Smoldering remains of the houses lining the streets of Carlin still crackled in the quiet aftermath. Townsfolk ran about, using what small magic they could manage to repair, douse, and heal, as they could. Word had spread about the battle and all noticed the absence of guards. Though the gates were free of guards, the king's writs torn down, everyone felt the lingering sadness in the air. Smoke from the potion shop still churned up into the atmosphere, adding to the darkened clouds hanging above.
Inside the shattered potion shop, the fire still raged, flames devouring the walls. Lumi stood atop Akilliz’s broad chest. Her soot-streaked form trembling as she strained to keep a ceiling beam from crushing the unconscious giant beneath her. Her wings fluttered frantically, her small arms shaking violently as she fought the inevitable collapse.
“Somebody better get in here!” she screamed, her voice barely cutting through the crackling flames. “I’m a hero, but heroes have limits!”
Her eyes darted around the burning shop, panic setting in. Resistance members who had been fighting, lay unconscious on the floor. Some survivors having barely made it outside to catch their breath, she had to rescue these townsfolk before the shop fell down.
The tiny pixie bit her lip, thinking quickly. With a mischievous grin, she waved her hand, summoning a spectral mosquito. Its translucent wings shimmered with the same eerie glow that surrounded her. "Go get ‘em ," she whispered, sending it buzzing out the window.
Outside, the mosquito found Godric staggering through the wreckage, his jaw clenched as his mind swirled with rage and helplessness. Thoughts of Elii, taken by shadows, clouded his focus.
A sharp jab to his neck yanked him from his thoughts. He winced and swatted instinctively at the air.
“BZZZZZZZ!” The sound pierced through the haze, relentless.
“What NOW?!” His hands flailed uselessly as the buzzing continued, a quick darting shadow passing by his ear. He swung again, missing. His eyes tracked the small, glowing wings. The faint shimmer felt unnervingly familiar.
Not now MOSQUITO!
Ducking reflexively, his heart raced as the mosquito hovered just out of reach, its buzzing growing louder. Taking a breath to steel himself, he moved toward the insect, following its erratic path as it darted toward the potion shop. Only when the mosquito paused just outside the broken window did realization dawn.
The wings, glowing and translucent, shimmered with a familiar magic. The mosquito wasn’t real—it was her doing.
“Lumi!” Godric muttered, relief and irritation on his face. “Only she’d send a mosquito.” Shaking his head, he darted toward the shop.
Pushing through the smoke and debris, Godric was already shouting for help. "Monk!" The urgency in his voice cut through the choking air. "The pixie is in trouble!"
Emerging from the haze came Monk Kiatsu, his recent transformation gone, he appeared as his usual quirky self again. Godric pushed through the doorway, his breath catching as the heat hit him like a wave. The fire roared along the walls, its searing heat pressing against his skin, while thick plumes of smoke billowed upward, choking the air.
Through the haze, he spotted Lumi, her tiny wings beating frantically beneath a heavy beam. She was illuminating a terrifying scene in her purple glow. Beneath her, his father lay unconscious and pinned. He coughed, his throat burning with each breath as the acrid smoke filled his lungs. His eyes stung, blurring his vision, but he forced himself to keep moving, shoving through the suffocating haze.
"Gods..." His heart lurched, but there was no time to hesitate. Rushing forward, he grabbed the beam with both hands, muscles straining as he heaved it upward. Inch by inch, the beam shifted, giving the struggling pixie just enough time to scramble free. With a final burst of effort, Godric shoved the beam aside, sending it crashing to the ground in a shower of sparks.
Lumi tumbled backward, panting heavily. "About time! You try holding up a ceiling with pixie wings!" Her frustration was clear, but Godric barely registered her words.
Falling to his knees beside his father, panic clawed at him. He pressed his hand to Akilliz's chest. Too still... too pale. "Old salt," he called out, his voice rough with emotion and smoke. His shallow breathing was barely perceptible.
A figure moved through the smoke—the monk, his robes ghost-like in the haze. Swiftly kneeling beside Godric, he placed a steady hand on his shoulder before turning his focus to Akilliz. The monk's hands glowed with a soft, steady light as a shimmering green aura flowed from his fingertips, cascading into the old potion master like a stream of falling diamonds.
