《I Crashed My Spaceship in an Unknown World》 CHAP1 - (Prologue)The crash The shift from stasis to consciousness is always brutal. My mind explodes with a torrent of sensations, every nerve in my body screaming awake all at once. The glacial cold of cryogenic suspension gives way to an aggressive artificial warmth that seeps into my core. My vision locks onto the trembling metallic walls of the capsule, their surface illuminated by the frantic flickering of red warning lights. The faint hum of machinery buzzes in the background, punctuated by the sharp hiss of depressurizing air. The sterile scent of coolant hangs in the confined space, mingling with the metallic tang of the cryo chamber. ¡°Admiral, successful awakening. Critical anomaly detected.¡± Leia¡¯s synthetic voice fills the cramped space, carrying an uncharacteristic urgency. The central intelligence of the Colossus is usually calm, almost maternal. Not today. Leia¡¯s voice carries a faint, melodic tone, engineered to soothe under normal circumstances. Yet, there is a clipped edge to her words, a subtle crack in her robotic composure that sets my nerves on edge. I struggle to sit up, my muscles aching and sluggish from what could have been months¡ªor years¡ªof immobilization. My fingers instinctively find the biometric panel on the capsule¡¯s edge, bringing up a status display. The screen, embedded in the wall, floods with chaotic data: gravitational wave charts, impossible simulations, and a single word that repeats like a sinister mantra: Singularity. ¡°Leia, full report. Now.¡± My voice is hoarse, grating against my dry throat. An ethereal holographic display materializes before me, projecting chaotic images. Gravitational anomalies ripple across the screen, converging into the unmistakable silhouette of a black hole. The Colossus, our titanic vessel engineered to carry an entire colony, is caught in its inexorable pull. ¡°Admiral, the gravitational anomaly was undetected until after crossing the point of no return. Impact imminent. Universal survival protocols engaged.¡± My stomach tightens. Leia¡¯s tone remains eerily steady, but her words chill me to the bone. Alarms blare through the ship, their echoes reverberating through the colossal structure. The realization strikes hard: millions of colonists, all cryogenically preserved like me, are onboard. No evacuation protocol can save a vessel of this magnitude from a black hole. ¡°Survival protocol? Explain!¡± A schematic replaces the chaotic visuals. The cryogenic chambers are highlighted, their status marked as ¡°Locked.¡± Leia is redirecting the entirety of the ship¡¯s energy to generate a stabilizing bubble around the singularity¡ªa desperate, mathematically insane maneuver. But even that won¡¯t be enough. The Colossus is falling, helplessly spiraling into the unknown. Then, bold red text appears on the display:Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. ¡°Atomic structure: partial integrity maintained. Spatiotemporal field unstable.¡± We aren¡¯t destroyed. Not yet. But the fundamental laws of physics are fraying. ¡°Leia, prepare the bridge. I¡¯m on my way.¡± My uniform lies neatly folded beside the capsule. I pull it on with mechanical precision, clinging to discipline as a tether to sanity. The metallic doors hiss open, revealing the main corridor of the Colossus. It¡¯s unrecognizable: severed cables dangle like vines, pipes hiss with escaping vapor, and emergency lights pulse in erratic patterns. Leia¡¯s guidance manifests as holographic arrows that flicker into existence with every step I take. The hallway smells of scorched metal and burnt plastic. A faint vibration underfoot hints at the massive forces tearing through the ship. By the time I reach the bridge, I¡¯m greeted by a sight that steals the air from my lungs. Beyond the reinforced glass, the universe is chaos incarnate. A kaleidoscope of swirling colors and warped dimensions engulfs the ship. Streams of incandescent matter twist like serpents through the void, their light fractured by immense gravitational forces. In what kind of hell are we ? ¡°Leia, navigation report.¡± ¡°Admiral, propulsion systems offline. Planetary gravity well engaged. Estimated impact in seventeen minutes.¡± The main screen displays the Colossus in grim detail. Sections of the ship break apart under the strain, entire decks torn away into the void. Debris spirals in all directions. Time is slipping through my fingers. ¡°And the colonists?¡± ¡°Cryo chambers secure. Survival probability: 32%.¡± My fists clench. It¡¯s not enough. Then I black out. Darkness fragments into shards of pale light as my consciousness resurfaces. My head throbs, each pulse resonating with a faint, persistent whine. I inhale deeply, and the air shocks me: it¡¯s not the recycled sterility of the Colossus but something alive. Earthy. Damp. Metallic. And then, wind. My hand gropes instinctively for support, brushing against something rough and warm. Soil. Real soil. Not the polished floors of the Colossus. Memories crash into me: the black hole, the alarms, the fall... and then, nothingness. I force myself upright, every joint screaming in protest. My eyes adjust slowly to my surroundings. Chaos greets me. The wreckage of the Colossus sprawls across an alien landscape, colossal fragments embedded in the ground or precariously perched atop massive trees.I have never seen such a landscape, everyone around me seems to be burned, but I miraculously escaped this blaze. I look skyward. The heavens are painted with streaks of luminescence, bands of color like auroras tinged with hues of blood red. Shadows drift across the horizon¡ªimmense, incomprehensible forms that defy identification. The air vibrates faintly, as if the very fabric of reality hums with residual energy from the ship¡¯s catastrophic descent. A faint beep pulls me from my stupor. A cracked holographic display flickers amidst the wreckage nearby, its light weak but steady. I stagger toward it, the weight of survival pressing heavily on my shoulders. Somewhere in this alien expanse lies the answer to the question burning in my mind: Did anyone else survive? CHAP2 The Weight of Nothingness I finally take stock of my condition: my uniform is torn, stained with dried blood and dirt. My communicator crackles faintly on my wrist. Leia? No, it¡¯s just a dead loop. The voice of the AI is nothing more than a lost echo. My body aches, covered in bruises, scratches, and even minor burns. ¡°Leia?! Answer me!¡± My voice cuts through the oppressive silence. Nothing responds but the rustle of colossal leaves and the distant groan of warped metal. I rise slowly, every muscle protesting. A faint beep catches my attention. A cracked holographic screen flickers a few steps away, emerging from the remains of a navigation console. I stagger toward it, clinging to the hope it might hold answers¡ªor salvation. The ground beneath me is a blend of scorched earth and shattered metal. The faint scent of charred materials mingles with an alien organic tang. Each step is precarious, the debris of the Colossus scattered like the remnants of a shattered dream. I stand, swaying, in the midst of an ocean of destruction. The wind whistles softly, stirring up ash and dust that dance around the mess. Spread across the horizon are fragments of all sizes, remnants of a ship that once carried humanity¡¯s hope. The pervasive smell of burnt metal dominates, but there¡¯s something else, faint yet unsettlingly organic. Underfoot, patches of tender grass intermingle with shards of steel and broken glass. But most of the ground is a scorched crust, a wounded land marred by the Colossus¡¯s descent. Then, a voice. Coldly mechanical, yet carrying a tone I¡¯ve never heard from it before. A shadow of sadness, perhaps? Leia. At last, she¡¯s responding¡ªwhich means some servers must have survived somewhere. My heart tightens. If she¡¯s online, perhaps some cryo-colonists made it too. ¡°Leia! Status report. Are there any survivors?¡± I ask, my voice brimming with fragile hope. ¡°Admiral... You are the only human alive. All cryogenic compartments are compromised.¡± The blow is visceral, like an invisible fist striking my stomach. Leia is direct, sparing no words. My legs falter under the weight of her statement. Already weakened by injuries and the crash, I sway, struggling to process the enormity of her report. Millions of lives, entire families, generations of hope¡ªall extinguished. And me... left alone.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°No... No, that¡¯s impossible!¡± My voice breaks the silence, raw and desperate. I slam my fist against the communicator on my wrist, as if striking the useless device might reverse reality. But Leia doesn¡¯t waver. She¡¯s speaking through a transmitter that survived the crash, just nearby. My own communicator is dead. I stagger toward the intact device, clutching it like a lifeline. ¡°Cross-checking completed. All cryo pods sustained structural failures during transit. The physical integrity of the occupants did not survive. You are... alone, Admiral.¡± I collapse to my knees, fingers digging into the soft, ashen earth. The tactile sensation of a living world contrasts violently with the desolation around me. The plain stretches out, flat and alien, bordered by towering trees whose dark trunks reach skyward like silent monoliths. Most of them are charred husks. The wind¡¯s murmur through their branches is deceptive; there¡¯s no life beneath their bark. The Colossus has annihilated everything. What have I done? A black hole... and now this? A plain, warm wind, towering trees... none of it makes any sense. ¡°Leia, where are we? What is this place?¡± She hesitates. The unflappable AI¡ªdesigned to process any crisis without faltering¡ªseems uncertain for the first time. Her hesitation unsettles me more than her words ever could. ¡°Location unknown. Stellar coordinates do not match any database. Breathable atmosphere detected. Gravity slightly below Earth standard. Anomalous readings... electromagnetic disturbances, unclassified geological and biological structures.¡± My anger boils over, fueled by fear. ¡°You mean we¡¯re... somewhere else? Another planet? Another galaxy?¡± A heavy silence hangs before Leia¡¯s measured response. ¡°The physical characteristics of this environment suggest we have left our original universe. The probability of interdimensional traversal via the singularity exceeds 98.3%.¡± Her words stagger me. Another dimension. My mind, still dulled by the brutal awakening and the crash, struggles to grasp the enormity of this revelation. I scan the horizon, desperate for anything familiar among the wreckage. All I see is devastation: shards of the Colossus scattered like the remnants of a fallen titan. Millions of dead. And me, left alive. For what purpose? How am I still alive? Why me? I pause, placing a hand on a piece of still-warm metal¡ªa fragment of the Colossus. Memories of the ship¡¯s grandeur flood back: the laughter of children during boarding, the promises of a new beginning. Now, all of it is gone. But I can¡¯t remain paralyzed by grief. I must move forward, understand what happened, and above all, discover why I was spared. The soft rustle of wind through the charred grass and the distant groaning of debris remind me that this is no dream. The world around me is real, and I am utterly alone within it. CHAP 3 - Moving Metal I stagger, my breath shallow. A dull pain pulses in my right side. Warm blood trickles slowly down my ribs beneath my torn uniform. A broken rib, perhaps. Or worse. I force myself to remain upright despite the exhaustion and shock threatening to overwhelm me. I am the Admiral. I cannot falter. I was trained, almost engineered, to command a ship like this. Admittedly, not to handle a crash¡ªlet alone one with no survivors¡ªbut even so. My condition is secondary for now. If I can walk, it means there¡¯s nothing immediately fatal. ¡°Leia... are there any drones or droids that survived? Any intact sections of the ship?¡± An interminable silence. Then her voice, calmer than it should be, finally responds: ¡°Analysis in progress...¡± I remain motionless, gazing at the massive debris stretching endlessly around me. Pieces of the Colossus, stripped of its former majesty, lie shattered and scattered like the bones of a fallen giant. The wind whistles through the cracks and crevices of metal plates. I find a sheltered spot to sit, desperately needing a moment of rest. ¡°Result: 17.3% of droids have survived. Functionality varies. Active autonomous modules detected within a two-kilometer radius. Some are converging on your position.¡± A wave of relief mixed with apprehension washes over me. The droids... built to ensure the safety and operation of the colony. Their sophistication is unparalleled. But here, in this alien environment, what of their programming? They rely on a central system to function collectively. If the servers are down, they must have defaulted to the same ones Leia is using. ¡°Leia, what do you mean by ¡®variable functionality¡¯?¡± ¡°Units are damaged or altered by gravitational and electromagnetic disruptions caused by the crash and preceding events. Some functionalities may be unstable.¡± Exactly what I feared. The droids are incredibly resilient, but even they aren¡¯t immune to malfunctions in such extreme conditions. I¡¯m already grateful to hear that approximately 17% of the units survived; that must amount to a few hundred. ¡°And the ship? The generator?¡±A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. ¡°The Colossus¡¯s central generator is intact. It is located 3.8 kilometers northeast of your position. Terrain and debris dispersion complicate access. Other partially intact sections include: emergency communications room B-2 and the preparation area of the mess hall.¡± The generator is intact. It¡¯s a glimmer of hope amidst the desolation, overshadowing the other findings. With it, I could reactivate some systems¡ªperhaps even establish a semblance of a base. It¡¯s no surprise it survived; the reactor is a masterpiece of technology more valuable than the ship itself. Encased in an enormous shielded compartment spanning dozens of meters, it¡¯s built to withstand unimaginable forces. These three kilometers feel like an eternity in my current state. How will I move this... A mechanical sound interrupts my thoughts. I turn abruptly, one hand instinctively reaching for my hip¡ªwhere nothing resides, not even a rudimentary weapon. I have nothing but my decorative belt. A droid. It advances toward me, emerging from the shadows of a mound of debris. A standard maintenance unit, standing about two meters tall. Its chassis is marred with burns and cracks, yet it appears operational. Its central eye emits a flickering blue light, and its articulated arms end in human-like hands. It¡¯s a humanoid model. ¡°Autonomous units activated. Admiral detected. Priority assistance engaged.¡± Its voice is monotone, but what it represents fills me with a renewed sense of purpose. I am not entirely alone. Behind it, two more forms slowly emerge. A heavy transport unit capable of lifting massive debris and a humanoid combat droid, its armor still bearing the military insignias of the Colossus. The latter is armed, and though its movements are fluid, part of its plating appears melted from the intense pressures it endured. I lean against a chunk of metal to catch my breath, scrutinizing my mechanical allies. They¡¯re here, but they¡¯re just three units out of thousands. For now, they¡¯ll have to suffice. ¡°Leia, activate coordination of the remaining droids. Priority: gather information about the terrain. I need locations of operational droids, recoverable resources, and any immediate threats.¡± ¡°Order transmitted. Synchronization in progress.¡± I can¡¯t afford to wait for a full report; I trust Leia to handle the details. My mind races, trying to devise an immediate course of action. ¡°Leia, secondary priority: maps and a secure route to the generator. We must secure it; doing so will give us a fighting chance to regain some semblance of control.¡± ¡°Trajectory calculated. Warning: high concentration of debris in the area. Hostile conditions likely.¡± I am exhausted, but one thought dominates my mind more than my own condition. Losing the reactor means losing any chance of rebuilding here. It¡¯s a near-autonomous fusion engine, a source of virtually unlimited energy crafted over centuries of research and at the cost of billions of credits. Without it, Leia¡¯s servers will go offline forever, the droids will cease to function, and I¡¯ll be alone. Utterly alone. CHAP 4 - Gathering forces The initial shock has passed, replaced by a cold determination. Pain, exhaustion, loneliness¡ªall of it matters little in the face of what must be done. If I want to survive, if I want to make sense of this disaster, I have to act now. My first goal is clear: gather the droids. With them, I can hope to secure the vital parts of the Colossus and lay the groundwork for survival. I turn to the three droids already present, their glowing sensors fixed on me. ¡°Leia, I want every operational unit to converge on my position. Identify those that can be quickly repaired with available parts in the area. Absolute priority: transport, maintenance, and combat droids.¡± It seems unlikely that Leia¡¯s earlier analysis missed any drone-class units¡ªa shame, as they¡¯d have been invaluable for scouting the crash site and the surrounding area. Judging by the scorched trees at the forest¡¯s edge, it¡¯s clear I¡¯ve landed in a wooded area. It could¡¯ve been worse: a city, or the middle of an ocean. Then I remember that number¡ªzero. No one survived but me. I grit my teeth. No, it couldn¡¯t have been worse. ¡°Order transmitted. Scanning local networks. Estimated convergence time: approximately one hour. Estimated repair time for partially functional units: variable depending on recoverable resources.¡± An hour. An eternity in this unfamiliar environment. Fragments of my training at the Imperial Naval Academy surface: in a hostile environment, staying on the move is paramount. Avoid stagnant positions. But I have no choice. I can only hope this environment is no more hostile than the field of debris already is. I have to move towerd the generator. I motion sharply to the heavy transport droid. This guy will clear my path to it. ¡°You¡¯re coming with me to secure the generator. It¡¯s critical. Leia, guide me.¡± ¡°Secure route calculated. Unstable debris detected in the area. Estimated travel time: 35 minutes.¡± I take a deep breath, the motion painful in my right side, and start moving. Three kilometers is going to be painful. My legs protest, each step rekindling a sharp pain in my injured side, but I can¡¯t afford to stop. Ahead of me, the transport droid clears debris too cumbersome for me to navigate, its heavy steps crushing grass and fragments beneath its weight. On either side, the other two droids flank me. Though only one is armed, their presence offers some reassurance. After an arduous march, we finally arrive. I nearly collapse, breathless. Fuck, do I really have some broken ribs ?! The generator compartment looms ahead, massive and solitary, emerging from the wreckage like a fortress. Its armored shell, mostly intact, speaks to its superior design. But visible cracks mar its surface, and torn pipes leak a whitish gas. Along the way, about forty droids have joined us, scattered survivors converging slowly but steadily. It feels like walking with an army, except there¡¯s no one left to defend.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. The generator itself is a behemoth¡ªa massive cylindrical structure about forty meters tall, bristling with pipes, control panels, and security systems. It sits in a crater, partially embedded in the plain, its immense weight having driven it deep into the ground upon impact. The crater it created is vast, it obliterated everything in its immediate vicinity. Leia¡¯s voice finally speaks again, through the module I replaced on my wrist. ¡°Fusion generator detected. Structural integrity: 83%, primarily external damage. Functionality unstable. Main power is offline. Gravitational disturbances and the impact have compromised anchoring systems. Stabilization required to prevent irreversible damage.