, folks!” Elara chirped. “They grow back!” She tossed the foot aside carelessly. It landed with a soft splat on the stone floor. True to her word, her ankle was already knitting itself back together in a grotesque display of twisting sinew and sprouting bone. “See? Good as new!”
Henry pinched the bridge of his nose, mumbling under his breath. “I hate everything about this.”
The dwarves didn’t laugh. They didn’t even move. The air grew heavier, the silence stretching like a taut wire. Grellish’s eyes smoldered, a vein twitching at his temple. His voice dropped to a low, dangerous rumble.
“Demon!” he bellowed, his halberd swinging up with alarming speed. The tip gleamed in the eerie crystal light, and his clan bristled behind him, muttering in low, uneasy tones.
Elara giggled, twirling midair with a gasp of mock surprise. “Demon? Where?!” She whipped her head dramatically from side to side, eyes wide and sparkling. “Oh no! Everyone stay calm—I’ll handle this!”
Grellish’s knuckles whitened, his shoulders rigid with fury. The tip of his halberd pointed directly at her chest, unwavering. “No, you’re the demon!”
Elara’s grin widened. “Me? A demon?” She flitted backward just out of reach, her wings humming like a thousand glass shards. “Please. If I were a demon, I’d have horns. Or... oh! A tail!” She spun in the air, making a show of glancing over her shoulder. “Nope, nothing! Guess I’m safe!”
The dwarves didn’t relax. If anything, their scowls deepened. One of them muttered, barely loud enough for Henry to hear, “First they trick us, now they mock us.”
Henry swallowed hard. The weight of history he didn’t understand pressed on him, cold and sharp. He looked at Elara, her playful grin unshaken, her eyes gleaming with pure, unapologetic mischief. She wasn’t trying to calm them down. She was just being herself—and that was the problem.
Grellish’s jaw clenched, his voice a growl. “Boy, you’ve got explaining to do.” His fiery gaze flicked to Henry. “Why in all the layers of this cursed planet is this thing with ye?”
Henry sighed, rubbing his temples. Exhaustion dragged at his shoulders, his patience fraying. “Honestly? I wish I knew. And right now, I wish she’d stop making things worse.”
Elara gasped dramatically, hovering closer to Henry with an impish grin. Her fingers darted to his hair, plucking a loose strand with unnerving precision. “Aww, you love me. Admit it!” She twirled the strand between her fingers like a treasured keepsake, her wings fluttering softly. “Besides, you need me. I’m your secret weapon against all this misty nonsense!” Her grin sharpened, gleaming with mischief.
Henry let out a long breath, feeling the weight of the cavern close in around him. He didn’t know what was more dangerous: the Mist, the dwarves, or Elara’s refusal to be anything other than exactly who she was.
Grellish’s lip curled in disgust, and he slammed the butt of his halberd against the stone floor, sending a sharp crack through the chamber. “I’m warnin’ ye. Leave now. There’s no warmth nor welcome here for yer kind.”
Elara spun lazily in the air, her wings catching the light like fractured rainbows. “Oh, but Grelly! Can I call you Grelly?” She whined, her face contorting into a ridiculously exaggerated pout. “I just got here! You’re not even gonna give me a chance?”
A ripple of unease passed through the dwarves behind Grellish. One muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing. “We know what happens when you let fairies ‘help.’”
Grellish’s fingers tightened around his halberd, his voice a bark of pure conviction. “I’ll not have ye twistin’ the justice of these lands with yer tricks and magics.”
Elara tilted her head, her grin sharpening into something unsettling. “Justice? Oh, Grelly, dear... you should be careful about throwing around words like that.” She let the strand of Henry’s hair slip from her fingers, her hand hovering just above Grellish’s armored shoulder. “We wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re the one perverting things, now would we?”
Grellish took a deliberate step back, the scrape of his halberd on stone like nails down a chalkboard. His voice dropped to a low snarl. “Keep yer cursed hands—and yer poisoned words—off me, fairy.”
Henry groaned, running a hand down his face. The cavern’s oppressive air weighed heavier by the second. “Why is it always like this?” He gestured helplessly between them, his voice raw with exhaustion and barely concealed desperation. “Every time we get close to help, someone wants to fight instead. Look, I know she’s... a lot. But so far, she’s saved my life, given me this wand, and helped me figure out what the mists are doing.” He glanced sideways at Elara, his eyes pleading. “Right?”
Elara clapped her hands with unsettling cheer, her grin stretching wide enough to seem unnatural. “Oh, absolutely! I’m practically the patron saint of pest control!” She twirled midair, wings humming like glass shards. “And let’s not forget—I gave him that.” She pointed dramatically to the wand in Henry’s hand.
Grellish’s gaze snapped to the wand. His eyes widened, the color draining from his face. The tip of his halberd dipped, the tension in his shoulders shifting to something older, something reverent. For a heartbeat, the cavern was filled with nothing but the faint drip of water.
He muttered a word under his breath, barely audible. Then, with a sharp inhale, Grellish fell to his knees. The clatter of his armor echoed as his beard brushed the stone. His voice trembled with awe.
“By the layers of stone and sky... The Wand of Arraiza.”
One by one, the dwarves followed, the scrape of metal on stone ringing through the chamber. Their heads bowed low, eyes fixed on the wand—and on Henry.