"He is still there," Kiatsu said, his voice calm and measured. "I need to stabilize him and quickly get out of here."
Godric swallowed hard, his fear easing slightly as he watched the Monk work. The magic was subtle but effective. After long, tense moments, his fathers eyelids fluttered open, his breath ragged but alive.
"Son?" Akilliz’s voice was barely more than a whisper, strained with pain.
"I’m here," Godric replied, gripping his father’s arm tightly, anchoring him to the moment. "Just hold on."
The potion master groaned softly, his hand fumbling weakly at his side. His fingers closed around a battered vial, which he pressed into Godric’s hand. "Potion…" he rasped, his strength fading again.
Blinking in confusion, Godric looked down at the small potion bottle in his hand. "You want to drink it?"
“No…for…the wounded,” Akilliz whispered before his strength finally gave out, his body going limp in Godric's arms.
He stared at the vial for a moment, uncertainty clouding his thoughts before he tucked it into his belt. He knew who needed it. Godric saw he had taken the burst from Wild at point blank range.
Gesturing with precision, the monk summoned more to his cause, which materialized silently through the smoke-filled shop. The monk’s robes billowed as they moved like specters, gathering the unconscious resistance members and carrying them out.
"Take all the wounded to the temple," Master Kiatsu ordered, his tone firm and authoritative. "Treat them immediately. Begin healing the most grevious injuries first."
Godric watched as the monks carried out their task. Kneeling beside his father, he couldn't shake the swelling questions filling his mind.
A shake of the caretaker’s staff snuffed out the remaining flames, his magic subtle but powerful. With the fire under control, Monk Kiatsu turned back to Godric.
"Is he going to be alright?" Godric’s voice wavered, uncertainty hanging in his words.
The healer placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder once more. "Your father is strong. He’ll need rest and more healing, but he will recover. Have faith in his strength—and in ours."
Relief flooded through him, the tension easing as his father’s survival seemed more likely. Rising slowly to his feet, exhaustion tugged at every muscle, but his task wasn’t complete.
"We need to get him out of here," he muttered, glancing toward the remains of familiar shop.
The monk shook his head in agreement, lifting Akilliz with surprising ease. "I’ll carry him. There’s no time to waste—Erazon and the others need attention, too."
Following close behind, Godric glanced back at the shop as the monks’ magic subdued the last of the resurging flames. Nearly everything had been lost, but the shop could be rebuilt. His father’s life, however, was far more precious.
They stepped outside, the fresh air rushing over Godric like a wave, clearing the smoke from his lungs. The town of Carlin lay in eerie silence. The healer moved forward, cradling the figure in his arms, each step steady and purposeful.
With a deep breath, the smith steeled himself and retrieved the battered potion bottle from his belt. “I hope I’m not too late..” His mind flashed to Erazon’s arm, stripped down to the bone, barely clinging to life. Spurred into action, he moved ahead of Monk Kiatsu, scanning the battlefield for his companions.
"Over there," His voice cut through the quiet crackling, directing Godric’s focus toward the far side of the ruined street.
Through the haze, Solena fought to keep the golden mage upright, her arm tightly wrapped around his waist. His body trembled with weakness, barely conscious, his face pale and drawn from the toll of the battle. His tunic and cloak had been decayed by the blast, leaving a large hole in the center of where his shirt should be. Thankfully, his skin was intact. Despite her blistered hands and the pain etched into her movements, Solena clutched him tightly, refusing to let him fall.
“Solena!” the blacksmith called, his steps thudding loudly as he waved the potion in the air. His voice carried over the smoldering wreckage. "I’ve got something for him!"
A blanket of relief crossed Solena’s face as she met Godric’s panic stricken eyes. Regaining her grip around Erazon, she braced herself against his weight. “Good,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “He’s barely hanging on.”
Without wasting a moment, Godric knelt beside them, the cool glass of the vial in his fingers as he reached for their felled companion. A weak groan slipped from the mage’s lips, his eyelids fluttering but showing no signs of full awareness.
From a distance, a low rasp broke through the stillness. “What... happened?” Orlithar stirred, his voice rough and barely audible as he struggled to sit up.