¡± It¡¯s even worse than I expected. If this generator fails or sustains further damage, I¡¯m doomed. The droids, Leia, any chance of survival¡ªall depend on it. Now that it¡¯s in front of me, it¡¯s time to act. Maybe that''s my mission now. I try to convince myself, flooding my mind with this one objective to suppress any lingering human thoughts. ¡°Leia, deploy all available transport and maintenance units here immediately. Combat droids are to secure the area during repairs.¡± ¡°Order executing. Estimated arrival time for first units: 15 minutes.¡± I kneel beside a partially dislodged control console, attempting to restart it. The screen flickers weakly, but the commands remain inaccessible. No surprise. The reactor itself has survived and is likely in a safety mode, but all auxiliary systems are fried. As the droids finally arrive, the plain begins to stir with activity. A dozen machines, some dented but operational, converge on the generator, joining the ones already at work. Articulated arms immediately spring into action, removing metal plates, welding cracks, and reconnecting severed cables. More of them emerge like an unyielding swarm of ants, appearing from the wreckage as if rising from a vast underground hive. A humanoid maintenance droid approaches me, a first-aid kit integrated into its frame. I''m asked to take of my shirt as it detects injury. It quickly scans my whole body before applying antiseptic foam and a compressive bandage. The pain dulls slightly. I ask it what exactly afflicts me, but its vocals seem fucked up, I guess I¡¯ll have to make do for now. Meanwhile, transport droids clear debris from around the generator, primarily heaps of scorched earth and charred wreckage. They stabilize the structure using recovered materials supplied by the others. A combat unit patrols the perimeter, its sensors sweeping the area for potential threats. For now, the only threat appears to be my own stress¡ªand that¡¯s a relief. All these robots together form a chaotic but efficient ballet. My brain also continues this dance in abstraction from the spectacle before my eyes. ¡°Leia, how many main servers are still intact?¡± ¡°One main server detected. Location: 2 kilometers west of the generator. High risk of imminent degradation. If this server is compromised, my integrity will be irreparably lost.¡± It¡¯s another blow, but there¡¯s an opportunity. With the generator stabilized, I could power the server and ensure its protection. ¡°Leia, prioritize backing up your data. Once the generator is reactivated, your integrity is the top priority.¡± ¡°Order confirmed. Estimated time for data transfer and stabilization: 3 hours post-generator reactivation.¡± I clench my fists. Everything hinges on this generator. Every weld, every repair made by these droids is a battle won against oblivion and desolation. CHAP 5 - Scavenging Army Sitting on a warped steel plate, my back pressed against a massive piece of hull, I watch the tireless ballet of the droids. Their cold and relentless efficiency is fascinating, almost hypnotic. Yet, despite this display of order and reconstruction, I am overwhelmed by an absolute emptiness. They obey, yes. But they do not think. The bandages applied by the maintenance droid pull uncomfortably against my side. I miss the imaginary smoke of a cigarette as much as the comforting burn of a glass of alcohol or the warmth of human touch. I would give anything for a hug, a kiss¡ªbut I am alone. Devastated, broken in both body and spirit. And yet, something compels me to keep going. I fixate on the reactor, that vital yet motionless giant, surrounded by a swarm of mechanical workers. Hundreds of humanoid droids, highly sophisticated, work tirelessly: welding, diagnosing, replacing modules, recalibrating control interfaces. They dart about, scavenging usable parts from the debris. Seventy-eight transport droids, massive and powerful, methodically clear tons of wreckage to free the generator and stabilize its base. Piece by piece, the crater fills with solid structure. It¡¯s far from ideal, but I can finally initiate the progressive startup of the reactor beyond its safety mode. Improvised repair stations, set up among piles of metallic wreckage, hum with activity. Maintenance droids work ceaselessly, dismantling destroyed units to salvage usable parts and reviving damaged droids at a breakneck pace. They also prepare specialized components for the reactor. Their coordination escapes my understanding, but I can only thank Leia for it. I feel like an intruder amidst this bustling hive¡ªnot of life, but at least of activity. Droids are everywhere. Every motion is precise, every movement optimized. Some handle high-precision tools, others carry multi-ton steel plates as if they were weightless. A transporter passes by, carrying a central server marked with the Colossus insignia. It¡¯s clear these weren¡¯t designed to host the AI, but Leia¡¯s backup processes must have migrated here. I¡¯ll need to find a more permanent solution. At least the droids found the servers. Soon, we¡¯ll connect Leia to the generator and stop relying on backup batteries. That reassures me. For the first time since my abrupt awakening from cryostasis, I feel like I have a shred of control. I run a hand over the bandage on my right side. Damn, I haven¡¯t had a moment for myself¡ªnot even to properly complete the wake-up protocols. I laugh bitterly: it¡¯s far too late for that now. My body woke up the hard way. Leia¡¯s voice cuts through my thoughts, cold but steady, emanating from the module on my wrist.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Admiral, the transport droids are converging on the generator area with the central modules. Estimated time to setup: 20 minutes.¡± I nod mechanically. The servers are the key. Without them, Leia will be lost, and with her, any chance of coherent strategy in this hell. Without her, centralizing droid commands will be impossible, meaning I¡¯d have to dedicate units for relaying orders manually. That would be a nightmare. In the middle of this organized chaos, the droids have created a temporary central station¡ªa cleared zone about a hundred meters from the generator where they methodically stack resources. Partially repaired consoles, backup energy reservoirs, salvaged automated turrets for defense. Batteries are piled systematically, as are reusable droid components. Yet, there¡¯s no sign of the cryostasis capsules. It¡¯s strange. Given their number and the compartment they were stored in, I doubt they all disintegrated in the crash. Either the droids haven¡¯t found them, which is unlikely, or they aren¡¯t here¡ªnot in this debris field, at least. No matter. It¡¯s not my priority right now. They¡¯re dead anyway. I turn my gaze back to the robots. They improvise¡ªand it works. I watch the scene from my perch in silence. There is order in their work, a coordination that feels almost human but lacks a soul. Perhaps that¡¯s for the best. I couldn¡¯t bear to see eyes looking at me with questions, or worse, pity. When the last of Leia¡¯s central servers is installed near the generator, the maintenance droids immediately begin connecting it. Massive cables intertwine, cooling modules align, and maintenance screens flicker to life. Leia remains imperturbable. ¡°Admiral, server integrity is at 87%. Damaged modules have been isolated. Proceeding with main function reset. Estimated time: 1 hour.¡± I nod silently. Every step brings me closer to a functional base. A base for what, exactly? That question haunts me. This world is vast, unknown, and probably hostile. I have no allies, no clear objectives beyond surviving another day. Rebuilding something, perhaps. But for whom? For what? Are there even inhabitants here? And if so, what will they be like? I rise slowly, grimacing in pain, and approach a humanoid droid supervising Leia¡¯s data transfer. It straightens at my approach, almost like a soldier awaiting orders. ¡°How many droids do we now have operational?¡± The droid answers without hesitation, its mechanical voice perfectly modulated. ¡°Total functional units: 483. Breakdown: maintenance humanoid droids, 213; transport droids, 75; combat droids, 192. No aerial or mega-class units have been restored.¡± It¡¯s an impressive force... but insufficient to face the unknown. At least I have a considerable number of combat droids. Even if not all retained their weapons, their physical capabilities are significant. It should suffice. I hope. I turn toward the generator, observing the blinking lights on its massive panels. ¡°Leia, when will the generator be fully operational?¡± ¡°Reactivation scheduled in one and a half hours. Stabilized power output estimated at 82% of nominal capacity. This will suffice to keep the droids active and secure the main databases.¡± I inhale deeply, considering my next moves. Once the generator is secured, I¡¯ll need to decide where to focus my efforts. The sky begins to lighten. Is it a sign of dawn? Will these auroral bands give way to something else? I know nothing. It¡¯s so disorienting. For now, I can only cling to the debris of what remains. CHAP 6 - Overview The sky changes perceptibly. A diffuse, dull but steady glow begins to illuminate the horizon, slowly replacing the aurora-like bands that had previously dominated the heavens. This is not a normal light; it¡¯s nothing like the sunrise I¡¯ve read about on Earth¡ªnot that I¡¯ve ever seen one myself. Here, it¡¯s not a sun illuminating the sky but rather these glowing bands. It¡¯s as though the world itself is breathing slowly, these bands acting as veins, casting an eerie, almost unhealthy radiance. I¡¯ve been awake for over six hours now. Leia told me the ship crashed more than ten hours ago, and I feel every minute of that time weighing on my body. My muscles are stiff, my wound throbs, and my mind struggles to stave off total exhaustion. But I can¡¯t stop. Not yet. There¡¯s too much to do, too much to oversee, too many unknowns. Damn it, I¡¯m starting to think like these machines¡ªeverything in parameters and protocols. The reactor is finally operational, its titanic mass faintly pulsing with energy, though I can¡¯t see anything through the dozens of meters of metal shielding. The droids have completed a significant portion of the critical repairs, but its current location is far from secure. Planted haphazardly in a massive crater, itself in the middle of a forest turned junkyard, it needs to be relocated. But how do I move such a behemoth to a safer place when I don¡¯t even know what this place is? The droid maintenance station has transformed into a full-fledged recovery factory. The tireless machines roam the kilometers of debris fields, collecting, dismantling, and sorting everything useful. The metallic corpses of destroyed units become valuable resources, recycled into components or spare parts for repairs and construction. Some robots have started to go to the edges of the impact zone, giving me a preview of what lies after. The factory itself is a growing anthill. Repair lines have formed, and the droids work with an almost organic coordination. They move without doubt, without feeling... while I am haunted by the dead. By the silent screams of the millions of lives ripped away from me. I have no maps. No landmarks. Nothing except this endless field of debris and a dark, oppressive forest bordering the plain. I¡¯ve sent a group of six humanoid droids on reconnaissance, equipped with the best functional sensors we still have. Meanwhile, I sit down, exhausted, and fix an augmented reality headset onto my head. The video feed opens instantly, immersing me in their perspectives. Their vision is sharp, their sensors analyzing every detail with a precision my human eyes could never match. They advance in a tight formation, entering the forest. I adjust my position in the makeshift seat the robots cobbled together from recovered materials. One of the droids halts abruptly. I switch to its perspective, observing its analysis. The ground. According to its scans, it stretches infinitely, without bedrock, magma, or a core. Just this strange, uniform material that seems to absorb the signals, as if there were no bottom. ¡°Leia, analyze these readings. The ground... what is it?¡± ¡°Composition unknown. Similarities to polymorphic materials, but no identifiable atomic structure. Mix of organic substances akin to limestone in certain layers. Apparent depth: infinite. Hypothesis: physical law alterations.¡± Alterations of physical laws. That phrase alone sends shivers down my spine. This is not a normal planet. It may not even be a planet, if there¡¯s no core, no magma, maybe not even tectonic plates. In the shadowed forest, the droids continue their advance, their sensors recording everything. Movements flicker at the edges of their vision¡ªblurred and fast. Every time they turn to focus, there¡¯s nothing. I feel a pang of anxiety, a rising tension within me. I can feel paranoia creeping in with all this. One of the droids halts, scanning an imprint in the ground. Its sensors reveal it clearly: it¡¯s far too large, with clawed toes instead of feet. The footprint spans several meters. The analysis indicates a pressure equivalent to several tons, if not hundreds. ¡°What the hell is this thing?¡± I murmur to myself. This only adds to my growing paranoia. Fuck, what now ? ¡°Leia, are there life forms detected near the team?¡± ¡°Yes. Multiple biological elements detected. Low thermal signatures in motion.¡± At least it¡¯s not the massive creature that left that footprint. Something with that kind of size and weight would emit a colossal thermal signature; we¡¯d detect it from hundreds of meters away. The droids continue forward, but the peripheral movements become more frequent. A palpable tension even permeates the mechanical team, which adjusts its formation defensively. Adrenaline courses through me. Should I order them to continue or recall them? I sink deeper into the droid perspectives through the VR headset, watching each cautious step into this alien forest. Despite the obvious differences¡ªmassive trunks, dense foliage in unusual hues oscillating between a nearly fluorescent green and shades of blue¡ªthe forest¡¯s structure feels familiar. Trees with roots, branches, leaves. A logic I can recognize.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Yet something is wrong. The ground. The droids tread carefully, their sensors analyzing the material underfoot. It appears to be soft forest soil. But their readings tell another story. ¡°Leia, confirm these analyses. You said the ground was infinite? What do you mean?¡± Leia¡¯s cold voice responds immediately, as if anticipating my fears. ¡°Ground composition: atypical. Appearance similar to organic terrestrial substrate, but no detectable limit in depth. Non-conventional atomic structure. Probability of local physical law alterations: greater than 99%.¡± I grit my teeth, my mind struggling to grasp the implications. A non-spherical planet? An endless space beneath the surface? Digging with no bottom... It defies every law I know. ¡°Leia, is it possible to dig this ground to reach... anything?¡± A silence. Then she responds with the implacable coldness of calculations. ¡°Hypothesis: no detectable bedrock or core. Deep exploration required for confirmation. Note: gravitational disturbances at depth could render any attempt unstable.¡± I don¡¯t respond. Part of me is fascinated. The other is terrified. The droids continue, scanning the area. The trees grow denser, their branches intertwining like clasped hands to form an almost impenetrable canopy. The diffuse light from the sky weakens, and darkness sets in. Yet everything remains calm. Too calm. The only sounds are the droids¡¯ steady steps and the rustling of leaves in a light breeze. Nothing immediate seems threatening. The droids¡¯ thermal scans detect only minor animal signatures, likely small creatures hiding in the foliage. They spot rodent-like animals and other arboreal species, but they flee at the sight of the droids. I hypothesize that the ship¡¯s crash, even though it didn¡¯t seem to reach this part of the forest, likely scared off any large mammals. I expected worse. But this calm isn¡¯t reassuring. It¡¯s a calm that weighs heavily, like a promise of the unknown. I still don¡¯t know what truly lives here. Curious about the ground, I order Leia to send a transport droid to dig deeper. Its colossal metal body, nearly ten meters tall, begins excavating for more precise readings. Switching to its perspective, I see precise layers beneath the ash. The sensors rapidly display contradictory data: the density remains unchanged. No matter how deep the droid goes, the ground remains the same. As if the material repeats infinitely. The droid is now entirely submerged, invisible amidst the debris. I issue a direct command. ¡°Leia, stop the drilling. We don¡¯t know what might happen if we continue.¡± The droid halts immediately, but the question lingers in my mind: is this really ground, or something else? Returning to the reconnaissance team in the forest, after an hour of observation, the droids have still encountered no immediate threats. The scans confirm that the forest extends for several kilometers in every direction, they also discovered a huge lake to the south. The ground remains the most unsettling mystery. The six droids regroup and prepare to return. Nothing concrete, but everything unsettling. I¡¯m on the verge of ordering them to delve deeper when a faint signal interrupts my thoughts. ¡°Admiral, an anomalous energy signature detected two kilometers from their current position. Source unknown. Intensity: low but stable.¡± ¡°Leia, provide me with a map of the area within a ten-kilometer radius around the impact zone. Archive all observed life forms, and limit contact for now,¡± I instruct. ¡°Understood, Admiral,¡± Leia responds, her voice firm, reassuring in its detachment. ¡°Reconnaissance units will prioritize detailed mapping within a ten-kilometer radius of the impact zone. All detected life forms will be documented and archived. Minimal interaction protocols strictly enforced.¡± I exhale deeply. It¡¯s a monumental task, but a necessary one. I need to understand this place. To know where I am, what surrounds me, and what might pose a threat¡ªespecially that massive footprint. I think about it again... just three imprints, then nothing, as if the creature had taken flight. This place is truly bizarre. Leia immediately takes control. The reconnaissance droids receive their new orders, and additional humanoid units are dispatched from the base to join the effort. Each team is equipped with the most precise functional sensors: thermal, chemical, acoustic, and even gravitational analyzers. I also ensure that each group is armed to some extent; I can¡¯t afford to lose more droids. The video feeds and data streams begin to flow in. From my foam-padded seat command post, I oversee the process while Leia compiles and analyzes the information. The additional teams support the first with remarkable efficiency. After two hours, the first sections of the map appear on my screens. The Colossus impact plain is at the center, its edges bordered by the forest. Low hills rise to the north, while to the south, a perfectly black lake reflects the strange sky like a mirror. Anomalies begin to emerge: Leia compiles everything in silence before reporting: ¡°Admiral, given the impact size a ship like that would make by crashing, it is more than probable that there are multiple impact sites, or that a majority of the ship either vanished upon impact, or fell in the lake.¡± It must be around eight or nine in the morning, judging by when the auroral bands gave way to the light. I finally have an overview of the terrain around the crash site. CHAP 7 - A friend or... a foe?! A subtle alarm resonates in my earpiece just as I begin to drift into the deserved embrace of sleep. Leia signals that the reconnaissance droids have reached the location of the massive life form detected earlier. My heart races as I connect to the visual feed of the lead unit. The camera displays an immense clearing, a crater spanning several hundred meters, surrounded by gigantic trees whose canopies disappear into a light mist. At the center of this opening lies a colossal creature, resting peacefully. My eyes widen in astonishment at the unexpected sight. It¡¯s a dragon. A being straight out of legends and fantasy tales. Its size defies imagination, easily exceeding 50 meters in length. Its scales shimmer in a mix of dark and silvery hues, reflecting the dim ambient light. Even folded, its wings look capable of generating powerful winds. A muscular tail coils around its massive body, and its head, adorned with elegant horns, rests on its clawed forelimbs. I sit speechless, staring at the images on my screen. How is this possible? ¡°Leia, analysis. What can we determine about this creature?