“By the Old Forges,” Grellish murmured reverently, “that’s no ordinary wand. It carries the blessing of the ancients.”

Elara clapped her hands, her grin practically glowing with delight. “Oh, and don’t forget—there’s the Hat!”

Henry flinched as she snapped her fingers. With a faint pop, the familiar bright pink Hat of Purity reappeared on his head. Its garish bells jingled merrily, their sound echoing mockingly through the cavern. The crudely sewn faerie symbols glimmered faintly in the crystal light, each wobbling stitch as ridiculous now as it had been the first time.

“Not this again,” Henry groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Elara, why?”

Elara hovered behind him, her chin propped on her hands, her voice dripping with faux-sweetness. “Oh, Harrikins, you earned this hat fair and square, remember? You just had to argue with the elder. This is your justice!”

Grellish stared at the hat, his expression shifting from confusion to reluctant awe. “That’s the Hat of Purity? The prophecies spoke of its return.”

Henry nodded miserably. “Yeah, I’ve been stuck with it ever since. It’s... a long story.”

Grellish’s eyes narrowed, lips twitching as if he wanted to say something profound. Instead, he sighed. “The prophecies didn’t mention... bells. Though its as odd as the rest of the armor of destiny.”

Elara’s laughter erupted like a bell choir gone wild. “Destiny works in mysterious ways, Grelly!” she declared, flitting higher into the air. “And the bells are just a bonus.”

Henry’s face went crimson, his hands flailing to remove the ridiculous hat. “What the—Elara, what is this?”

“Don’t you feel pure, Henry? Like a real beacon of hope and goodness?”

“More like a clown,” he muttered, yanking at the brim. The hat refused to budge.

“Why can’t I remove this?” Henry tugged at the brim of the hat, frustration flaring.

“Oh, Harrikins, it’s never coming off again.” Elara’s wings buzzed like an over-caffeinated hummingbird as she crossed her arms. “We did talk about this—and I told you the hat is a gift of destiny! You don’t just leave destiny on a barstool like a forgotten pineapple wearing socks!” Her grin stretched wider, eyes shimmering with manic glee. She wagged a finger with the authority of someone who’d never listened to authority. “It’s part of you now. Like your left kneecap or that one really persistent hangnail that never seems to go away!”

Henry muttered under his breath, giving the brim one last futile tug. “Great. A clown for eternity.”

Elara’s eyes sparkled like glitter in a blender. “Not a clown! A fabulously festooned harbinger of hope! A jingly, jangly lighthouse for lost souls!” She cackled. “Isn’t that better?”

Before Henry could respond, Grellish’s voice cut through their banter, thick with awe. “Destiny…” He straightened, his halberd tapping the ground. “You are the one spoken of in the prophecies.”

Henry stiffened, his stomach knotting. “Oh no. Don’t start that.”

Henry muttered under his breath, giving the brim one last futile tug. “Great. A clown for eternity.”

Elara beamed, her eyes glittering like twin stars on the edge of a supernova. “Not a clown! A luminous harbinger of hope! A twinkling, jingling omen of destiny!” She spun in the air, hands raised like a conductor orchestrating madness. “Jingle onward, noble fool! Destiny’s waiting, and it’s requesting bells!”

Before Henry could respond, Grellish’s voice cut through their banter, thick with awe. “Destiny…” He straightened, his halberd tapping the ground with a solemn clang. “You are the one spoken of in the prophecies.”

Henry stiffened, his stomach knotting. “Oh no. Don’t start that.”

But Grellish ignored him, turning to his clan with a newfound fire. “To the Great Forge! The hat he wears—” he gestured to Henry“—was forged there, long ago. It is part of the Armor of Purification, crafted to fight the darkness. But the forge… it is broken, and the pieces of the armor lost or rusted.”

Elara’s grin stretched even wider, her wings fluttering like a hyperactive moth. “A cracked forge? Oh, delightful! It’s like a teapot that tried to wrestle a boulder and lost!” She twirled mid-air, giggling. “All the best things are broken! Symmetry is for boring people.”

Grellish gestured for them to follow, then moved to the back of the chamber. He ran his fingers along the stone wall, muttering an incantation. With a low rumble, part of the wall slid aside, revealing a narrow tunnel shrouded in shadows.

“This way,” he said, his voice low, reverent.

The dwarves led Henry and Elara through winding tunnels. The air grew colder with each step, the faint sound of water dripping like a steady heartbeat. The flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows, making the walls seem to close in around them. The chill seeped into Henry’s bones, and the sense of unease twisted tighter in his gut.

Elara flitted beside him, her wings fluttering like a moth caught in a storm. “Ooooh, the suspense! It’s like a haunted house, but with more existential dread!” She whispered loudly. “Think there are ghosts? Or maybe sentient mold? Or ghostly sentient mold!”

Henry sighed. “I’d take mold over destiny at this point.”

Finally, they emerged into a vast cavern.