Godric, though, remained focused on his ally. A monk hovered nearby, chanting healing incantations, but even as the magic worked to close the wounds, the sight of Erazon’s exposed bone glinting through charred flesh sent a chill through Godric. The damage was too great for the simple incantation.
Another groan escaped him as his eyes slowly opened. His vision, unfocused and wandering, showed little recognition of his surroundings. “Can you hear me?” Solena leaned closer, her voice steady but edged with concern as she readjusted her grip. “Are you able to walk?”
A slow blink was all he managed. “I... I think so…” His words were little more than a breath, empty of strength.
Shaking her head, she placed her hand onto his arm. “No, you’re not.” She pulled him closer, her muscles straining as she lifted him with a soft grunt. “Hold on. Lean on me.”
His arm draped over her shoulders, his legs barely supporting him. She gritted her teeth and steadied them both. “You don’t have to do this alone. Just focus on staying upright,” she murmured, her voice a blend of encouragement and exhaustion.
Seeing their struggle, Godric quickly knelt beside them and uncorked the vial. “Here, drink this. He lifted Erazon’s head gently, tipping the potion to his lips.
The change was almost immediate. Color began to return to Erazon’s face, his breathing steadied, and clarity returned to his mind. He blinked, looking between the two figures, his voice still weak but more focused. “Where…?”
Relief softened the smith’s tone. “We should head to the Guild to be safe,” he said, tucking the empty vial away. “Just hold on a little longer. You can rest there.”
With a faint nod, Erazon leaned heavily into Solena for support, his body trembling with fatigue. "I won’t let you fall," she whispered softly into his ear, her voice betraying her own exhaustion. She grimaced as they began to move.
The group trudged through the rubble-strewn streets of Carlin, their bodies burdened by the aftermath of battle. Each step felt like it was harder than the last, and fatigue wouldn’t describe how drained they all felt. Even the dwarven mage was too weakened to summon a door to the Guild, instead, he shuffled alongside them, his usual vigor dampened by the toll of the day.
Erazon walked with his arm around Solena’s shoulders for support, her hands blistered and burned, her hair singed at the ends. Even now, her face remained composed, though pain etched itself in the lines around her naturally red lips.
As they passed through the streets, the townsfolk began to emerge from their homes, one by one. Their faces were ashen, eyes wide with expressions of fear and awe. Some stood in silence, while others offered quiet words of gratitude. The respect they showed was was felt in their hearts, but the expectations of that respect only increased their fatigue.
"We survived," Godric muttered, almost to himself, as he looked at the ruined town around him. "But at what cost?"
No one answered.
Opening the guild doors as they finished their weary trek, Orlithar led them into a chamber that felt like the heart of the mountain. A hidden dwarven library imbued with warmth and subtle magics. Towering shelves carved directly into the stone walls held tomes and scrolls, spiraling upward toward a domed ceiling where embedded crystals glowed softly, bathing the room in pure white light.
Sturdy chairs of dark oak stood in the center of the library awaiting their call. The entire space, with its quiet fire and intricate details, seemed made for reflection and conversation.
The chairs creaked as the group collapsed into them, exhaustion settling on their faces. Orlithar snapped his fingers, summoning a teapot that floated to the table, gently pouring steaming contents into mismatched cups.
“Rest,” He said, his voice gravelly with strain. “We need to talk. Wild’s taken Elizza off to Magnatar. Ye may have heard, it’s a great fortress beyond the ghostlands.”
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Godric’s fist struck the table with a soft thud. "That’s where we’re going then."
Orlithar raised a hand in caution, his voice steady. “Aye, lad, After proper rest.” He eyes the smith carefully, barely tempering his rage. Continuing on he spoke “Even those who know the haunted lands tread carefully.” He leaned back, the knowledge of the past clear in his tone. “Magnatar wasn’t always like this. We traded with em’, an’ both cities thrived. Now it has fallen into darkness. The ghouls, twisted creatures, the whole bloody lot slip through our walls. We must be wise if we’re to face it head on.”
Solena shifted beside Erazon, her voice soft but focused. "I agree Godric, but that place is well guarded. Magnatar...I know Wild meets with Nyxis there, and others just like him. There's a Gate—something ancient and foul that brings those creatures through." She brushed a lock of Erazon’s hair back, noting the tension in his brow even as he rested.