¡± Leia¡¯s typically impassive voice carries an almost hesitant tone. ¡°Admiral, the creature partially matches mythological descriptions of ''dragons'' from human cultures. However, its vital signs indicate a real and functional biology. Preliminary analysis: endothermic organism, powerful cardiovascular system, unknown capabilities. Recommendation: avoid direct contact until more information is gathered.¡± I am overwhelmed by a multitude of emotions: wonder, confusion, and a tinge of unease. If dragons exist here, what does that imply about the nature of this world? Where in the hell have I landed? This thing radiates the energy of a nuclear reactor, and judging by the footprints we found previously, it was awake not too long ago. I instruct Leia to conduct detailed observation. The droids remain hidden at the edge of the clearing, their sensors focused on the creature. They collect data on its slow breathing, the subtle movement of its muscles, and even faint energy fluctuations around its body. One droid zooms in on the dragon¡¯s head, revealing closed eyes with rapid movements beneath the lids. It¡¯s sleeping. ¡°Leia, do you detect any similar life forms in the area?¡± ¡°No comparable signatures detected within a ten-kilometer radius. This entity is unique within our current field of analysis.¡± Thank God. At least I don¡¯t have multiple monsters like this to deal with¡ªthough even one is more than enough. I think quickly. This creature could represent an immense danger but also an opportunity to learn more about this world. Assuming, of course, it¡¯s not hostile¡ªand given that my ship literally wrecked its forest...Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. Possibilities flood my mind. The droids could attempt to collect samples from a distance or install sensors to monitor its movements. But the risk of waking it is real, and I have no idea how it might react. I can¡¯t believe it. How could such a gigantic creature remain motionless through the absolute chaos of my ship¡¯s crash? The fiery shockwaves, the impacts, the forest fires¡ªall of that should have woken it, driven it away, or at least elicited a reaction. Yet here it is, still asleep. Or perhaps unconscious. The droids¡¯ sensors zoom in on its massive body, revealing troubling details. Several patches of its scales are dented or missing entirely, exposing dark, leathery flesh. Wounds. Fragments of Colossus metal are lodged between its scales, some melted as if exposed to extreme heat. My ship must have struck this creature during its descent, or perhaps it was directly in the path of the impact. A strange tension grips me. Is this dragon merely a victim of our arrival in this world? Damn it, this doesn¡¯t bode well. Either it¡¯s so injured that it¡¯s dying, or it¡¯s going to harbor a deep hatred for whatever caused such harm. Soon after, another reconnaissance report arrives. A massive debris field has been discovered further north. My droids confirm that this area contains a large concentration of Colossus fragments, including identifiable sections: residential quarters, shattered cryogenic pods, and parts of the outer hull. This confirms my worst fears. The ship broke apart long before it hit the ground. The unstable gravitational fields of the black hole must have torn it into pieces before the remnants crashed onto this strange, infinite surface. So my fellow colonists, all dead, lie in the north. My jaw immediately tightens at the thought, I might not be able to recover them anytime soon. ¡°Leia, analyze the trajectory of the debris. Could the dragon have been struck by falling sections?¡± Leia responds after a moment of calculation. ¡°Probability of direct collision between the dragon and debris fragments: 92.6%. Thermal data also indicates that the debris on its body originates from high-integrity structural materials, likely armor or propulsion sections. Hypothesis: the creature was struck by high-velocity fragments during atmospheric entry.¡± I clench my jaw. The Colossus crash hasn¡¯t just destroyed human lives; it¡¯s literally scarred a part of this world in its passage. I return to the visual feed of the droids still observing the creature. With this new information, an idea slowly forms in my mind: the dragon might be unconscious because of its injuries. If that¡¯s the case, it would explain why it hasn¡¯t reacted to the impact or the presence of the droids. However, this raises an even more troubling question: what happens when it wakes up? A creature this massive and powerful could pose an existential threat to everything I¡¯m trying to build. If it decides to destroy my base or my droids, I¡¯ll have no way to stop it. Yet at the same time, it could be an invaluable source of information about this world¡ªperhaps even, in some impossible scenario, an ally. I must think carefully about my next steps. Several options lie before me: I could examine its injuries, as I know nothing about it, I could better assess the creature¡¯s condition and possibly collect samples. However, this carries a huge risk: if it wakes suddenly, it might attack. I also consider exploring the northern area could reveal more information about the crash¡¯s impact and potentially critical Colossus fragments, such as survival modules or data systems. But for now, my mind races, and I think the dragon represents too great a potential danger. Focusing on securing the base and salvaging Colossus resources might be a more pragmatic priority. I lean against a console, my hands gripping my temples. This isn¡¯t fair. This world didn¡¯t ask for me to be here, yet my arrival has already broken it, just as it shattered the millions of lives now lying beneath the debris. And yet, I can¡¯t afford to be paralyzed by guilt. This dragon could be an obstacle or a key to survival in this place. Everything depends on how I choose to play this hand. CHAP 8 - Unexpected keeper Sitting with the virtual reality headset over my face, the streams of data and readouts intertwining in my exhausted mind, an idea strikes me: could it be that this dragon actively played a role in preserving this forest? The thought hits me like an epiphany. Part of the forest around the clearing where the creature rests is astonishingly intact, as if shielded by some force. The debris from the Colossus has scattered across miles, destroying everything in its path, but in this area, the trees stand tall, untouched. Even the canopy appears almost pristine. I revisit the droid¡¯s scans and observations around the clearing. Leia quickly compiles my inquiries with the available data: The dragon¡¯s crater, and by extension the creature itself, is perfectly positioned between the two primary impact zones. It¡¯s evident that the dragon¡¯s presence caused this division. Without it, the impact zone would have been a single, unbroken expanse. Leia points out that the visible injuries on its body correspond to impact angles that suggest it intercepted fragments of the Colossus before they could reach the forest. My theory gains ground: for some reason, this dragon shielded the forest, even at great cost to itself. This would explain its injuries¡ªit intentionally intercepted debris, using its massive body as a shield to protect this particular area. If that¡¯s the case, it raises even more intriguing questions. Why protect the forest? Is it instinct? Attachment to this environment? Or is it guarding something specific hidden in this zone? Eggs, perhaps? For a brief moment, excitement seizes me. If that¡¯s true, I could have my own dragons! Then reality hits. What a fool I am¡ªthis isn¡¯t a fairy tale. I wonder if it¡¯s aware of my actions. If it¡¯s capable of such an act, it might also be conscious of my presence and what I¡¯m doing. Even if it seems asleep or unconscious, I don¡¯t know the extent of its capabilities. This creature is so alien to anything I¡¯ve ever seen, and I¡¯ve seen plenty¡ªpsychic entities in some systems, things that live in space, devour entire stations, and drain the essence of the paranoid inhabitants. I shift my focus to the feed from the closest drone. Its injuries, though deep, don¡¯t appear fatal, but they have rendered it immobile. If it truly intervened to protect this place, everything changes. It¡¯s no longer just a mythical creature¡ªit¡¯s a guardian, a potential actor in this ecosystem. Imperial protocols flood my mind, even without Leia needing to remind me: secure, understand, observe. Minimize disturbance, or at least reduce our impact on an unknown biodiversity. Large-scale risks often escape immediate notice but include viruses, bacteria, and the disruption of trophic chains¡ªvery real dangers. The decision crystallizes in my mind: no interaction. This dragon, as fascinating as it is, is far beyond my understanding and capability. Its sheer size, its resilience against the impact of my ship, and the possibility that it shielded the forest in some way convince me to avoid its path. It¡¯s not an enemy I want to provoke, nor a mystery I¡¯m equipped to solve.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. I take a deep breath and issue my orders. ¡°Leia, recall the reconnaissance droids around the creature. Maintain a passive surveillance network at a safe radius to monitor its movements, but no attempts at interaction or close proximity. We must avoid it at all costs.¡± Leia responds immediately. ¡°Understood, Admiral. Recalling units. Establishing long-range sensors to monitor the area.¡± A sigh escapes me. The priority is clear: leave this area. The sooner I can establish a secure base far from this creature, the better. I consider the steps necessary to leave this area, each one critical for survival and long-term planning. First, the reactor must be stabilized and transported. It is my lifeline¡ªwithout it, I cannot sustain the droids or power critical systems. Its relocation is non-negotiable. As I analyze the map, the cliff near the massive fissure catches my attention. It¡¯s a naturally defensible high point with a clear vantage over the surrounding terrain. The karst mountains to the west present another option¡ªa natural fortress, concealed and defensible, ideal as a hiding place if needed. Meanwhile, resource consolidation is a pressing task. The droids need to accelerate their recovery efforts in the impact zones, scavenging anything transportable or useful: materials, intact technologies, and survival tools. Every piece counts if we are to establish a stable foothold in this world. Environmental reconnaissance also cannot be ignored. Though I plan to avoid any interaction with the dragon, the surrounding forest and the zone of giant mushrooms in the north, could still yield exploitable resources. I instruct the droids to continue their exploration while remaining cautious and limiting their exposure to potential threats. Finally, preparations for a massive relocation begin. Transporting the reactor and the entire cohort of droids will demand flawless coordination. The transport units must be reinforced and repaired to manage the immense load. Leia is already planning a secure route for the convoy, but every detail must be perfect if we are to succeed. I can¡¯t help but keep an eye on the dragon. Even though it remains motionless, I feel its presence like a sword of Damocles hanging over my operations. At any moment, I expect it to open its eyes or unfurl its wings. If that happens, my base could be obliterated in minutes. I must act quickly. The more I think, the more time feels like my enemy. This world is unknown, dangerous, and teeming with mysteries I neither have the means nor the luxury to explore. But leaving this area raises an essential question: where to go next? The exploration droids have identified a relatively quiet area to the west, marked by immense karst peaks reminiscent of China¡¯s natural formations, I once saw that in a book about earth. I think leaving the forest, once I¡¯ve salvaged critical debris, will be the next step. ¡°Leia, continue monitoring the dragon, but focus our efforts on consolidation and transport. We must be ready to leave this area as soon as possible.¡± The Dwarves¡¯ Catastrophe In the dark, ancient depths, where millennia-old stones still whisper the echoes of forgotten forges and battles, the dwarves stir. The ground trembles faintly, cracks snaking through walls like veins in a cold corpse. The grand halls resonate with alarmed voices, hammers abandoned beside silent anvils. The great dwarven kingdom has suffered a catastrophe. More than ten hours have passed since the Great Cataclysm struck. A series of shocks from the surface, so violent they fractured the sturdiest and deepest citadel walls. Ceilings collapsed, trapping miners in the lower tunnels, and fear spread like wildfire. Even the oldest among them have never witnessed such a disaster. Hundreds dead, trapped, or missing; colossal damage to forges and rubble clogging the fields of the chasm. In the sacred halls, where torches fueled by earth-oil still burn, the elders¡ªguardians of dwarven memory¡ªmutter fervently around the great runic table. Their centuries underground have hunched them more than the younger dwarves, but their eyes carry the same gravity. One of them prepares to speak. CHAP 9 - Speaking… too much A dwarf, a respected and renowned professor of runes, begins to speak. ¡°The dragon descends into the chasm... I saw it in my visions! It comes to destroy us!¡± growls Durgil the Sage, an imposing figure despite his advanced age, his runic hammer always within arm¡¯s reach. Others nod solemnly, their expressions grim. For them, it¡¯s a certainty: the dragon, that titanic guardian, is awakening. Perhaps it¡¯s enraged. Perhaps it has been wounded by something monstrous. But there are dissenters among the elders. And among the gathered, there are young dwarves whose minds aren¡¯t yet constrained by centuries spent underground. ¡°No!¡± booms a deep voice. Thorvak Bloodrune, renowned for his pragmatism and skepticism of legends, counters. ¡°It was a battle! Something came to challenge the dragon! Those shocks... those explosions... they aren¡¯t the work of its anger but of an enemy! Perhaps giants, or worse yet... beings from the skies.¡± His accusation carries weight. The ¡°beings from the skies,¡± entities from the stars, are a myth to some, an ancient fear to others. The tales speak of colossal machines, lightning capable of cleaving stone, and soulless entities that plunder the world¡¯s treasures to fuel their insatiable greed. Thorvak doesn¡¯t fully believe his own words, but something caused this cataclysm, and he refuses to blame the dragon outright. ¡°If the dragon wanted us dead,¡± he continues, ¡°it would already be here, ravaging the depths. The farmers would have seen its shadow soaring above the chasm, and its fire would have immortalized its image in their minds, even in the realm of the dead. But no. All they saw were stars of fire crashing into the lake and forest. Some fragments even fell into the chasm.¡± The chasm¡ªan unfathomable abyss stretching east of the lake¡ªhouses the dwarven citadels and most of their fields. The forest above is the dragon¡¯s domain; no significant expedition has dared venture there in centuries. Since the cataclysm, rumors have spread among the miners. Some claim to have heard an earth-shaking roar, a cry that made the very stone tremble. Others swear they saw the light of a fire rising from the depths, briefly illuminating the caverns as if a volcano had awakened. Whispers of veins of magic escaping the earth, shocks pulverizing rock, and walls trembling have reached every corner of the kingdom. In this chaos, the elders seek answers. The council gathers around Durgil and Thorvak, while messengers traverse the galleries to report on the collapses. Factions form among the dwarves, each with its own version of the truth. No consensus emerges, and tensions run high. The dwarves gathered around the council table could barely contain their divided opinions. Each faction championed its own truth, its own explanation for the cataclysm and the rumbling signs of disaster. For Durgil and those who revered the ancient prophecies, there was no doubt. ¡°The dragon has been awakened by the cataclysm,¡± he insisted, his voice resonating through the chamber. ¡°It is enraged, furious at the intrusion of some foreign force into its sacred territory. Mark my words¡ªit won¡¯t be long before it descends into the depths to annihilate us all.¡± Durgil¡¯s fiery gaze swept across the room. ¡°The humans of the North, greedy and reckless, have stirred its wrath!¡±The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Thorvak, ever the pragmatist, slammed his fist on the stone table. ¡°No! What you speak of is fear, not reason. This was a battle! Something challenged the dragon! Those explosions, those tremors¡ªthey were not its anger, but the result of an enemy striking from the skies.¡± His words carried the weight of his suspicion. ¡°Perhaps it was the beings of the heavens, those entities from the stars. We¡¯ve all heard the tales of their colossal machines and lightning that cleaves stone. They would dare to face the guardian of this land, and their struggle could tear through even our halls.¡± Thorvak¡¯s words brought murmurs of uncertainty. The ¡°beings of the skies¡± were myths to some, nightmares to others. Yet the miners¡¯ accounts of flaming stars falling into the lake and forest lent his theory a shadow of plausibility. In the dim torchlight, another elder whispered grimly, ¡°Perhaps something worse has occurred. Perhaps the cataclysm opened long-forgotten passages. Ancient horrors, sealed for millennia, may now walk free.¡± The room fell silent at these words, each dwarf imagining the terrors that might crawl out of the depths¡ªshadows of forgotten ages, eager to reclaim their dominion. Yet the silence did not last. Accusations flew, voices clashed, and the council teetered on the brink of chaos. Tensions escalate, voices clash, and some nearly come to blows. The king, seated at the head of the table, observed this pitiful display with weary eyes. His kingdom was on the verge of collapse¡ªhundreds dead, the citadels trembling¡ªand his advisors did nothing but bicker. ¡°Enough!¡± the king finally bellows, his voice cutting through the clamor like a blade. ¡°Durgil. Thorvak. Gather your wits and your facts. If we are to act, we must act decisively and united. Now is not the time for petty squabbles or conjecture.¡± The council falls silent. Even Durgil and Thorvak exchange begrudging nods. For now, the factions remain, but the king¡¯s authority binds them. The first step must be taken: to determine the nature of the threat, be it dragon, sky-beings, or ancient horrors¡ªand to decide whether to face it or flee deeper into the earth.
The human oracles, scattered across their sanctuaries, had also perceived the echoes of the cataclysm. Confused visions, troubled by a blood-red light, came to them during the events. They spoke of the sky¡¯s fury, a storm of fire and destruction, and the cry of an immense creature that resonated within their very souls. Vixius, a young apprentice of the Inquisition, witnessed this rain of fire from the mountains, perched in the immense citadel of Kor Morne. He saw the sky break at twilight, the clouds parting, and the luminous bands trembling. Then, an immense metallic creature, reminiscent of the relics he had seen in the ruined lands of Holkomin but a hundred times larger, emerged from the heavens.