The Great Forge loomed in the center, a hulking structure of dark stone and metal, its majesty tarnished by time and ruin. A deep crack ran through its foundation, splitting it almost in two. Ash and rust dulled the once-pristine surface, and the anvil at its heart lay shattered, jagged pieces strewn like remnants of a broken past.

Resting atop a pedestal beside the forge was the Armor of Purification. Even in its fractured state, it commanded respect. The chest plate was cracked down the center, the pauldrons dented, and the gauntlets lay in pieces. The ancient runes etched into the metal still pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat waiting to be revived.

Henry swallowed hard, the weight of the scene pressing on his chest. The air was thick with the scent of old iron and burnt coal. Rows of dwarves stood in solemn silence, their eyes reflecting grief and stubborn determination.

Grellish stepped forward, his voice trembling with reverence. “This is what remains of our greatest legacy. The Armor of Purification, born from the fires of this forge. Even broken, it holds the power to cleanse the darkness. But the forge…” His eyes lingered on the jagged crack. “…the forge is wounded. And so is our hope.”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Henry eyed the broken armor, dread curling in his stomach. “So… the hat isn’t the only piece of ‘destiny’ I’m stuck with?”

Grellish nodded gravely. “There are other relics, each tied to the prophecy.”

Henry sighed, running a hand down his face. “And let me guess — I need to go find each ridiculous piece?” He gave the brim a tug, the bells emitting a faint, mocking jingle.

Elara burst into unhinged laughter, spiraling through the air like a chaotic pinwheel. “Ridiculous? Oh, sweet Harrikins, the hat is merely the appetizer! Just wait until you meet the Boots of Brilliance! They shimmer like disco balls dipped in unicorn tears!” She paused, eyes widening dramatically. “And the Pants of Peril! I think they whisper ominous threats when you wear them!”

Henry stared at her, deadpan. “You’re joking.”

Elara leaned in close, her grin stretching a little too wide, eyes glittering with wild glee. “Or maybe the universe just has an exquisite sense of humor!”

Grellish’s voice cut through her laughter, heavy with seriousness. “This is no laughing matter, fairy. The Pants of Peril are an essential part of the armor.”

Henry let out a sharp breath, rubbing his temples as a headache began to throb behind his eyes. “Fantastic. I’m destined to be a walking costume party.”

Elara’s wings buzzed like an over-caffeinated hornet as she shrieked with glee. “A costume party that saves the world? That’s not fashion with function — that’s a cataclysmic conga line of couture!” She did a mid-air somersault, eyes spinning like marbles in a blender. “Bells! Feathers! Existential dread! Who says you can’t battle doom while dressed like a deranged parade float?”

Henry’s expression hardened, the weight of reality crashing back down. His voice dropped, edged with frustration. “Look, I get it. You want me to complete this armor and save the world. But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to find a cure for my sister. I can’t just leave her while I go off gallivanting on side quests to fix some stupid forge.”

He clenched his fists, his gaze drifting to the cracked forge and the shattered armor. So this was destiny, he thought bitterly. A cracked forge, a shattered hope—and now, him.

Grellish nodded solemnly, his eyes shadowed with a weight Henry couldn’t quite fathom. “You leave her here. And I will keep her safe. As safe as she can be, lad. The deepest part of the Mines of Ironhold is warded against the mists, and no harm will come to while here. And there are even things we can do to stave off her illness.”

A flicker of relief crossed Henry’s face, but it vanished just as quickly. His jaw tightened. “What about the cure? There has to be something.”

Grellish’s face darkened, his gaze growing distant. “It’s said in the legends of my people that when the mists were first corrupted, the greatest of our kind secluded himself in a mine for years. He studied the plague, seeking a way to undo its horrors. And he succeeded—he created a cure.”

Henry’s breath caught. He leaned forward, hope clawing at the edges of his doubt. “Where is it, then?”

Grellish’s jaw clenched, a vein pulsing at his temple. “Lost. He was betrayed by the queen of the fairies and murdered before he could share it with the world. The secret of the cure was buried with him.”

A heavy silence settled over them. The air felt colder, the shadows in the cavern stretching longer. Somewhere in the distance, water dripped steadily, like a clock counting down to something inevitable.

Elara, utterly unbothered, scratched her backside, the rustle of her wings breaking the quiet. Grellish’s glare could have melted iron. “Perhaps she could tell you more.”

Elara looked up, blinking innocently. “What? I didn’t do it,” she chirped, her voice airy. “That was, like, forever ago. When I was like 87.”

Henry pinched the bridge of his nose, his frustration mounting. “Great. So, find the grave of some ancient genius and hope he scribbled down his secrets before getting stabbed in the back. That’s just fantastic.”

Elara beamed, her grin as bright and insufferable as ever. “I knew you’d get the hang of this adventure thing eventually!”

Henry wasn’t sure whether to scream or laugh. His chest ached from holding it all in—fear, hope, and the crushing weight of responsibility.