“Godric,” her voice drew him from his thoughts, “Erazon needs time to recover. I’m no better off right now. I swear, we’ll find your sister, but we need him strong—and you as well.”
Godric exhaled, his simmering anger ebbing slightly as reality sank in. He exhaled loudly, sinking deeper into his chair. “You’re right. We can’t be rushing it.”
Solena turned to Orlithar with a curious glint in her eye. “May I ask something? During the battle... how did you summon so much power after being…imprisoned for so long?”
Orlithar’s eyes rose with a trace of humor, despite the weariness. “Aye, lass. Ye’ve got sense in ye. I didn’t use half of what I’m capable of. Magic—well, it always comes at a cost. Whether ye make a pact or not, every spell takes something. Strength, life… maybe even yer soul. I’ve paid my share. Ye all will too.”
He winked, his soot-streaked beard catching the firelight as his expression morphed into something grim. “It is all worse than I imagined. Wild possesses the Scythe of Lord Death himself.” He looked between them, his voice dropping lower. “To think he's become fully undead too… what would it take ta’ end him now? What is his soul bound to?” He shook his head, frustration rising. “He must be sealed. My spell... it was close…”
The reality of his words hung in the room, edging them into a weary silence once more. Solena’s fingers tightened around her cup, the pain in her blistered hands evident as she struggled to move. Her crimson robes, singed and torn, were a testament to the battle they had survived.
A sudden thud echoed in the room as Erazon stirred, slapping his spellbook onto the table. “Why is this always empty?” His voice was sharp, cutting through the tension. “You’ve got to know something.” His eyes were open for the moment, but it did not hide the lingering stupor in his face.
Orlithar’s attention shifted to the book, curiosity replacing the weariness in his wrinkled face. “Let me see it,” he said, leaning in. “This is the one that devil is after, isn’t it? You say it was a gift?”
Erazon hesitated before sliding it across. “Aeolex gave it to me. But I can’t tell if it was in reality or a..memory.”
The dwarf’s brow furrowed as his fingers traced the cover. “Aeolex… You’re serious lad aren’t ye?”
From across the table, Solena spoke up, her voice gentle but firm. “Ask his permission first. I’ve seen that book—there’s something about it.”
Orlithar shook his head thoughtfully. “May I?” he asked, turning to Erazon. “I’ll treat it with care.”
Erazon, too tired to argue, nodded. “Go ahead.”
Opening the tome slowly, the master sorcerer’s eyes widened slightly at the inscription: May this book always find you well. The worn cover shifted in his hands, turning into sleek dragonhide. The blank pages filled with familiar arcane symbols, as though the book had been waiting for his touch.
“Ah… I see now.” He looked up, noting the way both Erazon and Solena leaned in. “This isn’t just any spellbook, lad. It grows with ye. As ye gain power, it reveals itself. It’s not empty because it’s old—it’s because ye aren’t ready yet.”
Erazon’s brow furrowed in frustration. “But when I took a soul… or when I used this,” he said, drawing the obsidian dagger and laying it before them, “I saw spells appear. Once, a golden one that let me summon the mist.”
Orlithar’s expression darkened. “Ye’ve made more than one pact, haven’t ye? Death… and Fire both?”
Erazon averted his eyes, worry clouding his thoughts. “Yes.”
“That would explain it.” Orlithar’s voice took on a heavier tone. “Few wizards dare make pacts with more than one of the Nine. Ye have that golden energy inside ye heart, letting ye summon the mist, but it ain’t mastered yet. Look at ye—haven’t slept in days, have ye even eaten?”
His focus fell on Erazon’s exposed forearm, the bone gleaming through raw skin. “This is a warning lad. Keep relying on borrowed power, and ye’ll pay the price. The whispers, the ghosts—those’ll be the least of yer problems. Ye need to learn to wield the power ye were born with. That’s where yer strength lies, and it’ll reveal what the book holds.”
In the corner, Godric, who had since risen from his chair and begun pacing, finally stopped. His fists clenched, his face a mask of frustration. “This is why I never trusted magic. It’s just curse to everyone who uses it. My sister is gone, and I couldn’t stop it. They should’ve taken me instead.”
Solena lowered her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry, Godric. I tried… I gave everything I had, but we couldn’t stop him. You fought as hard as anyone. We were lucky just to get away.”