In an inn in Benamire, the conversations are lively; here, everyone saw the rain of fire. On the frontlines are the hunters, robust men living on the forest and mountain periphery, the few who dare approach the dragon¡¯s lands. They venture there only to track rare prey or gather precious plants, despite the risks of encountering the legendary creature. A wiry-bearded old man, known as Dornal the Tracker, recounts his tale: ¡°I saw it. I was in the undergrowth near the cliff when the sky opened. A rain of fire fell, burning everything in its path. The trees were ablaze, and the ground itself began to quake. Then I looked up, and there, in the midst of all that chaos¡­ the dragon.¡± His hands tremble as he recalls the scene. ¡°It screamed. Not in rage, but¡­ in pain. Flames poured from its jaws, but not to destroy. No. It flew, pierced by shards of metal¡ªpieces of something, I don¡¯t know what, that had fallen from the sky. It dove toward the lake¡­ and, by the gods, I saw it pour tons of water onto the forest. Not for itself. To protect it.¡± Everyone listens intently to ol''Dornal, though some cast him strange glances. Feeling uneasy, he sits back down, clutching his mug, waiting for the conversations to resume. A few unsavory-looking men have noticed him. ¡°What do these bastards want with me?¡± he wonders, his unease growing. Maybe he should have shut up. CHAP 10 - Echoes ... News travels through the kingdom of Elbak as swiftly as the wind. In the taverns of towns and the gilded halls of castles, one topic dominates conversations: the rain of fire. In the South, everyone felt it¡ªthe shockwave¡ªbut even in the North, closing shutters or watching as the luminous bands gave way to auroras, it was hard to miss the cataclysm, no matter how fleetingly bright it was. Yet, it¡¯s not the fiery spectacle that ignites the imagination of the powerful and the ambitious. No, it¡¯s the rumor of a weakened dragon. Whatever occurred, the dragon is undeniably tied to it. Tales from hunters venturing into the forest have already begun to reach the capital. In just one day, the nobles are abuzz with excitement, soldiers grow eager, and peasants dream of ambition. Rumors spread, fueling imaginations, ambitions, and fears. Hunters brave enough to venture into the Fissure Forest return to Ferdesang, the capital, with fabulous accounts. They speak of burning fragments crashing to the earth, forcing the dragon to its knees. They whisper that the once-invincible creature was pierced, its flesh exposed, its scales shattered. That it exhausted itself combating this invasion and now lies weakened. These stories quickly reach the ears of nobles and warlords. A wounded dragon. The very words carry a promise of opportunity. A weakened dragon is far more than a mere trophy; it¡¯s a living treasure, a source of unparalleled power.
The Council of King Aldrik Atop one of the three Black Mountains of Ferdesang, in the imposing hall of the royal castle, King Aldrik of Fersang, ruler of Elbak, convenes his council. The nobles flock to the chamber, armed with rumors and schemes, each eager to exploit the situation. A man, Dornal, has been brought before the king. He spoke with fear but conviction. His eyes were sincere, and his fear of the king far exceeded what he¡¯d witnessed. He recounted everything to Aldrik¡ªthe cataclysm, the wounded dragon, and even the creature¡¯s location, a secret long guarded by hunters. The king, a massive figure known for his iron will and thirst for conquest, listens intently. Now, back in the council chamber, his dark eyes scrutinize every advisor who dares speak, weighing the merit of their proposals. ¡°Your Majesty, we cannot let this opportunity pass!¡± declares Count Soccro, a battle-hardened veteran. ¡°A weakened dragon is a vulnerable dragon. Imagine what we could accomplish with such power! Its scales, its bones, its breath¡­ Alchemists and smiths could transform its remains into weapons capable of crushing our enemies for generations.¡±Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. The council murmurs in approval. But a calmer, more calculated voice rises¡ªthat of Magistrice Yvanna, a renowned mage celebrated for her mastery of the arcane. ¡°Soccro, you are blinded by your thirst for war. A dragon, even wounded, remains a force beyond our comprehension. If we capture it alive, its secrets could surpass all expectations. Imagine the knowledge it holds, the magic coursing through its veins. That is the true treasure.¡± The king chuckles inwardly. This woman is mad¡ªcapture a living dragon, an ancient being? How would one control it, feed it¡ªeven clean the mountains of waste and shit it must produce? It¡¯s ludicrous. But he says nothing publicly. He has an image to maintain, and Yvanna¡¯s connections to the Inquisition make her a dangerous ally to alienate. The kingdom¡¯s elite see opportunity in this event, but each through their own lens. For Aldrik, this is his chance to be the king who slew the dragon, creating powerful relics to sustain his dynasty for centuries. Others, like Count Soccro, envision expansion¡ªslaying the dragon would secure the forest and its riches, extending the kingdom¡¯s reach and establishing a frontier near the dwarves¡¯ lands. In the end, each noble has their agenda. For Aldrik, everyone is both a potential ally and a rival. After hours of deliberation, the king rises, imposing silence. His voice resonates through the hall. ¡°We have all heard the rumors. A wounded dragon, a rain of fire¡­ It is clear something extraordinary has occurred in the Fissure Forest. We cannot remain idle.¡± He pauses, his gaze piercing through the chamber. ¡°We will send an expedition. Not an army, but a chosen force: warriors, hunters, and our best mages. Their mission will be to assess the situation and secure what can be secured. But mark my words: we do not act rashly. If this dragon can still fight, we must be prepared.¡± The next day, the plan takes shape. The king¡¯s emissaries notify military leaders and post announcements across the capital and forest towns. Adventurers above a certain rank are conscripted. Drums echo through the Black Mountain valleys as soldiers, mages, and hunters assemble. The king dispatches an elite force led by Captain Eldan Rochefer, a veteran renowned for his cunning and composure¡ªa loyal man to Aldrik. Magistrice Yvanna accompanies the expedition, much to the king¡¯s dismay, her scrolls and relics in hand, ready to analyze whatever they find. Guiding the group are hunters familiar with the forest. Among them is Dornal the Tracker, the old man who saw the dragon extinguish flames with lake water. He murmurs to his companions, ever talkative despite his forced audience with the king: ¡°You¡¯ve never seen a beast like this. Trust me, if it¡¯s still alive, wounded or not, it could kill us all in an instant. If you ask me, we¡¯d be better off leaving that guardian in peace.¡± But his warning falls on ears too greedy or too ambitious to heed it. And he follows, for he has no choice, though a part of him believes that if this venture succeeds, he will have played a part in it. CHAP 11 - Unwanted teammates In the great mountains west of Ferdesang, the capital of the kingdom of Elbak, lies a citadel of the Inquisition: Kor Morne. It is a veritable city perched among the clouds, nestled within the mountains. Not literally floating, of course¡ªits foundations are deeply rooted in the rock, and its galleries stretch for miles¡ªbut it gave Vixius that impression the first time he saw it. Starving and lost for days after his final trial as an apprentice, Vixius had reached the citadel a year ago. One year since his advanced training began, one year of doubts and navigating the intrigues of the Inquisition, particularly because of Dame Irva. Then, like so many others, he saw the rain of fire illuminating the distant twilight. Agitation reigns in the citadel, though its vastness makes it hard to perceive. It is not apprentices who will descend from the mountains but a group led by the Grand Inquisitor Kael Vorath. Vixius learned this from his master, a crippled but powerful mage who had taken a fondness to him. The tension grows as the kingdom of Elbak¡¯s expedition prepares to enter the Fissure Forest. A new shadow now looms over the proceedings: the Inquisition. Their arrival, sudden and non-negotiable, sends tremors through even the proudest nobles. No one had a say in their participation. No one saw it coming. How did they intercept the group, learn of the expedition from their lofty perch, and descend so swiftly? And more importantly, why are they here? Their motives remain unclear, but their mere presence changes the dynamic of the expedition. The Inquisition is not a force welcomed lightly, but it is one that cannot be ignored. Are their goals aligned with those of the king? Eldan Rochefer, appointed by the king to lead the preliminary expedition, cannot help but feel uneasy. Dealing with the insufferable mage Yvanna was challenging enough, and now the Inquisition? It is an ancient order, an entity independent of kingdoms and crowns. Their power transcends borders, and their authority is absolute when it comes to supernatural phenomena or events deemed heretical or abnormal. No one dares provoke their wrath. They wield the most powerful magics, relying on the trances of their devoted followers. Their bases are everywhere, like the web of a vast, ravenous spider. Clad in dark robes embroidered with esoteric symbols, the inquisitors are not merely fanatical priests. They are scholars, warriors, and judges all at once. Each inquisitor is a master of the arcane, the occult sciences, or divine rituals, capable of wielding both magic and steel. Their reputation is terrifying: where they tread, only ashes and silence remain.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. The troops assembled for the expedition watch nervously as the inquisitor and his escort move through the camp. They arrive in silence, a tall man flanked by guards in black armor. Their presence seems to drain the warmth from the air, as if the atmosphere itself tenses around them. Eldan notes their gear¡ªun eerie resemblance to dwarven craftsmanship, though lacking runes. At their head stands an imposing figure with chiseled features and dirty brown eyes. He wears a long black coat, and a silver chain hangs around his neck, bearing a medallion that should be engraved with the Inquisition¡¯s symbol. Unlike the traditional emblem, this one depicts a decapitated Baldakai¡ªa mark of the ongoing schism within the order. This is Grand Inquisitor Kael Vorath, a legendary figure both feared and respected. Stories claim he eradicated an entire undead army single-handedly, that his gaze can discern lies within souls, and that his magic can burn even the most powerful creatures. Rumors, Eldan knows, are mostly exaggerated, but the man¡¯s presence remains intimidating. Kael approaches Eldan, who waits with his council near the central tent. No one speaks, but all watch. Eldan¡¯s jaw tightens imperceptibly. The man offers a slight bow¡ªa formality more than a gesture of respect. ¡°Commander,¡± he begins, his voice cold and controlled, ¡°The Inquisition has deemed it necessary to participate in this expedition. Recent events transcend mere earthly concerns. This cataclysm¡­ this rain of fire and the rift in the sky¡­ are signs of something far greater at work. We must investigate.¡± Eldan meets his gaze impassively. ¡°Your assistance is¡­ appreciated, Grand Inquisitor. But you understand that this expedition is under my command. The king has¡ª¡± Kael interrupts with a chilling smile. ¡°Naturally. Do not concern yourself with your king; he is already aware. We will merely observe. However, should this anomaly prove dangerous or violate sacred laws¡­ the Inquisition will act. With or without your consent.¡± The meeting lasts a few more minutes to finalize details. If they leave now, the group will reach the forest''s borders before midday. Eldan hopes not to waste time gathering the hundred conscripted adventurers at Pontoven and then Benamire, the nearest town to the forest. This way, they may be back before the light goes down, if everything goes well, that¡¯s the most unsure part... As the group begins its march¡ªfor now, a little over a hundred elite soldiers and mages¡ªthe iron-shod hooves of their horses clatter against the cobblestones of the royal road. Eldan cannot help but ponder Kael¡¯s presence. He sees the man speaking directly with Yvanna, she does not seem happy. He had known she had ties to the Inquisition, but to this extent? Perhaps she informed them, using her vile magic to relay the information. ¡°The slut,¡± he thinks bitterly. ¡°Because of her, I have to deal with these people too¡­¡± Eldan knows the inquisitors¡¯ presence profoundly alters the expedition¡¯s atmosphere. Their power is undeniable: their guards, their mages, and their charismatic leader are valuable assets. But their authority, their cold demeanor, and their hidden motives create unease. He can only hope there will be no clashes with the adventurers; those men and women are far less disciplined than regular soldiers. Finally, the group truly sets off, the capital quickly disappearing beyond the horizon. CHAP 12 - The Beginning of Troubles I am Albion Krone, an A-rank adventurer, and I must admit this expedition leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. With every step we take toward the Fissure Forest, I feel the weight of uncertainty and danger pressing on my shoulders. There are many of us¡ªaround two hundred adventurers have joined the king¡¯s small army. They don¡¯t want to call it that, but to me, a mix of soldiers, mages, adventurers, and now, with the surprise arrival of the inquisitors, it¡¯s nothing less than a small army. They arrived in Benamire before noon. We waited for over an hour in the central square, about sixty of us conscripted. Lower-ranked adventurers are free to do as they please, to go wherever they want, but not us. I should never have ranked up. Around me, murmurs ripple among the adventurers. Some claim we¡¯ve been assembled to kill the dragon, the immense guardian of this forest. Others, more cynical, say we are nothing more than sacrificial scouts, sent to assess the area before the real forces are deployed. But I don¡¯t believe it. Kill a dragon? That¡¯s not a mission for humans, even armed and organized as we are. I saw the rain of fire from my room at the inn in Benamire. Even at a distance, it left me speechless. The blood-red sky, the brilliant flashes of light, and the sense that the entire world shook under the impact. It even knocked over a potted plant, scattering dirt all over the floorboards and forcing me to clean it up. I¡¯m sure even such a cataclysm wouldn¡¯t be enough to kill a creature as ancient and powerful as this. Dragons, especially those of this size and reputation, are not merely beasts. They are forces of nature, living incarnations of raw power. I know that in the eastern lands, they killed a dragon a few years ago. A smaller one, obviously¡ªa youngling only a few centuries old. It wasn¡¯t within our kingdom¡¯s territory, so I can understand why the king is furious. He wants his relics, his weapons, his dragon-made artifacts. But I¡¯m not a bloody slayer of mythical creatures! With my friend Groboln, an old mage, we talk as we march. We can¡¯t help but notice this is a ragtag but well-equipped expedition, especially given how quickly it was assembled. We march in tight formation, led by Captain Eldan Rochefer, a veteran renowned for his mastery of battles in hostile terrain. Beside him is Dornal the Tracker, a rugged man with a wild look about him, guiding us through the safest paths into the forest. I know ol''Dornal¡ªhe¡¯s a character in Benamire, and it amuses me that he¡¯s leading the way. His knowledge of the terrain is invaluable, even if his face betrays an unease he doesn¡¯t try to hide. No wonder¡ªhe spends more time telling tales of his ¡°adventures¡± than venturing into the forest.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. My group and I were conscripted, lured by promises of enticing rewards, not really given a choice anyway. Most of us are well-armed, and some possess rare magical skills. That said, we¡¯re a disparate group, and unity does not come naturally. Most adventurers make their careers in groups of four or five, sometimes fewer, sometimes more, but we¡¯re not soldiers. Working in such large numbers, each with unique abilities, is rarely a good idea. As we approach the Fissure Forest, conversations grow darker. Groboln remains as relaxed as ever, but I can¡¯t help overhearing the chatter around me. ¡°Do they really think we can kill that monster?¡± one adventurer behind me murmurs. ¡°It¡¯s madness. Even wounded, that dragon could wipe us out in an instant.¡± Another, younger one adds with a trembling voice, ¡°And what if it¡¯s not about killing the dragon? What if it¡¯s something worse? Who knows what we¡¯ll find in this forest. That rain of fire¡­ it wasn¡¯t natural¡­ it came from somewhere else.¡± I turn to them, trying to calm their nerves. ¡°Listen, we don¡¯t know why we¡¯re here yet. Maybe we won¡¯t even have to face the dragon. But if we do, think of the fat purse they promised.¡± I don¡¯t entirely believe it myself, but the words are enough to give them a semblance of courage¡ªor at least to shut them up. I¡¯d rather hear Groboln¡¯s nonsense about the elf¡¯s chest further up the line. Minutes of marching pass. We finally reach the forest¡¯s edge. The trees are massive, their canopies intertwining to create a dark, oppressive ceiling. Groboln comments, ¡°She must feel right at home, that little elf.¡± The air carries the scent of damp earth and ash, a reminder of the hunters¡¯ tales about the fires extinguished by the dragon. I didn¡¯t see it myself, but it¡¯s not just Dornal who claims the dragon put out the flames. Speaking of the devil, he stops, placing a hand on a tree trunk to survey the horizon. His deep voice breaks the silence. ¡°This is where the forest truly begins. We¡¯re on its land now.¡± A chill runs down my spine. Even we are unaccustomed to venturing this far; usually, the forest¡¯s edge suffices as our hunting ground. While the dragon is wounded, it doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s powerless. It survived a rain of fire and fragments from the sky¡­ or maybe it¡¯s dead? That would be ideal! My joy is short-lived. As we venture into the undergrowth, tension grips the small army. The forest is eerily quiet. No birdsong, no rustling animals. Just the crunch of boots on dead leaves and the ragged breaths of the men and women around me. The soldiers scan the shadows, weapons ready. The mages murmur protective incantations. Even the inquisitor escort, usually so stoic, appears on edge. Then, a cry rings out from the rear of our column. ¡°What was that?!¡± We turn, weapons drawn, but nothing moves. Only the wind whistles through the trees, a mocking whisper. The group resumes its march, and the answer comes a few minutes later. ¡°One of the men thought he saw someone in the distance. He¡¯s jumpy¡­ just the tension,¡± a soldier reports as he moves up the column toward the commander. CHAP 13 - The shadows of the forest As we cautiously advance through the oppressive trees of the Fissure Forest, tensions within our group begin to surface. It¡¯s hard to keep nearly three hundred people moving in an orderly fashion through dense woods. The soldiers do their best to maintain cohesion, but it¡¯s a struggle. Salina, our scout, approaches me, her light steps almost inaudible on the carpet of fallen leaves. She casts me a worried glance, her gray eyes shining with a nervous intensity. ¡°Albion, I don¡¯t know if this was a good idea¡­ joining this expedition.¡± Her voice is low, as though she fears the forest itself might overhear. Her words pop the bubble I¡¯d managed to create with Groboln, and my stress spikes immediately. I don¡¯t blame her, though; Salina is a long-time friend and colleague. Before I can reply, Groboln, our sharp-tongued mage, laughs and rolls his eyes. ¡°Salina, did you see the reward they¡¯re offering our group? We¡¯re talking about¡­ what, a hundred gold pieces each if we bring back something tangible? That¡¯s no small sum, especially for you.¡± Salina glares at him with a mix of anger and disdain. She knows he knows, and it only makes her more furious that he¡¯d bring it up. ¡°Do you really think gold will matter if we don¡¯t make it out of here alive? Or if that dragon decides we¡¯re nothing more than insects to crush?¡± Groboln shrugs, his casual demeanor cutting through the heavy atmosphere. ¡°Look, you¡¯re always like this. Always worrying. Me, I say the risk is worth the reward. A wounded dragon is an opportunity, not a threat.