"Onward we go, my young steed!” Elara declared, plopping herself onto Henry’s hat with a triumphant flourish. She yanked on the bells like reins, her wings vibrating with manic delight. The faint jingle grated on Henry’s nerves, each sound a reminder of how absurd his life had become.

Before he could protest, Grellish’s deep voice cut through Elara’s chaos. “Wait, fairy. Do not run off idly with no direction.” His eyes narrowed, gleaming with intent. “I have a lead — on both the first missing piece of the armor and the cure you seek.”

Henry froze, the ridiculous jingle of the bells fading into silence. His fingers brushed the brim of the hat, doubt and guilt gnawing at him. His voice dropped, barely above a whisper. “Elara, we should leave the hat with Sarah. It’s kept her alive so far. She might need it more than me.”

Elara’s wings twitched, and she leaned over the brim, her face upside-down and way too close to his. “Leave the hat? Are you mad? You can’t abandon destiny’s most stylish headpiece! That’s like giving a feral raccoon your credit card and hoping for the best!”

She flicked his forehead with a giggle. “Besides, Harrikins, destiny loves a good balancing act. You need the hat. Sarah needs you. And I need snacks, but that’s a separate issue.” A new popcorn bucket appeared in her hands.

Grellish shook his head, his expression solid as stone. “No, lad. You’ll need it more than her. That hat isn’t just for keeping her alive—it’s a weapon. And you’re going to need every weapon you can get.”

Henry’s jaw tightened. He looked away, the shadows of the cavern pressing in. The weight of everything — the mists, the cure, this supposed destiny — felt like a burden he was nowhere near ready to carry.

He swallowed hard. “I just… I need to be sure she’s safe. I can’t do anything until I know she’s going to be okay.”

Elara fluttered in front of him, her wings buzzing like an over-caffeinated hummingbird. Her grin stretched wide, eyes sparkling with something wild and chaotic. She leaned in until their noses almost touched.

“Oh, Harrikins, safety is such a boring concept! You can’t bubble-wrap the world! Sometimes you just have to juggle knives while riding a unicycle on a tightrope over a pit of angry crocodiles!” She cackled, spinning mid-air. “It’s thrilling!”

Henry blinked at her, deadpan. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Elara wagged a finger, her smile a little too sharp. “Maybe, but it’s never dull!” She flipped upside-down, yanking the bells on his hat. “Trust the hat! Trust the chaos! And if all else fails, trust that I’m at least 60% sure we won’t die horribly!”

Grellish rolled his eyes at Elara. “Don’t listen to her, laddie. She will be safe. The Matron of Healing will guard her like her own.”

Henry took a long, measured breath, then turned back to Grellish, his gaze sharper now. “Alright. I’ll go find this cure or whatever it is and these pants you want me to wear. But I want something in return.”

Grellish’s brow furrowed, a flicker of curiosity breaking through his stoic exterior. “What do you want?”

Henry’s eyes dropped to the necklace hanging around Grellish’s neck—a thick, intricately woven chain of dark silver, with a polished stone set in its center, swirling with flecks of blue and white. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.

He pointed at it. “Your necklace. I need it.”

Grellish’s eyes flared with surprise, his hand instinctively reaching up to clutch the pendant. “This necklace is a relic of my ancestors. It holds the blessings of my clan. Why do you need it?”

Henry met his gaze without flinching. “Because I don’t trust fate. Or destiny. But I do trust having more options.” He paused, his voice low and steady. “If your cure ends up being a dead end, then your necklace is the leverage I need to find another cure.

A heavy silence settled between them. Grellish’s jaw worked as he processed Henry’s words, the weight of the request sinking in. The air seemed to grow colder, more oppressive.

Then, out of nowhere, Elara zipped between them, her wings buzzing like an over-caffeinated hornet. “Ooooh! Bargains! I love a good bargain. Did someone say ‘leverage’? Are we leveraging things? Can I leverage something? Like my sanity? Oh wait—lost that ages ago!” She cackled and spun in midair, pulling her hair into mock pigtails.

Grellish shot her a glare that could melt steel. Elara’s grin only stretched wider, her eyes glinting like cracked marbles. “Oh, don’t mind me! I’m just the confetti cannon of chaos at your funeral of seriousness!” She twirled mid-air, sprinkling imaginary confetti. “Ka-BOOM! Now with extra glitter!”

Henry exhaled through his nose, his patience fraying. “Elara, can you not?”

Her eyes went wide, exaggeratedly innocent, like a doll that had seen too much. “Not what? Not be me? I tried that once — exploded a wing and nearly sprained my spleen!” She leaned toward Grellish, cupping her hands around her mouth in an exaggerated whisper. “I think he’s thawing towards me! Like an icicle in a dragon’s sneeze!”

Grellish’s knuckles whitened around the pendant. With a deep, reluctant sigh, he slipped the necklace over his head. The stone gleamed dully in the dim light. “Take it. It is just a necklace. There are things that matter much more. Now go find the armor, and don't come back for your sister until you do.”