Orlithar’s eyes softened as he looked between them. “Don’t carry the blame, lad. Ye’ve a strong group. We nearly won, and next time, ye might. But ye’ll need each other.” His eyes met with Solena’s. “And lass, ye’ve done well. Yer a true sorceress. But ye need to be careful. Even without a spellbook, no mage escapes the cost of magic.” He gestured to her blistered hands while raising his eyebrow. “Look at yer poor hands lass. And to boot, Ye’ve got a fever, don’t ye. Burnin’ up.?”
Solena sunk her head, feeling the truth hit her hard. Orlithar exhaled deeply, turning his focus back to the group. “You three stand on the brink of history, one that could determine Carlin’s survival. The kingdom has conquered nearly all it sees. I can no longer contact the other guildmasters. Carlin is the last bastion of hope in this great world. And that hope rests upon ye.”
Orlithar leaned forward, his tone grave. “Godric, ye may not know it, but yer people come from deep beneath the mountains, where dwarves and elves work together in a great mine. For generations, none has ventured to see the light of day. Ye’re an unusual one—a daywalker. Yer father had a knack for the unusual, and ye’ve inherited it. Ye have a natural gift, lad—those red eyes of yours can see runes and things that most others can’t. It’s rare, but if ye can learn the craft, ye can forge Runes onto items, imbuing them with great power.”
Godric, who had been sitting at the edge of his seat, leaned forward, eyes wide as he locked onto the master sorcerer’s. His focus unwavering as Orlithar continued.
“Yer sister,” he said, “She has a uncanny knack fer healin. I can count on my hands the healers that can cast shields and blast light. I believe she’s connected to Aurelia in ways I do not yet understand. Ye can see it in her face, her unnatural grace. Wild-Wizard didn’t take her to turn her undead—that’s not his plan. I can’t say I know what it may be, but I reckon she’s worth more alive. An’ I will do all I can to help ye, lad. She should be safe for a time.”
Uncharacteristic tears welled up in Godric’s eyes. “her mother…reminded me of Aurelia’s maidens,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “Elii’s taken after her, she believes in the Nine. She believes Aurelia watches her. Yet she’s the kindest, most caring person I’ve ever met. She’s got the heart of an angel, and I swore… I swore I would always protect her. I’ve failed her as a brother and failed our father as his son. For the first time, my strength has failed me.”
Erazon, half awake, felt the pain in Godric’s voice. In the short time he had known them, he had seen the truth of their nature. Elizza’s grace was undeniable; she did seem like an angel. He couldn’t imagine her in the hands of a demon like Wild-Wizard. The evil wizard’s power was unimaginable, and his own seemed so weak in comparison.
His mind raced, searching for what he could do to grow stronger. He had to tap into something deeper, to reach his core. Rest was necessary, as was finding more answers. The question gnawed at him: Who am I?
However he knew who Elizza was—she was someone who would easily give her life to protect a friend. A girl who always healed and helped those around her. She would never let a companion wander off alone. She was more than a friend. She was someone he loved being around, someone he, too, wanted to protect.
“Godric,” Erazon said, his voice firmer, despite his wavering consciousness. We will rescue her. With your help, and Solena’s”—he turned to glance at her, noticing her emerald eyes glowing even more brightly than before, like fields of bright grass in the morning sun—“I’ll make it right. I brought this bad luck upon you. You’ve had nothing but hardship since I came to this town. I’ll use all my power to see her back safely, and I will end Wild-Wizard. I just… I just need to figure out how to use what I’ve got. This damned book…” His voice trailed off as fatigue overtook him.
Orlithar, watching Erazon carefully, slid the book back toward him. “Now, lad, before ye pass out, tell me more about this golden spell ye saw. Ye said ye called forth mist?”
Erazon blinked, trying to gather his thoughts. “Yes… Most of the time, the book is blank. But a couple of times, I’ve seen a golden spell. And when I summon fire without the dagger, it’s golden too… but it drains everything me. I’ve been… sacrificing to get power when I need it. I thought it would be enough..”