¡± I sigh as I glance between my companions. Salina, cautious and calculating, is often the voice of reason in our group. She¡¯s an exceptional scout, able to track prey for miles. But her caution sometimes borders on fear. Groboln, on the other hand, is the complete opposite. His arrogance is as great as his talent for elemental magic. He has a knack for making tense situations even more unbearable, but he also knows how to inspire confidence in critical moments. Especially for me, his ability to mess around even in tense moments makes me forget my stress. For him, gold is as powerful a motivator as magic. I decide to intervene before their exchange escalates into a full-blown argument¡ªa role I seem to fill far too often. I grumble a bit before speaking. ¡°Salina, Groboln, that¡¯s enough. We¡¯re here now, so let¡¯s focus on the mission. I won¡¯t lie, I¡¯m not sure this was a good idea either. But we¡¯re here, and we didn''t have much choice. Let¡¯s do what we do best and come back with gold in hand.¡± Salina lowers her gaze, visibly upset but silent. Groboln chuckles softly and turns to continue walking. I know he doesn¡¯t care, and she needs the money. She wouldn¡¯t have backed out if I was going anyway.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Conversations in our small group die down. The atmosphere grows heavier with every step we take. Even the soldiers, well-trained as they are, begin to show signs of unease. The mages murmur protective incantations under their breath, preparing spells in case of danger. I feel like they¡¯re doing more for their own comfort than anything practical, but so be it. The inquisitor and his escort remain eerily calm, adding another layer of tension with their ever-watchful presence. Salina returns to my side, her voice barely audible. ¡°Albion¡­ I know you¡¯re better than most here, but don¡¯t you feel like something is off? The forest is too quiet. Even the animals seem to avoid this place.¡± I nod slowly. She¡¯s right. The forest, despite its unsettling beauty, feels lifeless. No birds, no rustling of creatures in the underbrush. Just the faint whisper of wind through the branches, a sinister murmur. Not a deer, not a boar¡ªnone of the usual wildlife. Salina isn¡¯t wrong to worry. Something feels off. This expedition was hastily organized, and despite our equipment, I can¡¯t shake the feeling that we¡¯re woefully unprepared. If the dragon is alive, wounded or not, we don¡¯t stand a chance against it. And if it¡¯s not the dragon, then perhaps the forest itself is our true enemy. This mission isn¡¯t as straightforward as they made it out to be. Something is hiding in this forest, and I¡¯m not sure any amount of gold can outweigh the danger. Each step we take into the Fissure Forest adds to the oppressive weight of the atmosphere. Everyone here has a role, an ambition, a price. My group and I, like many other adventurers, are here for the money. The king seeks to extend his influence, claim this mythical forest, and gain the glory of conquering territory guarded by a dragon. The soldiers follow orders¡ªit¡¯s their job, simple and direct. But those inquisitors¡­ they¡¯re a mystery. From the start, they¡¯ve been just ahead of us, leading the column by only a few dozen meters. Their presence weighs heavily on everyone. I¡¯d bet anything that even those at the back of the group feel it. The inquisitors¡¯ soldiers march in silence, their dark robes barely rustling as they move through the undergrowth. Kael Vorath, their leader, is particularly unsettling. Tall and imposing, his brown eyes seem to pierce everything they land on. Even the most seasoned soldiers avoid meeting his gaze for too long. The mages, accustomed to dealing with powerful magical forces, whisper among themselves when the inquisitors pass nearby. Even Groboln, usually so quick to mock everything, remains unusually quiet when one of them comes close. Why are they here? That¡¯s the question plaguing all of us. The rain of fire, the rift in the sky, the wounded dragon¡­ All of this might explain their presence. But their behavior hints at deeper motives. It¡¯s not just the dragon or the forest they¡¯re after. It¡¯s something else, evident in how quickly they joined our group. These people are zealous beyond the mysteries of the forest. I murmur to Salina, who walks beside me. ¡°Have you noticed they haven¡¯t said a word to anyone since this started?¡± She nods, her gaze fixed on the dark silhouettes of the inquisitors ahead of us. ¡°It¡¯s obvious in how they act. They don¡¯t see us as allies. It¡¯s like we¡¯re just here to make their job easier, and they couldn¡¯t care less about what we want or do.¡± ¡°Better to have them on our side than against us, right?¡± Groboln chimes in with an ironic smile. ¡°Imagine what they¡¯d do if we got in their way. I¡¯d rather not end up as a human torch or something worse.¡± CHAP 14 - Hammer on Anvil In the depths of the dwarven kingdom, where hammers ring against anvils and forges glow in the shadow of mountains, the Grand Hall remains a sanctuary. Everywhere else, dwarves toil to clear collapsed tunnels, evacuate ruined dwellings, and retrieve the fragmented bodies of the fallen. Thorvak Bloodrune, clad in his sturdy black armor adorned with engraved runes, strides purposefully through the vast halls. Around him, dwarves labor urgently: sealing cracks, reinforcing weakened passages, and restoring supply lines, some earth-oil pipes have been broken. He spares little attention to his comrades and the scaffolding around him, his mind focused on greater concerns. Under the immense gilded vault of the Grand Hall, the king¡¯s chamber, miraculously untouched, stirs with unease. Thorvak, his expression grim and his eyes glinting with restrained anger, finally reaches the stone throne where King Durmar Stonebreaker sits. Surrounded by advisors and scribes, the king studies a massive map etched into a granite table. The map depicts the subterranean kingdom and the lands above, marked with winding lines representing fissures and hazards. The advisors are already planning fortifications. What good is burrowing deeper if creatures worse than the dragon dwell in the immense caverns below? ¡°Your Majesty,¡± Thorvak booms, his voice echoing through the hall as the words nearly leap from his lips, ¡°it is time to fulfill your responsibilities.¡± Durmar raises a single eyebrow, slowly. The king, a commanding dwarf with a silver beard braided with gems and gold, has a gaze that betrays his centuries of rule. For nearly two hundred years, he has reigned. ¡°Thorvak, you dare enter unbidden during a time of crisis?¡± The king¡¯s tone is furious, but Thorvak is undeterred. He knows the old man¡¯s anger is mostly for show. After all, Durmar would not harm his favorite younger cousin, the same cousin whom he had accompanied during his rune-carving ritual. ¡°I come precisely because it is a crisis, King Durmar!¡± Thorvak strides forward, ignoring the indignant murmurs of the advisors. ¡°The people are sealing cracks and shoring up tunnels, but it will not be enough. What has happened above our dwarven lands¡ªthis cataclysm¡ªit could spell our doom!¡± Durmar¡¯s hands clench the arms of his throne, and a strange tension ripples through the stone as though it trembled under his grip. Yet he remains silent, allowing Thorvak to continue. ¡°For centuries, we¡¯ve remained locked in these mountains, hiding like rats in holes. No one dares brave the surface anymore. We¡¯ve allowed the guardian¡ªthat dragon¡ªto reign over the Fissure and the forest without ever questioning its purpose. And today, that guardian is weakened. Wounded. The rumors speak of a rain of fire, of a celestial battle, and we¡­ we know nothing!¡±This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. The advisors are outraged. How dare Thorvak, this brash warrior and his clique of so-called ¡°adventurers,¡± speak such blasphemy before the king? A wounded guardian? What does he know? If this ball of muscle weren¡¯t a distant relative of the king ... Thorvak gestures sharply toward the map, almost shoving the advisors aside. ¡°It is your duty, King, to protect your people. And that cannot be done by ignoring what lies beyond our tunnels. If the guardian falls, if something or someone has struck it down, then what? Do we wait for them to come for us next? You know as well as I do: if this creature is weakened, there is a reason. And that reason could descend upon us.¡± Durmar¡¯s gaze remains fixed on Thorvak, heavy with contemplation. Finally, he speaks, his tone calm but firm. ¡°What you say is not without merit, Thorvak. But what do you propose? Should we break centuries of tradition and return to the surface? Send our warriors against forces we do not understand? Abandon our defenses to face the unknown? Our people are already grieving, and you would risk more lives?¡± Thorvak grits his teeth. He expected this response. ¡°I propose that we stop being cowards. That we act as dwarves, as the proud and indomitable people we once were. Send a delegation. An elite group. Not an army, but enough to discover what is happening above. If the guardian falls, we must know why. Send me, King.¡± The advisors murmur among themselves. Few approve of what Thorvak has said. His words have not convinced them. Are these old dwarves truly weak and fearful? King Durmar fixes the warrior with a hard stare. ¡°You are willing to risk the lives of our warriors for what you believe to be a potential threat?¡± ¡°I am willing to risk my own,¡± Thorvak replies without hesitation. ¡°If you¡¯re too afraid to act, I will find those who will accompany me. But sitting here, doing nothing, condemns our people to a slow death.¡± Durmar closes his eyes briefly, then rises, commanding silence in the hall. ¡°Thorvak Bloodrune, your loyalty to your people is undeniable. You will lead a delegation to the surface. But let it be clear: if you fail, the responsibility will be yours. And if you bring danger to our doors, it will be on your name.¡± Thorvak inclines his head, a determined smile on his lips. He knew the king would agree, albeit reluctantly. Durmar had no real choice. Thorvak would have gone regardless; he could no longer endure the confinement of the mountains. Without wasting time trying to sway the hesitant advisors, he strides out of the Grand Hall, already planning his team. They must discover what happened. The rumors of fire and celestial war must be clarified. If the dwarves remain in the shadows, they risk being crushed by a threat they cannot see coming. Thorvak tightens his grip on his runic hammer. Whatever awaits above, he is ready to face it. CHAP 15 - Chains Up The zone is silent as Thorvak Bloodrune and his elite team prepare for the ascent. Excitement rises among the warrior¡¯s companions as their leader guides them to the surface, toward glory. The grand tunnels connecting the Fissures are temporarily closed, leaving the group incomplete. Hildas and her men remain trapped in the second Fissure; if the debris is cleared quickly, they will join Thorvak on the surface. Otherwise, they face the arduous task of climbing thousands of meters of stairs with their heavy equipment. Fortunately, communication pipes remain intact, allowing messages to flow between different parts of the kingdom, including the agricultural Fissures beneath the ground. While Bran and Drimli bustle with preparations, Thorvak stands prepared. The great metal elevators, masterpieces of dwarven engineering, are activated to carry them to the summit of the subterranean lands. The mechanisms groan slightly as massive chains begin turning, slowly but steadily lifting the platforms toward the surface light. Boxes and crates of equipment are loaded onto the sturdy planks, and the dwarven engineers set the system in motion. The group begins their ascent. Thorvak has assembled a diverse team of seasoned warriors and eager young dwarves looking to make a name for themselves. Among them are numerous young dwarves yet to see their first century, energetic and bold but already experienced. Thorvak¡¯s guild is among the best in the dwarven kingdom, recently granted the exclusive right to conduct surface explorations. ¡°A fine opportunity,¡± Thorvak muses. The potential for a jackpot, especially if the dragon is truly weakened, looms large. Even if not, just venturing out, exploring, and uncovering the cause of the catastrophe is enough for the dwarven leader and his crew to gain even more popularity amongst younger dwarves. The elevators steadily climb, pulled by the massive chains powered by the forges below. The scent of water vapor and earth oil drifts up, mingling with the faint metallic tang in the air. The engineers below better have donned their protective suits to manage the intense heat. The sound of gears and pulleys reverberates through the tunnels, a reassuring testament to the mechanical genius of their ancestors. These elevators, despite their infrequent use, were designed to venture out, not to cower within. For young dwarves like Bran, the excitement is palpable. He looks at Thorvak, grinning. ¡°Can you imagine, Thorvak? If the dragon¡¯s really dead, this is our chance! Entire lands for us. Not these cramped holes, but forests, plains! Maybe even a fortress to build on the surface.¡± Thorvak gives him a stern but amused look. ¡°Bran, save your breath for the fight. If the dragon¡¯s still alive, even wounded, this won¡¯t be a walk in the mines. And the humans won¡¯t sit idly by.¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Thorvak knows well that the Kingdom of Elbak to the north is almost as close to the draconic crater as the dwarves are. The opportunity must be seized before those weak creatures ruin everything. The forest must not fall into their hands. Bran nods, though the enthusiasm in his eyes doesn¡¯t waver. As the elevators near the exit, bright light begins to filter through cracks in the walls. The ascent takes nearly an hour, rising from the Fissure, past the cliffs. Hildas won¡¯t make this journey on foot, if the tunnels aren''t opened soon, her group is doomed. The young dwarves squint, surprised by the intensity of the luminous bands in the scarlet morning sky. When they finally reach the top, the elevators grind to a halt, and the metal gates open to reveal the outside world. The group pauses, taking in the sight before them. The landscape is a stark contrast to their subterranean life: an immense forest, dense and mysterious, stretches as far as the eye can see. In the distance, to the south, the massive silhouette of the lake glistens under the light, and beyond, further west, the karst peaks emerge timidly through misty clouds. But what captures their attention most is the devastation. Evident traces of a massive impact scar the land. Trees lie toppled, the ground charred, and faintly glowing metallic fragments glint among the ashes. Gigantic shards of metal litter the horizon, from the northern forest to the lake. Some resemble collapsed fortresses, others, enormous creatures asleep forever. From atop the cliff, they cannot make out the details, nor can they see the robots frantically gathering the last salvageable debris near the lake. Elda murmurs, almost to herself, ¡°This is where it happened¡­ The rain of fire. The battle.¡± The sight excites and unnerves the group. Bran steps forward, gripping his axe, already eager to explore. ¡°We¡¯ll find that dragon. If it¡¯s weak enough, we¡¯ll do what no one¡¯s dared before: kill it. And if those humans come, we¡¯ll show them they have no place here.¡± Elda grabs his arm firmly. ¡°Don¡¯t rush, Bran. This isn¡¯t a game. Remember: if the dragon is dead, it means something even stronger killed it. Did you see those debris fields? What could they be?¡± Thorvak, leading the group, raises his hand to command silence. His face is unusually grave. ¡°Enough. We¡¯re not here to dream of glory or gold. We¡¯re here to uncover what happened. If the guardian is weak, we need to know why. If something worse is at play, we must prepare. Follow me, and stay vigilant.¡± In his mind, the questions multiply rapidly. The quest for glory and fortune in slaying the dragon is overshadowed by another thought: terror and the thrill of discovering what truly occurred, what ravaged the forest and caused the tunnels below to collapse. Something is wrong¡ªno, it¡¯s far beyond that... The forty-strong dwarven group begins their descent down the cliffside. An ancient road, used sparingly by those who venture out for timber, provides a path to the forest floor. The wind blows softly, rustling the branches, yet no bird cries, no animal steps echo from below. Torlin Ombrevoil, well-acquainted with the forest, knows the location of the dragon¡¯s lair in the heart of the woods. That is their first destination. The rest, Thorvak does not yet know. They will have to adapt as they go. CHAP 16 - Weakened Dwarves Torlin speaks to me, but I listen distractedly, more focused on my steps. The forest here isn¡¯t entirely destroyed, but strange shards of metal and small charred clearings hint at something profoundly unnatural. Not that I needed these signs to know that¡­ ¡°Chief, are you listening?¡± I don¡¯t answer immediately, my gaze sweeping over the other members of the squad. Elda, my wife, lingers at the back, murmuring protective runes while tracing symbols on the smooth surface of her hammer. Drimli inspects the bolts of his heavy crossbow, his sturdy fingers adjusting a piece here and there, ready to turn it into a lethal masterpiece. ¡°Yes, Torlin?¡± ¡°We¡¯re nearing the lair.¡± A memory of that clearing¡ªthe one and only time I visited it¡ªsurfaces. I was just a babe, maybe twenty years old, barely a proper beard on my chin. My father had brought me here for a ritual hunt, a rite of passage for the heirs of our line. The dragon already ruled this forest as its master, a shadow no dwarf dared to disturb. But the air¡­ the air in that clearing had a particular scent, a deep warmth like that of the forges. Perhaps it was simply the odor of a colossal beast and the remains of countless carcasses accumulated in its crater. Today, that warmth returns, that stench, though muted. Something waits ahead. It¡¯s not just the dragon we¡¯ll find. It¡¯s a fragment of what shattered the sky, of that cataclysm from the stars, a piece of the answer to this strangeness. As we advance, the trees grow denser, their enormous trunks twisted and gnarled. This part of the forest is ancient. The daylight, already faint beneath the canopy, becomes almost nonexistent. The clearing is close. I feel the tension rising in the squad¡ªa mix of fear and excitement. The dragon, the legends¡­ it will soon become real. I turn to them, my voice low but firm. ¡°Prepare yourselves. We¡¯re nearly there. Whatever we find, stay together. Elda, keep the runes ready. Drimli, watch the heights. Torlin, keep scouting, but return as soon as you see anything.¡± The clearing unfolds before us, immense, like a yawning chasm in the heart of this ancient forest. The trees, which until now formed an impenetrable wall, give way to a desolate expanse. It isn¡¯t the blackened, cracked soil like the one we saw at the top of the cliff. No, this is different. It¡¯s been carved into the rock, crafted. Even without seeing it for decades, I remember this place. Memories mingle with reality, amplifying the oppressive solemnity. At the center of this crater, it rests. The dragon. Immense, far beyond even the most exaggerated tales. Its scales, dulled and broken, glimmer faintly with a sorrowful sheen. One wing is folded against its flank, damaged, torn like a sail shredded by a storm. The other is stretched out, massive, each membrane marred by gaping holes. Its breath is slow, uneven, lifting a thin layer of dust with every exhalation, swirling it around its colossal form. Its maw rests half-open, revealing fangs capable of crushing stone itself. The group halts abruptly. Not a word is spoken, not even a whisper. Even Bran, who is usually unable to contain his enthusiasm, stands frozen, his axe suspended mid-motion. It¡¯s as if the very act of breathing too loudly might awaken this titanic beast. I step forward, my gaze fixed on the dragon. A wave of heat washes over me¡ªnot the heat of fire, but of ancestral respect, almost reverence. Every dwarf here feels the same, I know it. This is not merely a creature. It¡¯s a force. A living memory of ages long past, far older than anything we can comprehend.Stolen story; please report. Elda murmurs beside me, her words barely audible. ¡°Thorvak¡­ look at its wounds. They¡¯re not from here. Whatever destroyed the forest fought it.