Orlithar remained silent for a long moment, his singed beard catching the flickering firelight as he pondered the mage’s words. “Golden eyes, golden energy, pacts with two gods, and a book from Aeolex.” He stroked his chin, then stood with a groan, moving toward a nearby shelf. After a moment of searching, he pulled down an old tome. Blowing the dust off carefully, he placed it on the table.
Orlithar grinned slyly as he tapped the hefty tome on the table. “Ah, this beauty right here,” he began with a flourish, “The Comprehensive Codex of Great, Wondrous, and Occasionally Mildly Confounding Powers: Fifth Expanded Volume, Unabridged Edition—Complete with Annotations and Addendums by Grand-Devious Marchelious Viriticus the Third, Commander of the Armies in Roan, Keeper of the Sacred Scrolls, and Occasional Baker of the Finest Elven Pastries."
He let the ridiculous title hang in the air for a moment, eyebrows raised as if he were expecting applause. "Covers everything from reincarnation to why cats always land on their feet. Study it intensely, lad. Inside, ye’ll find answers, important ones. The golden flame is significant. Master it. Strengthen yer shield. If ye can rely on that power, ye might not even need the... what do ye call it—arduous magic of death or fire.”
Erazon stared at him, blinking slowly before his eyes traveled to the enormous tome. In this odd state of mentality, he snapped. “WHEN am I going to have time to read this GIANT book?!" He threw his hands up in frustration. "It’s bigger than my entire life so far!”
Orlithar chuckled, leaning back in his chair, completely unfazed. “Lad, think of it this way—ye’ll be stronger just by lifting it a few times a day. Consider it training.” He paused, adding with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "And besides, it’s only the fifth volume. The rest should arrive next week."
Before Erazon could protest further, Solena reached over, placing a steady hand on his, her face serious and resolute. “Trust him, Erazon,” she whispered in a hushed, almost reverent tone. “This tome holds wisdom far beyond our understanding. If you master it, you might unlock power that none of us can even fathom.”
She looked at the giant book as if it were a sacred relic, her gaze unwavering. "Think about it—the Annotations and Addendums alone could be the key to your strength. We can’t afford to dismiss even the Occasional Baker of Elven Pastries."
Orlithar, barely containing a chuckle, nodded solemnly at her intensity, giving her a playful wink. “Aye, lass. Well said! It’s a weighty title, to be sure. One of my forefathers passed it on when I turned over a hundred. It’s brimming with the kind of knowledge I wished I'd had sooner. Ye’ll come to appreciate it, just like I did.”
Orlithar shot a teasing glance at the duo, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “And lass, ye’re right about another thing too. Ye’re a good fit for him. Temper his flames with yer fire—it’s what makes the magic flow.”
Solena, still wearing her serious expression, responded with conviction, “Exactly. This is no laughing matter, Erazon. That book is our way forward.”
But as the weight of Orlithar’s words sank in, she suddenly felt her cheeks warm. Her gaze faltered, and she quickly looked away, trying to dismiss the comment. She had only meant to help Erazon see the importance of the book, thinking they might find answers that Orlithar couldn't fully explain. But Orlithar’s casual mention of them being a “good fit” stirred something inside her—something she hadn’t anticipated.
Her heart fluttered with confusion. Was he getting the wrong idea? Her mind spun. Did she think of Erazon that way? He had sacrificed himself for her, saved her from the curse, and she knew, without question, he would do it again. Was she starting to feel something more for him? The thought caught her off guard, her fingers unexpectedly tightening around his arm. The closeness they shared in these moments suddenly felt... different.
Godric's fists tightened, his resolve hardening. "Ghoslands huh…I've never been afraid of ghosts. I just need to figure out how to hit em’." His gaze flickered toward Erazon, who was drifting off again. Weariness lined his voice. "We've been through a lot master dwarf. Is there a place we can rest? I’ll eat tomorrow. Too tired. Too sore. Might visit the monks and check on father in the morning."
Orlithar's brows lifted with a knowing nod. "Aye, lad, that's just what I was thinkin'. I need a rest meself." He stood up with a grunt, his bones creaking as he straightened his back. "Tomorrow, we’ll lift the enchantments from the Guild, let yer father sell his potions here in the meantime, and I’ll get back to selling spellbooks and wands. Carlin will be a city of wizards again—we just need to get ‘em stronger."
As the dwarf stretched his fingers, they began to glow softly, bright points of light forming at each fingertip. With a sliding motion, a white door appeared before them, adorned with a crystal handle that gleamed in the low light. "Ye’ll be safe in here. Plenty o’ room. When ye wake, just come out, and ye’ll pop right back here. There’ll be a feast waitin’, and we’ll replenish our stores," he said, offering them a reassuring nod.
Godric stepped through first, breathing deeply as the door opened to reveal a hallway bathed in soft, calming light. The air here was cool and comforting, carrying the scent of magic, like the earth after a fresh rain. With each breath, the tension in his muscles seemed to ease. As he glanced back at Solena, guiding Erazon down the corridor, the guilt from earlier surfaced again. He hadn’t been able to protect them the way he’d wanted to, but that would change. He closed his door behind him, determined.
Solena, still supporting her companion, helped him toward the second door. She glanced over her shoulder, noting that Godric’s door had shut. Now it was just the two of them. Erazon leaned heavily against her, completely spent, his body barely responding to the effort of walking. The burden of him on her shoulders was a constant reminder of the battle they had fought. Her own body was blistered and sore, the exhaustion was nearly overwhelming. Finally, they reached the second room. She pushed the door open, stepping inside.
The room felt like a quiet sanctuary. A warm fire crackled in a hearth against one wall, casting a soft yet silent glow across the room. Shelves filled with more of the dwarfs' books lined the stone walls, but the space was dominated by the large, canopied bed in the center, draped with magnificent purple curtains. Black and amethyst sheets covered the bed, the colors rich and inviting. It was a comforting contrast to the chaos they had left behind, a place that reminded her of home. Too many pillows lined the bed, but the abundance of comfort felt perfect for the moment.
Solena smiled faintly, wondering if the room had been prepared with her in mind, or if it was simply a coincidence. Either way, she considered sharing the space with Erazon. The bed was certainly large enough for the both of them, and he was already so far gone into sleep that she knew he wouldn’t stir for a long time. She decided she should stay, ensuring his safety through the night. She also did not want to be alone after everything they had been through.
Carefully, she hoisted him onto the bed, his heavy figure pulling on her as she eased him down onto the soft sheets. His face, bruised and worn from battle, softened in sleep, the lines of tension melting away. Solena knelt beside him, removing his shoes with gentle hands, her fingers grazing his ankles as she slid them off. Then, with a damp cloth from the basin nearby, she wiped the dirt and sweat from his face. His skin was uncharacteristically cold under her touch, a reminder of the magic he had wielded earlier, magic that had pushed him to the brink.
She paused, her hand lingering on his face as she studied him. He’s grown so much, she thought, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. Faster and stronger than anyone I’ve known. He no longer looks like a young boy, he looks… aged. Like a young man, he’d caught up to her somehow. She thought to herself “Maybe if I stay by his side... together, we could defeat Wild-Wizard. We could end this nightmare for us all.”
Her hands framed his face, her fingers lightly tracing the sharp lines of his jaw. His presence, the steady rhythm of his breathing, calmed her. Her heart ached as she looked at him, knowing the toll the battle had taken. You’ve saved me so many times already, she thought, her emotions swirling. I won’t betray you. I’ll stand by your side, no matter what comes next. Even if it meant sacrificing everything.
Bending down, she pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, letting her lips linger for a moment. Their heads touched gently, and for a brief second, she felt a quiet connection between them, a silent promise that she would stay. She hoped he could feel her heart in that moment—the vow she was making to protect him, to be by his side.
Slowly, Solena tucked the sheets around him, pulling them up to his chest. She stood, her hand trailing along the edge of the bed as she walked to the other side, her fingers brushing the soft fabric. It was comforting beneath her touch, a simple luxury after the trials they had faced. Exhaustion tugged at her, but there was also a strange peace here, a sense of safety she hadn’t felt in a long time.
Without a second thought, she slipped into the bed beside him. The gentle glow of the fire and the hum of magic in the air eased her into a calm, restful state. As she nestled into the pillows, the days events finally overtook her. The comfort of the sheets, the warmth of the room, and the presence of him beside her brought a sense of peace she had longed for. Her eyes grew heavy, and before long, sleep claimed her, pulling her into a deep, dreamless rest.