¡± She¡¯s right. The marks on its body are strange, almost geometric, like burns traced with mechanical precision. Shards of metal, black fragments embedded in its flesh, tell a story that defies imagination. I grip my runic hammer tightly, my thoughts racing. This being¡­ this guardian, as our legends call it, didn¡¯t fall in a simple battle. It faced something we¡¯ve never seen. And it lost. ¡°Drimli,¡± I say quietly, ¡°examine the surroundings. Look for signs, clues. Torlin, watch the perimeter. If this creature is as weakened as it seems, there may be other threats lurking.¡± Drimli nods, his gaze moving from his crossbow to his comrades, signaling a few to assist him. Torlin vanishes almost instantly into the shadows with three other dwarves, her steps as light as a breath. I turn to Bran and Elda. Bran remains frozen, his axe still raised as if ready to strike, but his eyes betray a fear he refuses to admit. Elda stays composed, her fingers brushing the runes etched on her hammer. ¡°What are you going to do, Thorvak?¡± she murmurs. I fix my gaze on the dragon, drawing a deep breath before answering. ¡°We need to understand. If this guardian falls, then our kingdom is vulnerable. And if something brought it down¡­ we must know what it is.¡± I take another step forward, then another, slowly approaching the dragon. My hammer is ready, its runes faintly glowing, but I¡¯m not here to fight. The dragon¡¯s breathing deepens slightly, and for a moment, I feel as though it¡¯s noticed us. I freeze, my hammer suspended in my hand, the weight of my thoughts heavier than the steel I carry. The dragon lies there, vulnerable, almost at our mercy. A part of me, shaped by the traditions of my people, whispers that I should seize this chance. To slay this legendary creature, to bring its bones and scales back to the stone halls and forge them into eternal relics. The armors we could craft from its hide, the weapons engraved with runes on its bones, would be marvels to make even the gods of the mountain pale. But as I look at it, broken yet still unbearably majestic, doubt creeps in. These marks on its body¡­ they¡¯re not natural. They¡¯re not claw marks or burns from a terrestrial battle. They¡¯re wounds from another thing, scars etched by something beyond our comprehension. ¡°Thorvak, what do we do?¡± Bran asks, his voice tinged with an unusual nervousness. He raises his axe as if seeking direction, a clear order, something to channel the energy boiling within him. Why is everyone asking me the same thing? How am I fucking supposed to know? I don¡¯t answer immediately, my eyes still locked on the dragon. Elda steps closer, her hand brushing my arm. She says nothing, but I can feel that she shares my doubts, my thoughts. ¡°This dragon,¡± I finally say, my voice heavy and measured, ¡°faced something we cannot comprehend. These wounds aren¡¯t from here.¡± I take a step forward, placing a hand on the shaft of my hammer as if to anchor my thoughts. ¡°I will not kill it. Not now. Perhaps not ever.¡± Bran exclaims, his expression a mix of surprise and frustration. ¡°What? But Thorvak! Think of the artifacts, the weapons we could forge from its scales! We could protect our kingdom for generations!¡± I turn to him, my gaze stern. ¡°Protect it from what, Bran? From a force that shattered the sky and left scars on a creature like this? Think for a moment what that means. If this dragon falls, who will face the next threat? Us?¡± Bran steps back slightly, unsettled. Elda moves to stand beside me, her voice calm but firm. ¡°Thorvak is right. This isn¡¯t just a beast. It¡¯s a symbol. A guardian. If we kill it, we destroy more than a life. We risk breaking a balance we don¡¯t even understand.¡± Drimli returns from his inspection, his voice grave. ¡°I found shards of metal, fragments like those embedded in its wounds. They¡¯re cold, lifeless, but¡­ they¡¯re not from this land.¡± I nod, my resolve firming. ¡°We didn¡¯t come here seeking glory or gold. We came to understand. And to protect our people. If this dragon still lives, it has a role to play. And we must discover what attacked it, before it¡¯s too late.¡± Then, I step closer to the dragon. ¡°Guardian¡­ if you can hear me, know that we are not your enemies. We are here to understand, to protect this land as much as you.¡± The dragon¡¯s breathing intensifies briefly, like a whisper rising from the depths of the earth. Its eyelids, so massive they seem to weigh tons, twitch slightly. A silent message, perhaps, or merely coincidence. But it¡¯s enough to rekindle my determination. ¡°We must prepare,¡± I tell the squad. ¡°Not for a fight against it, but for what may come. We have much to learn, and little time to do it.¡± CHAP 17 - A Bad Surprise ( 1/2) The warmth of a smile still lingers on my lips. The elf I¡¯d spotted earlier while joking with Groboln, Lyrel, finally let out a soft, crystalline laugh at my last quip. Her piercing, enigmatic eyes occasionally flit to the shadows of the woods, but she doesn¡¯t seem disinterested. I¡¯ve always had a knack for creating these moments, even in the most absurd situations. And her company is far more charming than Groboln¡¯s. Just as I prepare to follow up with another remark, a strange sensation sweeps through us. The forest stops¡ªabruptly. Not a natural transition. No. A boundary, almost perfect, as if an invisible line had split the world in two. On one side: life. Massive trees with vibrant foliage, twisting roots, and a calm yet living stillness. On the other: unimaginable desolation. Trees reduced to charred skeletons, their crowns shattered, their trunks twisted at impossible angles. The ground, blackened and cracked, looks scorched to its very essence. Among the chaos lie gigantic fragments of metal, some as tall as towers, others embedded deep into the earth. Their surfaces glimmer faintly, marked with strange grooves, as though these debris were both machines and nightmarish relics. ¡°By the gods¡­¡± Lyrel breathes, her eyes wide with awe and fear. I can only stand there, frozen, my thoughts swirling in a cacophony of confusion. This isn¡¯t just a field of ruins. It¡¯s as if an entire fragment of something else crashed here, a raw, incomprehensible force leaving behind a landscape devoid of natural order. The inquisitors, however, remain unnervingly calm. Kael Vorath, their leader, stands at the forefront, as still as a statue. His brown eyes sweep across the scene with an almost supernatural intensity. Yvanna, the kingdom¡¯s mage, is further back, deep in conversation with important-looking men from the army. Captain Eldan Rochefer, a few paces away, clears his throat, his gruff voice betraying poorly concealed nerves. ¡°What in the name of sanity is this?¡± No one answers. Because no one knows. I glance at Lyrel. Her sharp, mocking expression from earlier is now distant, absorbed by the vastness before us. Behind me, I spot Groboln and Salina exchanging grim looks.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. We take a few more hesitant steps, and my boots stop right at the edge of the boundary between the vibrant forest and the devastation. This stark demarcation strikes me even harder than the scene itself. How can a transition so precise exist? This isn¡¯t the work of fire or a mere impact. It¡¯s¡­ ¡°Unnatural,¡± says a voice behind me, echoing my thoughts. I turn and meet the gaze of a mage, his trembling hands clutching the tip of his sword. He gestures toward the metallic debris. The entire column seems to bottleneck at this line, as if an invisible barrier halts our progress. Kael Vorath finally turns to the column. His voice rises, cold and unyielding: ¡°We move forward.¡± The living forest is behind us. The field of ruins stretches endlessly ahead. It¡¯s terrifying, and what¡¯s equally unsettling is the absence of leadership from Captain Eldan. The inquisitor¡¯s words alone reignite the group¡¯s momentum. My eyes lock onto Eldan, the royal insignia gleaming on his armor. He abruptly turns, his icy gaze fixed on the elderly scout. His voice cracks like a whip through the oppressive silence: ¡°You didn¡¯t tell us about this, old hunter!¡± The poor man, Dornal, a seasoned veteran of the forest, steps back, pale as death. His wild beard seems to quiver with him. He stammers before mustering the courage to respond: ¡°I¡­ I¡­ I never came through the north! To the west, there¡¯s no such chaos, Commander!¡± His voice carries the rough accent of forest hunters, but it wavers with fear. Eldan steps closer, towering over Dornal, who seems to shrink under his gaze. If the hunter tells the truth, he must have returned to Benamire by the smaller Volgar forest. ¡°I know this place like the back of my hand, but what lies here¡­ it¡¯s nothing natural! You saw it, same as I did. Even the animals avoid this place!¡± Dornal continues, desperate to justify himself. The exchange is cut short by a guttural sound¡ªsomething inhuman. Every head snaps toward the source: a mound of metallic debris collapses with a thunderous crash, sending a cloud of ash and dust into the air. From the wreckage emerges a colossal figure, and my breath catches in my throat. A troll. But not like any I¡¯ve ever seen. This one is monstrous, its body marred by fire and wounds. Its gray-black skin is cracked like a field of frozen lava. Shards of metal are embedded in its flesh, some faintly reflecting light. A stench of burnt flesh reaches us, choking and suffocating. ¡°Formation!¡± Captain Eldan Rochefer shouts, his voice sharp and commanding. He¡¯s already moved away from Dornal. But the troll, despite its apparent injuries, moves with terrifying speed. With a roar that shakes the very air, it charges toward the column, hurling chunks of debris like projectiles. One flies just over my head, slamming into a soldier behind me and sending him sprawling. ¡°Scatter!¡± Kael Vorath barks, his tone glacial but authoritative. Soldiers raise their shields, but chaos erupts. Some trip as they try to dodge its onslaught. Lyrel, beside me, grips her bow, her eyes glowing with intense focus. ¡°Albion! That thing¡¯s insane!¡± Salina shouts. ¡°No shit!¡± I reply, already drawing my blade as adrenaline surges through me. We¡¯re not trained to face creatures like this. CHAP 17 - A Bad Surprise (2/2) The troll reaches us in mere seconds, sweeping its massive arm across a group of soldiers too slow to evade. They¡¯re flung like ragdolls, their screams blending with the monster¡¯s roar. I try to organize my group amidst the chaos as soldiers and adventurers alike scramble to form defensive circles. Its glowing red eyes lock onto us. Burned, mutilated, but undeniably alive, it moves with raw, desperate rage. ¡°Archers, fire!¡± Eldan yells as arrows fly toward the troll. They glance off its charred hide, a few sinking shallowly into its flesh but doing little to slow its charge. With another furious roar, it lunges forward. The beast¡¯s massive fist comes crashing down toward me. I leap to the side just in time, feeling the ground quake beneath the impact. Our circle fragments, but miraculously, no one is crushed. Nearby groups surge forward, shields raised and spears bristling, archers aiming for the troll¡¯s vulnerable points. ¡°Aim for the joints!¡± someone shouts as my eyes fixate on the troll¡¯s knees, where shards of metal jut out from its cracked skin. I take a deep breath. It¡¯s a monstrous, brutal creature, but if we¡¯re fast, we might have a chance. With Lyrel at my side, we charge. Dodging through the confusion, we dart under the troll¡¯s massive frame. Its enormous dick swings above me for a moment before I manage to land behind it. One second the thought to hit him there comes in my mind, but it''s too disgusting. My blade bites into its ankle ¡ª a shallow cut, but a start. Lyrel, having climbed partway up its leg, drives her weapon into the back of its left knee. The troll roars, collapsing partially onto one leg and thrashing wildly to dislodge us. ¡°Lyrel! Get back, now!¡± I yell. She leaps away, but not before one of the troll¡¯s massive fingers grazes her. She crumples to the ground. Soldiers rush to her side; leaving anyone on the battlefield is a death sentence. A protective barrier of energy flares around us in a burst of light. The mages have acted just in time, and the troll¡¯s titanic fist crashes against the shield. A deafening clang echoes through the air, and I see the barrier tremble under the impact. The vibrations seem to resonate through my very bones.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. We pull Lyrel away, her head bleeding slightly. ¡°Lyrel, are you okay?¡± I ask, glancing at her. She nods faintly. The protective barrier still trembles from the previous impact, but the troll has already shifted its attention to another group. Hardened soldiers of Eldan quickly regroup, their shields forming an unyielding wall of steel. Orders fly within their ranks, each movement precise and disciplined. A perfect formation, engineered to withstand massive assaults. Not far away, the adventurers move like agile predators. In small groups, they harry the beast, striking at its vulnerabilities before retreating into the shadows. An arrow whistles through the air, embedding itself in the troll¡¯s left eye. It roars in agony, flailing wildly in a futile attempt to grab its attackers. But the adventurers are swift, vanishing into the debris or behind charred trees before it can retaliate. My attention turns to the soldiers of the Inquisition. Their presence, usually cold and oppressive, now carries an oddly reassuring weight. Gathered around Kael Vorath, they chant incantations in a guttural language that seems to resonate with the earth itself. They are in a trance. The esoteric symbols etched into their armor glow faintly, projecting shards of energy that converge toward him. The Grand Inquisitor raises his arms, his hands enveloped in a power that distorts the air around him. Even at a distance, I feel an oppressive pressure. We need to get out of here ¡ª now. Kael begins to howl, his voice carrying the cadence of a dozen others in unison. The chant of his escort reaches a fever pitch, and a sphere of energy materializes in his hands. The ground trembles beneath our feet, and a cold shiver runs down my spine. This is high-level magic, dangerously high. I¡¯ve now managed to retreat to a safe distance from the troll. Groboln stares at the trance-like dance of the Inquisition¡¯s group with wide-eyed fascination, while Salina helps me tend to Lyrel¡¯s wounds. Kael thrusts his hands forward, sending the sphere hurtling toward the troll. The monster, preoccupied with its futile attempts to crush a group protected by an energy barrier, doesn¡¯t even see the spell coming. The impact is cataclysmic. A burst of light engulfs the troll, and an inhuman roar erupts as its body begins to disintegrate under the spell¡¯s overwhelming force. The creature thrashes, but the energy consumes it, breaking apart its form as if it were being shredded and absorbed into the sphere. Everyone remains motionless, watching the cloud of ash dissipate. Kael slowly lowers his arms. Eldan swiftly regains control, issuing orders to tend to the wounded and secure the area. The chaos begins to subside, but the air remains heavy with a palpable energy, as though Kael¡¯s spell has left an imprint on the battlefield. The adventurers, ever eager to profit from any situation, rush toward the remains of the troll. Its still-warm ashes drift away on the rising breeze, but a few fragments linger: twisted metal embedded in charred flesh, bones of unnerving density, and a black ichor already evaporating, surely blood. ¡°Scavengers,¡± Lyrel murmurs, shaking her head, a bandage wrapped around her brow. Her voice carries a mix of disdain and amusement. ¡°Fighting over scraps.¡± CHAP 18 - What the Hell is That? Admiral I¡¯m still slumped in my makeshift chair, an oddly comfortable mound of foam strapped to hastily welded metal plates. It¡¯s been several minutes since the alert sounded, and my observation droids are deployed miles away, tracking this human group. Hundreds of them. Damn, I¡¯m starving. My stomach growls, distracting me for a moment. I pull off my vision helmet, desperately scanning the room for crumbs. Nothing. The ship¡¯s rations were obliterated in the crash, sunk into the lake, or lost at the other crash site¡ªand my droids haven¡¯t retrieved anything. I groan as I slide the helmet back on, the weight of everything pressing down on me. The humans emerged from the forest to the north and are now venturing into the massive debris field. They walk in the largest debris field, north of the dragon, not the section I''m currently scavenging. Through the grainy feed from my droids¡¯ cameras, I observe them. It¡¯s better than the infrared view. I¡¯ve kept the droids at a safe distance, careful not to risk detection. Their progression resembles a military column. Clearly, some kind of authority has organized them¡ªa nation or a state-like structure of some sort. That¡¯s bad news for me. They¡¯ll come poking around and interfere with my preparations. I¡¯m lucky¡ªor rather, they are¡ªthat the Colossus didn¡¯t crash into one of their cities or whatever equivalents they have here, in this world. I begin to strategize, thinking of ways to delay them or predict their exact destination. But then, something else unfolds before my eyes. A cloud of dust and ash, a deep rumble. The feed becomes even blurrier, and then¡ªa mass emerges. An abomination. It¡¯s as though this damned forest is full of them. It¡¯s a pale imitation of the dragon, but honestly, any creature would pale in comparison to that beast. Still, it¡¯s terrifying. Its skin is marked with deep fissures, and its limbs are studded with molten metal embedded in its flesh, as if the Colossus¡¯s debris had fused with its body. Burned, mutilated, yet it moves with an unsettling mix of force and speed for something so massive. I sigh. How are these small humans going to deal with that thing? Should my droids intervene? No, absolutely not. I sit back and watch, tense, my heart pounding with stress, fatigue, and hunger.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. The group reacts immediately. A formation. Their discipline is impressive. I don¡¯t understand their roles entirely, but they organize into several circles. Mobile, evasive, and solid against something so big. Despite their preparation, the creature sows chaos as soon as it charges. It hurls chunks of metal, scattering bodies. Screams pierce the air, crackling in my ears despite the distance. The sensor must be busted; static mixes with the troll¡¯s guttural roars and human despair. I feel like a spectator. Sitting in my chair, VR goggles strapped to my face, watching this titanic battle play out. Like a movie. All I¡¯m missing is popcorn, but this isn¡¯t a film. It¡¯s real. And it¡¯s... unsettling. I see strange spheres of energy¡ªprotective barriers, perhaps? Magic? Fuck, have I really landed in a fantasy world? A dragon, a giant, magic? I¡¯m so bewildered that the violent combat almost becomes background noise. I watch adventurers dart between the debris, harrying the beast with quick strikes, targeting its joints where the metal is most exposed. I can¡¯t make sense of it. Someone tries to climb the creature, only to be thrown to the ground. Others gather in a circle around one man. It¡¯s beyond me. Then something is launched at the troll, and the impact is catastrophic. The creature disintegrates, its body reduced to a rain of fragments and metal shards. I sit frozen, my palms damp, watching the silhouettes of humans rise from the wreckage. They¡¯ve won. And that scares me more than seeing them lose. A few transport droids or a well-placed energy cartridge could have taken out the thing. But these people¡ªthese humanoids, because I¡¯m not even sure they¡¯re truly human with the sensor malfunctioning¡ªwhat would it take to defend against them? I¡¯d half-risen from my seat, but I let myself fall back into it. Their group has suffered losses, at least injuries, though their mages¡ªor whatever they are, must have done a decent job protecting them. Some are already rushing toward the remains, scavenging what¡¯s left of the scattered corpse. I lean against the metallic wall of my makeshift cabin, my eyes heavy with fatigue. I need to move. This army is far too dangerous, and this battle is only a glimpse of what they¡¯re capable of. Where are they headed now? Their southward advance might lead them straight to my position, and I can¡¯t afford to wait for them to get closer. The reactor must continue its course. My time is running out. And, yeah, I really need to find something to eat. I¡¯m not going to starve to death, no way. Roots, small arboreal animals¡ªwhatever my robots can find¡ªI don¡¯t care. Yeah, I¡¯m dependent on them, and so what? I don¡¯t have magic like they do. I don¡¯t have... I don¡¯t have colonists. I have nobody CHAP 19 - Pointy Hear ALBION (human) I slump down, exhausted, next to Lyrel. A pointed ear peeks out from beneath the bandage on her head. My gaze drifts to the forty or so adventurers scrambling over the remains of the troll. Among them is Groboln, of course he would be among them... He is moving like an excited child in a market of wonders. He rummages methodically through the ashes with a metal rod¡ªlikely salvaged from the debris¡ªpicking up fragments he deems interesting. His movements are precise, but his expression betrays an almost unhealthy fascination. ¡°Groboln!¡± I call out to him. ¡°Do you really think there¡¯s anything useful in there?¡± He half-stands, his rod in hand, a smirk playing on his lips. ¡°Ah, Albion. Look around you. Do you think we¡¯re getting paid for all this crap?! I¡¯m making the most of it. This troll¡ªit¡¯s not exactly common...¡± He turns back to his task, muttering under his breath. Nearby, other adventurers bicker over larger chunks, each claiming a piece as though their lives depend on it. Kael Vorath remains utterly still. His imposing aura dominates the landscape, even in silence. His eyes scan the ruins with an intensity that sends chills down my spine; it is as if he saw something in the distance but isn¡¯t entirely sure of it. He doesn¡¯t need to speak for us to understand that he views the incident as a mere inconvenience. For a mage of his caliber, this kind of confrontation is nothing more than a minor obstacle on the path to his objectives. ¡°He¡¯s impressive, isn¡¯t he?¡± Salina¡¯s voice breaks the tension, attempting to lighten the mood. She might be better off rummaging through the wreckage herself¡ªGroboln¡¯s probably not wrong about that¡ªbut yeah, I understand her awe. Those Inquisition guys... I get why even kings bow to them. Compared to Kael, Yvanna seems almost useless, though I¡¯m sure she had a role in those protective spheres. I¡¯m about to respond when Groboln interrupts, his eyes gleaming like a child who¡¯s just uncovered a treasure. ¡°Hey, Albion! Come see this!¡± he shouts, waving a piece of metal in the air. I approach, curious but wary. ¡°What have you found?¡± He hands me the fragment. It¡¯s a metal plate, visibly twisted and deformed by heat, yet engraved symbols remain legible. They¡¯re unlike anything I¡¯ve seen. Curved lines and geometric patterns intertwine, forming what looks like an alien language or code. Groboln whispers, his eyes alight with excitement. ¡°See these engravings? They¡¯re still pulsing with energy.¡± I frown, running my fingers over the inscriptions. A strange warmth emanates from the metal, though it might just be the residual heat reflecting off the glowing bands. I¡¯m no mage, but I don¡¯t feel anything magical about it. Still, Groboln looks pleased, and that¡¯s good enough for me.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. He shoots me a provocative grin, clearly proud of his find. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me, boss.¡± I shake my head, a tired smile on my lips. Groboln can be a fool at times, but he does have a knack for finding interesting things¡ªsometimes. And today is not one of those times; this metal plate feels completely useless. I still decide to humor him. ¡°Alright,¡± I say simply, leaving him with his precious prize. In the distance, Kael Vorath turns, his piercing gaze briefly falling on us. My heart skips a beat. Did he see what Groboln has? Impossible to tell. He seems to be heading our way, but no¡ªhe moves to speak with Yvanna. What could he be saying to her? As I step back to let Groboln toy with his discovery, my thoughts drift to the immensity of these ruins. There¡¯s something eerily fascinating about the colossal debris scattered like the remnants of an unknown city. Each piece, each shard, seems to tell a story beyond our comprehension. Artifacts? Traps? Remnants of dwarven constructions brought up from the ground? No, all of this crashed here¡ªbut from where? That¡¯s the real question. I can¡¯t help but wonder what we might find if we had more time and freedom to explore. Lost technologies? Answers to the mysteries of this forest and the cataclysm? But what interests Groboln, myself, and most of the adventurers here is how much it could all be worth. Lyrel, still beside me, seems to read my thoughts. She speaks softly, almost to herself: ¡°This place... it chills me to the bone. Not just because of what we¡¯ve seen, but because of the secrets it still cradles in its ruins.¡± I nod. Elves always have a strange, almost poetic way of speaking. Her words perfectly capture the tension, the mix of fascination and fear hanging over us, especially after the attack we just survived. But then, a cold reality hits me: we¡¯re not free to explore this place as we wish. The Inquisition is here, and Kael Vorath is not a man to let anything slip through his grasp. They will lock this place down, that¡¯s certain. Some of the inquisition guys are already urging adventurers to put down metal plates and stuffs they grabbed from the fragmented troll. These ruins will become forbidden territory, an enigma sealed behind walls of silence and control. ¡°If the Inquisition secures the area,¡± I murmur, ¡°we won¡¯t have access to these ruins anymore. Not without taking huge risks.¡± Salina, standing beside me, furrows her brows, her clear eyes fixed on the horizon where the debris stretches endlessly. ¡°And you think King Aldrik will just let that happen? He¡¯ll send troops to claim this territory, especially if he thinks there¡¯s something valuable here.¡± I shrug. ¡°Maybe. But trust me, Kael Vorath isn¡¯t the sharing type. The Inquisition operates beyond the laws of kings. They¡¯ll claim these ruins are dangerous, that they hold anomalies, heresies to purge. And Aldrik, powerful as he is, won¡¯t risk a direct conflict with them.¡± She stays silent for a moment, then murmurs: ¡°Then we¡¯ll have to find a way. If these ruins hold something that can give us an advantage, and money, I don¡¯t want them to be the ones to get everything. They''re already plenty rich.¡± Her gaze shifts to Kael, still surrounded by his inquisitors. They resemble sinister statues, like the sculptures of their leaders in their sanctuaries. I smile faintly, without humor. ¡°We¡¯ll have to be smarter than them. And faster.¡± My thoughts return to Groboln and his discovery. There¡¯s definitely more here than just metal plates. A sigh escapes me. I can¡¯t help but hope we¡¯ll have the chance to return here, away from the Inquisition¡¯s watchful eyes. I glance at Lyrel. She doesn¡¯t seem to have a group. Maybe she¡¯d join ours. I need to discuss this with Salina¡ªGroboln''s opinion will always lean favorably towards an elf, "with big tits" as he said before. I place my palm on my forehead, already bracing myself for his inevitable slew of inappropriate jokes if she joins us... CHAP 20 - Ill Make You Walk Admiral - My humanoid droids haven¡¯t been idle. The three hundred or so, assigned to the recovery factory have methodically exploited every piece of debris in Impact Zone No. 1¡ªthe one south of the dragon and where I crashed¡ªsalvaging anything reusable: steel plates, damaged energy modules, fragments of circuitry. It¡¯s a titanic task, but their efficiency never fails to amaze me. They work like ants, silent and tireless. I know, however, that this is just a fraction of the ship. The largest impact zone lies far to the north, beyond the dragon. But for me, that region is forbidden territory. I can¡¯t risk a confrontation or draw the attention of the humans I¡¯ve been observing. Doubt gnaws at me as I oversee their work. Will the humans notice the stark difference between this site and the northern one? Here, they¡¯ll find nothing but metallic shards and massive fragments of the ship. Up north, it¡¯s a veritable graveyard of cables, systems, and other machinery. Will they find it suspicious? Since witnessing their battle, one thought has consumed me: to get out of here. During the night and into the morning, my transporters have done monumental work. Almost all recovered equipment and vital materials have been moved to a precarious hideout in the karst peaks. It¡¯s an ideal location¡ªfar better than lingering at a crash site. Staying here feels like standing over a corpse I¡¯ve murdered, it twists my stomach at every moment. The peaks are discreet, concealed within jagged terrain, far from prying eyes and the humans¡¯ likely paths. But the reactor remains. That colossus, the heart of my potential future in this world, is still in transit. The huge droids work tirelessly, their movements precise and coordinated, but time is against me. The humans are advancing too quickly ; this thing weighs a shit ton. I wipe a bead of sweat that¡¯s almost reached my lips. I¡¯d like to avoid a confrontation, but... Through the feeds of my spy droids, I see their caravan. They march swiftly, yet not recklessly. The group is well-organized, their scouts and strange elves¡ªthose with pointed ears¡ªscrutinizing every movement in the woods. Even without knowing I¡¯m here, their vigilance is a threat. If they find my droids, there will be no turning back. And if they find the reactor... The thought paralyzes me. They wouldn¡¯t understand what it is. To them, it would be an artifact of unimaginable power. A massive cylinder, a metallic object from the heavens that pulses with strange energy, surrounded by mechanical creatures treating it as precious. It would undoubtedly become an obsession¡ªa reason to hunt me relentlessly. Their greed, ambition, or fanaticism¡ªwhatever drives them¡ªwould be unstoppable. Damn it, I¡¯m losing it... this crap is making me panic. I stand abruptly, muscles tense despite my exhaustion. I need to make a decision. A heavy weight presses on my shoulders. My hands tremble slightly as I input commands on my wrist interface. A synthetic voice resonates in my shelter: "Admiral, your orders?" The reactor is my heart. These humans are dangerous. Their magic, their organization, and their unknown motivations make them potential predators in a hunt where I am the prey. I must decide. And quickly.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. I don¡¯t even have time to respond to Leia when a new alert flashes, a series of signals blinking on my makeshift screens. My fifty observation droids, scattered along the forest¡¯s perimeter, report a new anomaly: intelligent life forms detected nearby. My mind races. Another group? I immediately switch to VR mode, diving into the perspective of one of the observation droids. The view stabilizes quickly, the feed steady despite the challenging conditions. Stocky, robust silhouettes come into focus. Bearded, armed, clad in hammered armor adorned with engraved motifs. Dwarves. I can¡¯t believe it. Actual dwarves, like something out of a story. Now I¡¯ve got the whole set¡ªhumans, elves, and now dwarves! They¡¯re much closer than the humans. Far too close. I¡¯d estimate an hour¡¯s march, maybe two for them¡ªshort legs don¡¯t make it easy¡ªbut their stride is determined. Where the hell did these idiots come from? Are there tunnels popping up all over the forest? Is an orc army going to burst out of the karst peaks next? Fish from the lake? The image trembles slightly as the droid pivots to capture a panorama of the clearing where the dragon lies. The feed is better than the one showing the humans earlier. The creature is still there, immense and motionless, its wounds visible even from a distance. The dwarves seem fascinated but not afraid. They talk amongst themselves, gesturing and pointing at objects or specific areas around the beast. Are they here to observe it? Or for something else? Their equipment catches my eye. They¡¯re heavily armed: axes? Hammers? All adorned with runes my systems can¡¯t analyze. I don¡¯t fully understand this world¡¯s archaic weaponry, but I can guess their purpose based on their shape¡ªthough I¡¯m used to axes and hammers for entirely different tasks. My first thought is that they¡¯re here to kill the dragon, weakened as it is. Perhaps they see an opportunity to exploit the creature¡¯s vulnerability for resources or treasure. But their behavior suggests something else. They¡¯re not agitated or overtly aggressive. They talk, debate, as if trying to reach a decision. The problem is, they¡¯re far closer than I¡¯d like. These dwarves are within range of my combat droids, but I¡¯m in no position to act aggressively. They haven¡¯t detected me¡ªnot yet. But if my droids betray their presence, this could turn very bad. Their rudimentary equipment likely wouldn¡¯t pose an immediate threat to my units, though those runes make me uneasy¡ªthey¡¯re probably magical. I murmur to myself, "What do I do?" My thoughts are a blur. I need to focus, to prioritize. The reactor is still in transit, and every second wasted here is a second gained by the humans to the south. But these dwarves... they¡¯re unpredictable. I grit my teeth and return to the VR perspective. The dwarf leader speaks, pointing toward the dragon. He seems to be giving orders to his group. I clench my fists. I can do nothing but hope. Pray, perhaps. But an idea, a sly thought, creeps into my mind. An alternative that might not only save me from immediate danger but also divert the two factions encroaching on me. What if I led them toward each other? Something¡ªa hunch¡ªtells me these dwarves and humans, so different in appearance and likely in motivation, won¡¯t get along. Perhaps their mutual distrust will spark a confrontation, or at least slow their progress. It could buy me the time I need to finish exfiltrating the reactor and vanish. I switch to command mode, temporarily leaving the VR feed to address Leia. My voice is tense but steady. "Leia, analyze the options. Is it possible to draw the dwarves¡¯ attention toward the humans without revealing our position?" The synthetic voice responds after a brief pause, likely evaluating the variables. "Admiral, a reconnaissance droid squad could be deployed to simulate human activity heading toward the caravan. However, this entails a risk of detection or destruction of these units. Orders?" I take a deep breath. It¡¯s risky, yes. But perhaps necessary. If I do this, I must do it right. There¡¯s no room for error. The reconnaissance droids are swift and discreet, but their presence might raise suspicions among the dwarves or humans if I¡¯m not careful. I return to the dwarves¡¯ perspective. Their leader continues giving orders, but he seems hesitant, torn between curiosity for the dragon and caution. It¡¯s now or never. If they advance, they might stumble upon traces of the human caravan. "Leia, deploy a reconnaissance droid squad. Priority: simulate traces of human passage heading south. Avoid any direct contact with the dwarves or humans. Objective: divert their attention. If the dwarves follow, we gain time." "Order confirmed. Deployment in progress." CHAP 21 - You Said Damn Humans ?! Dwarves (Thorvak) The temporary camp we¡¯ve established on the edge of the clearing is modest but sufficient to offer us a vantage point over the draconic crater. The flames of a discreet fire dance, casting long shadows on the weary but vigilant faces of my squad. The fire isn¡¯t for warmth¡ªit¡¯s for roasting a few sausages. We debated, weighed our options, but the decision was unanimous: the dragon must be protected, at least until we understand what it faced. Even Bran, usually quick to action, reluctantly agreed. Sitting on a fragmented boulder, its cracks formed by the roots of a nearby tree, I run my fingers over the runes of my hammer, turning over an idea that¡¯s been gnawing at me. Communicating with such an ancient and imposing creature would be bold, perhaps even reckless. But curiosity and instinct compel me to consider the option. Elda, my wife, seated beside me, seems to read my thoughts. She murmurs softly: "Do you think this creature could speak to you? Could even understand you?" Before I can respond, Torlin appears with two other scouts, her expression grave and her steps urgent but light. She stops before me, her eyes briefly scanning the rest of the group before addressing me directly. "Chief, we found tracks." I straighten immediately, my attention fully on her. "Tracks? Of what?" She hesitates for only a moment before answering, her tone grim: "Humans." A shiver runs through the squad. Drimli, who was adjusting a bolt on his crossbow to ensure the spring mechanism works properly,freezes, looking up at us. Those still seated by the fire grip their weapons tightly at the mere mention of humans. "Where?" I ask, my tone sharper than I intended. Torlin points westward. "At the forest¡¯s edge, beyond the crater. Several tracks, fresh. They were there recently¡ªyesterday, maybe less. Boot marks, no doubt. And not amateurs¡ªthey¡¯re moving carefully." "How many? Did they see us?" My foot almost catches on a root, but I steady myself, rage beginning to simmer beneath my composure. Torlin shakes her head. "Hard to tell. A group, not an army. Five, maybe ten. They didn¡¯t venture this far, but they¡¯re observing." Bran rises abruptly, indignation lighting his face. "Humans? Here? They have no respect. They¡¯re here for the dragon, surely." I raise a hand to calm him. "Easy, Bran. If they¡¯re humans, we need to understand their intentions before acting." Elda steps closer, placing a hand on my arm. "And if they¡¯re here for the dragon? What if they seek to harm it¡ªor claim it as their own?" My teeth clench. It¡¯s a possibility I can¡¯t ignore. The beast is weakened, and a group of humans might easily see it as an opportunity¡ªa trophy to capture or a threat to eliminate. And if that¡¯s the case, I¡¯ve sworn to protect this sacred beast. I will not go back on my word. "Torlin, you¡¯re sure they haven¡¯t seen us?" I ask. She nods. "Yes, I think so. They haven¡¯t come this far. They¡¯re scouting the area. But that could change at any moment." I scan my squad, searching their faces for silent confirmation of what I¡¯m about to say. Everyone is already prepared to abandon the sausages they were cooking. I¡¯m tempted myself; damn humans can¡¯t even let us eat in peace. "We need more information," I say at last. "Torlin, take some scouts with you. Follow their tracks but remain unseen. Observe them, learn their intentions. Take no unnecessary risks. If they appear hostile, return immediately." She nods, already ready to leave. But before she turns, I add, "We¡¯ll prepare here in case things go south. Signal us if you find trouble." She fixes me with a determined gaze, then melts into the shadows with her companions. Silence settles over the camp, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Maybe we¡¯ll still get to eat those damned sausages after all. My eyes drift to the dragon in the distance, still motionless, its breathing steady but weak.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. Elda approaches again, her voice low but firm. "Thorvak, if these humans become a threat, what will we do?" I fix my gaze on the crater, then the sky. My expression hardens, burning with the fire of our ancestors¡ªthe flame of our people who have watched the centuries pass from beneath the mountains. These humans... they have already wrought so much chaos upon this region, whether they realize it or not. Their arrival, their greed, their endless wars¡ªall have scarred the surface with wounds the earth itself struggles to heal. And now, they dare to set foot on these sacred lands, where the guardian rests. Admittedly, a few hours ago, I thought about killing the dragon¡ªor at least harvesting its body for relics. My perspective has shifted, though I know the other dwarves in the great halls will rage when I return empty-handed. Or, at least, without a single piece of the dragon, because, with the way things are going, I might just return with some human artifacts instead. I grip the handle of my runic hammer, the blood-carved engravings faintly pulsing, as if responding to my anger. These humans, though taller than us, lack our inner strength, our mastery of the runes. They have neither our endurance nor our resolve, nor the sacred connection we share with the forest. They rely on numbers, on raw iron, but here, this is our land. Not theirs. I turn to Elda, who stands straight and unwavering. She knows me better than anyone and already sees what I¡¯m feeling. A faint smile of shared defiance plays on her lips. "They won¡¯t go any further, Thorvak," she says calmly, her voice like an anvil striking. "If these humans threaten the dragon or this forest, they¡¯ll learn what it means to challenge the children of the fissure" Time stretches as each of my companions busies themselves in silence, lost in their own thoughts. We prepare as best we can, uncertain of what lies ahead. One of my cousins, a sausage still in his mouth, sharpens his axe with near-ritualistic fervor, his slow, deliberate movements contrasting with the impatience burning in his eyes. Elda, seated near the dying fire, traces purely ritualistic runes while murmuring ancient words I dare not interrupt. Even Drimli, usually so talkative, quietly assists several others in oiling their mechanisms. The quiet hum of runes vibrates faintly under the fingers of my comrades. Mine are blood runes, a rare power shared by Elda¡ªfitting, as she¡¯s a distant cousin, and also my wife. Then again, in our cramped tunnels, most of us are cousins to some degree. Torlin returns, emerging from the shadows like an arrow. Her face is pale, her features drawn taut as an overstrung bow. I¡¯ve never seen her like this¡ªnot even in the darkest tunnels we¡¯ve explored. She takes a deep breath before speaking, though her voice trembles slightly. "Chief," she begins, her tone heavy and urgent. "There are about two hundred of them. Maybe more. They¡¯re advancing in formation... and they¡¯re heading straight for the dragon." A deathly silence falls over the camp. The murmurs die, and even the fire seems to waver in the weight of this revelation. Two hundred. This isn¡¯t a simple troop. It¡¯s an invasion force. A serious threat. Damn it, if only the other half of the guild with Hildas could have joined us. Of all things the tunnel had to collapse, trapping them in another citadel. This is bad. We are in deep shit. Bran is the first to break the silence, slamming his fist onto a nearby stone. "Two hundred?! These damned humans want to claim the dragon, don¡¯t they? They think they can walk onto OUR land as they please?" Drimli calmly places his hand on his crossbow, but his gaze is just as grim. "That¡¯s an army. And if it¡¯s an army, they aren¡¯t just here to look, boss." I take a deep breath, my mind racing. I need to act with both strategy and caution to honor my commitments while avoiding a reckless massacre. Two hundred... it¡¯s an overwhelming force. We are only forty-six, even with our runes and expertise. A direct battle would be doable, but what if they have mages ? That would be another story ¡ª and of course they do have some ¡ª they wouldn''t venture here without them... But retreating and letting these humans take what they want? That¡¯s not an option. Not here. Not today. I lift my eyes to my group. "Listen to me. We cannot face a force of this size head-on. Not alone.(I think about Hildas group now) But we will not back down. These lands are ours, and this dragon, whether they understand it or not, is part of this balance. We must act with cunning, as our ancestors did in the deepest tunnels." I turn to Torlin. "Did you see their formation? Do they have scouts ahead, or are they all grouped together?" She nods. "They advance in columns, but they have scouts. About ten up front, the rest thirty meters behind. They¡¯re moving slowly, like they¡¯re searching for something." A plan begins to form in my mind, fraught with risk but necessary. A surprise attack on their scouts could slow them down, sow confusion. But we must also protect the dragon, ensuring they don¡¯t approach. I rise, addressing the squad with determination. "We have two choices: strike like the furious dwarves we are, turning this forest into a blood-soaked battleground, or use our wits to make them believe they¡¯ve already lost before lifting a blade." Drimli smirks. "A good story, that. The long-legs love their stories. Make them tremble, Thorvak." I nod, my voice firm. "But hear this. If our bluff fails, if these humans are foolish enough to challenge us despite everything, we will fall upon them like the wrath of the mountains. We will strike swiftly, fiercely, and without mercy. We do not retreat." A murmur of approval ripples through the group. Each returns to their preparations, sharpening weapons or finishing their meals. I hope this won¡¯t be their last. CHAP 22 - A BEAST ? AGAIN ! ADMIRAL The dwarves have been waiting a long time in their provisional camp, set on the edge of the dragon''s clearing. The fire they lit remains discreet, a faint flicker among the imposing shadows of the forest. The trees here are unlike anything I¡¯ve known¡ªor rather, seen in images. For the first time, here , I have seen real trees up close. I''ve always been on a spaceship or station until now ; and trees were a rarity. Those things are fascinating, in the fleeting moments I allow myself to reflect on it. The one I guessed to be their leader sits on a rock, carved by the roots of a tree that shattered it. My droids are hidden, clad in camouflaging suits that give them a "chameleon" effect, making them almost impossible to spot. Among the small creatures, some sharpen their weapons while others prepare defenses by tracing patterns into the dirt around their camp. They argue, their voices low, as if warding off an invisible threat. Their language is strange, harsh, and far from pleasant. Eventually, they make a decision. They will protect the dragon¡ªfor now, at least they do not seem immediately hostile. I''d rather they do not wake it anytime soon. The leader, whom I¡¯ve been observing, takes his time. He¡¯s not one to rush. He measures, evaluates. Clearly, the false tracks have managed to sow confusion. I can¡¯t help but admire them a little, despite the situation. These warriors seem unafraid of the dragon; its presence doesn¡¯t disturb them. For me, even seeing it through the droids is enough to unsettle me. That thing has a thermal signature surpassing that of ancient nuclear reactors. It¡¯s terrifying that such a being, alive no less, even exists. When their group finally moves, I feel a wave of relief mixed with apprehension. They follow the tracks my droids left¡ªsimulated footprints made with scraps of synthetic leather likely scavenged from seats, broken branches, and furrows in the ground. It¡¯s working. They¡¯re taking the bait and moving slowly in the direction I¡¯ve indicated: toward the humans. Through the VR feed, I watch them. I feel so detached from all of this¡ªlike a conductor, seeing and directing, but unseen by those I guide. No, that¡¯s a poor analogy. A conductor must be seen by the musicians. I¡¯m more like a puppeteer, pulling strings without fully knowing what¡¯s moving at the other end. A few kilometers away, the humans continue their march south. The contrast is stark. Where the dwarves advance as a tightly knit pack, the humans move in orderly columns. Their scouts scan the woods carefully, but their fatigue is apparent. They¡¯ve been walking for hours, and earlier they faced that monstrous colossus. I switch between feeds, observing the two groups converging. The trap is working. The dwarves suspect nothing of the fake human tracks, and the humans remain oblivious to the stout warriors heading their way. I smile faintly, satisfied, though a shadow of doubt lingers. I have no control over what will happen when they meet. Their mutual distrust might spark conflict, or they might find common ground. I have no way of knowing. The transporter droids continue moving the reactor. The constant hum of their engines serves as a brutal reminder: I can¡¯t afford to waste time. The reactor¡ªmy ticket to survival¡ªmust reach the karst peaks before either group discovers me. I can¡¯t dwell on what the dwarves and humans will do. My objective is clear: buy time. Leaning against the metallic wall of my rickety cabin, I keep my eyes on the feeds through my goggles. I murmur to myself, "Come on, play your parts well. Let this meeting make enough noise to keep their attention..." A darker thought crosses my mind: what if it¡¯s not enough? What if one of the groups finds me anyway? My jaw tightens. For now, all I can do is watch and hope what I¡¯ve set in motion holds long enough.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. My smile fades. I know everything could change in an instant.
ALBION (Human) 12:42 PM ¨C The column moves slowly through this desolate landscape, and my thoughts wander as much as my eyes. My stomach growls, and not just from hunger. Between the adrenaline of battle and Lyrel¡¯s presence beside me, everything feels heightened. Ever since we faced the troll, our conversations have flowed more naturally. She has a laugh that lingers in my mind, and I fully intend to take advantage of that. Maybe I¡¯ll ask where she stays in Benamire¡ªif we survive this. The break was brief, just enough to bandage wounds and catch our breath. The poor elf still complains about her headache, but after taking some herbs, she¡¯s back to her usual spirited self. Now we¡¯re moving again, and according to the scouts, we¡¯re nearing the outskirts of the draconic crater. The weight of that idea bears down on everyone, but my attention is elsewhere, drawn to what surrounds us. These ruins... It¡¯s obvious they aren¡¯t the dragon¡¯s work. Not these massive debris, not the strange metallic remnants I occasionally glimpse between the piles of rubble. Some structures almost resemble creatures¡ªlegs, torsos, humanoid forms twisted by the impact of their fall. As if these things were once meant to move, to live, before ending up here, dead and frozen in chaos. Metal creatures? No, that¡¯s too absurd. Fiction. A metallic race falling from the sky? And yet, there are these capsules... I noticed them earlier, scattered everywhere. Thousands. They look like sarcophagi, but their material glows faintly in the light. They give off an odd feeling¡ªwhat could be inside? Every time I approach one out of curiosity, a sharp voice from the Inquisition snaps me back. "Touch nothing," growls one of the inquisitorial soldiers, his face stern. Seriously, what¡¯s their problem? They treat us like unruly children in a forbidden sanctuary. Kael and his lackeys keep everything under their control, imposing their authority without the slightest respect. King Aldrik might be powerful, but the Inquisition acts like they¡¯ve already annexed this zone. That fool commander, Sir Eldan, does nothing to oppose them. I¡¯ve heard some direct complain, only for him to shrug: "The king told us to deal with the dragon. The rest, we¡¯ll handle later." I grit my teeth. This field of ruins, these capsules, these dead metallic creatures... They hold answers¡ªclues that could change our understanding of what happened. And more importantly, they hold the promise of wealth. Selling trinkets and broken artifacts to the highest bidder would make a fortune. But these vultures forbid us from going near. They¡¯d rather keep everything for themselves. Lyrel notices my irritation and nudges me lightly. "Let them growl, Albion. Their little power only lasts as long as we stay in their ranks. Maybe we can return here¡ªquietly. Who knows what we might find?" I glance at her in surprise, then smirk. This elf is insane¡ªshe just got her head nearly smashed in by the finger of a troll, and she¡¯s already itching for more adventure! I might just add her in our group right now. "And you¡¯d come with me, wouldn¡¯t you?" She rolls her eyes, but I catch a glimmer of amusement. My charm worked. The scouts report increasingly clear signs. Massive tracks, as if a giant creature dragged its weight along the ground. Deep claw marks etched into the rock. And the smell... A mix of ash, sulfur, and something more primal. The dragon is close. Despite the fascinating ruins behind us, a creeping fear rises within me. This is no longer a troll or shards of metal. This is a living force¡ªa legendary being capable of wiping out an entire army with a single breath. The forest shifts again, coming alive as if trying to erase the chaos left behind. The towering trees form a natural cathedral around us, the air growing thicker, almost sacred. It¡¯s more likely the collective pressure and stress that makes it feel like we¡¯re holding our breath. The transition is as abrupt as what we faced further north when stepping into the ruined zone. It¡¯s clear now: we¡¯re entering the beast¡¯s lair. And then, it happens. Not the beast we expect, but another kind. Three silhouettes emerge from the shadows ahead of the column, solid ghosts stepping into the light. They aren¡¯t human. My eyes widen, and my heart clenches. "Damn... dwarves," I whisper to Lyrel. CHAP 23 - Can We Talk… The three figures advance with disconcerting confidence, their stocky and robust stature amplifying their imposing aura despite their small size. Their equipment is of exceptional craftsmanship: finely worked armor plates adorned with glowing runes. Two of them wield hammers, their runes pulsing with a restrained power. Those damn runes. That¡¯s what¡¯s terrifying¡ªan overwhelming magic, utterly inaccessible to us. I focus my senses, trying to gauge their aura. It¡¯s not my strength, but even an idiot could sense the sheer danger radiating from these three. Raw, concentrated power, like their compact forms. A smirk almost escapes me¡ªI¡¯ll have to save that one for Groboln. The old man would get a good laugh. The commander halts the column immediately with an authoritative gesture, raising his hand to stop all movement. "Nobody moves." The captain steps forward a few paces, his soldiers forming a defensive line behind him. The inquisitor''s troups, as always, deploy with cold precision, disregarding the commander¡¯s order. Kael¡¯s men fan out in a crescent shape, creating a living barrier between the dwarves and their master. The small men freeze in place, their calculating eyes scanning the column. Then, the one in the center¡ªone of the hammer-bearers¡ªsteps forward slightly, his stare sweeping over the group as if measuring each individual. His gruff voice, laced with the guttural accent typical of the depths, carries a force far greater than his stature, especially for a single word: "Human!" A heavy silence settles. The dwarf remains motionless, but his companions tighten their grips on their weapons. The glow of their runes intensifies slightly, casting ominous shadows around them. Eldan steps forward, his expression neutral but respectful. He knows that underestimating a dwarf, especially a trio like this, would be a fatal mistake. "Greetings, sons of the mountain," Eldan replies, his voice grave and measured. "You are in our path." The third dwarf, adorned with even more scarlet runes, lets out a rumbling noise that¡¯s almost amused, though her eyes remain as cold as steel. The dwarf who uttered the word "Human", continues : "These woods are not yours. No path is meant for you here." He takes another step forward, and the energy pulsing around him seems to condense. The other two dwarves remain still, their gazes fixed on us, ready to act at the slightest sign of a threat. It¡¯s not the three of them that¡¯s terrifying¡ªit¡¯s not knowing how many more might be nearby. Probably plenty, if they¡¯re bold enough to pressure us like this. Damn it, first the troll, and now them. It¡¯s like the creatures of this forest are determined to keep us from reaching the dragon!Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. Kael Vorath, still in the background, steps forward slightly. His expression is calm, almost curious, but his eyes glint with predatory coldness. He doesn¡¯t intervene yet, letting Eldan handle it, but his mere presence heightens the already palpable tension. I murmur to Lyrel, "They¡¯re not here to talk. These three could probably massacre twenty of us without breaking a sweat." She nods slightly, her attention fixed on the dwarves, her hand hovering near her sword. The nervous dwarf on the left, the only one without reddish runes here, begins to speak : "We felt your presence the moment you set foot here. Not surprising, given the size of your big feet. Get out now!" He seems pleased with his joke, glancing at the other two dwarves, who remain unimpressed, their expressions skeptical. In response, the dwarf in the center steps forward. The intense light of his engravings seems to pulse with his breath, casting menacing red reflections on the surrounding tree trunks. His voice resonates like a drumbeat in the column¡¯s silence. "I am Thorvak Bloodrune, heir of the Blood Clan within the dwarven kingdom." He pauses, his piercing eyes daring anyone in the column to meet his stare. "As my cousin, Bran Fouguefoudre, just explained, you are not welcome on our lands." His tone is final, each word delivered with natural authority and unshakable conviction. He points his hammer toward Eldan, then gestures at the entire column. "The forest that survived the rain from the heavens is under our protection," he continues, his gaze hardening. "And all the creatures that dwell within it, including the great dragon." A murmur ripples through the adventurers and soldiers. The explicit mention of the dragon sends chills through the ranks, each person realizing the audacity of the dwarves to claim such a creature under their protection. It also confirms the dragon isn¡¯t dead¡ªunless this is an elaborate lie. Eldan, however, remains composed. His eyes locks onto Thorvak with cool precision. He keeps his hand on the hilt of his sword but refrains from any sudden movements. "Thorvak Bloodrune, your name carries the weight of your people. But this territory also falls under the jurisdiction of the Kingdom of Elbak. We are not here to challenge you but to investigate events that threaten all life in these lands, including the forest you claim to protect." Thorvak lets out a low growl, a mix of amusement and irritation. "Fine words to mask your intrusion, human. You come bearing weapons..." The dwarf pauses, spitting on the ground as his gaze shifts to Kael. "...and inquisitors." The other two dwarves spit as well, nodding silently as Thorvak continues. Kael Vorath finally steps forward, breaking the icy silence his group had maintained until now. His voice, calm and razor-sharp, cuts through the tension like a blade: "Thorvak Bloodrune, Bran Stormfury... and you, the third, whose name has yet to be offered." The third dwarf bristles at Kael¡¯s words. The Great Inquisitor inclines his head slightly¡ªa gesture cold and calculated, meant purely as mockery. "We are here to address an imbalance that transcends your territorial disputes." The runes on the dwarves¡¯ hammers glow brighter, and the third dwarf, who had remained silent until now, steps forward. Her runes blaze with a near-blinding intensity, and a wicked grin twists her face. CHAP 24 - I Think we Cant ! THORVAK (DWARF) The tone shifts sharply in the clearing as Elda steps forward, placing herself slightly ahead of me. Her runic hammer glows with an intense, almost dangerous light. Her face, usually composed, is twisted in restrained fury. She fixes the so-called "Grand Inquisitor" with a glare so piercing it would make any less assured human retreat. Her voice, clear and commanding, cuts through the oppressive silence that has settled over the human column. Each word she utters carries an underlying threat and an unshakable pride. "I am Elda Bloodrune, wife of Thorvak of the same name, warrior of our people, and protector of these lands!" She lifts her hammer slightly, the runes etched into it flaring a fiery red, casting shifting shadows on the massive tree trunks. "Magician, you speak of imbalance, but it is YOU who cause it by setting foot on lands that are not YOURS." A murmur ripples through the human ranks. Soldiers exchange nervous glances, some tightening their grips on their weapons, others appearing uncertain. Even the inquisitor''s troups, cold and detached as they are, seem unsettled by the power radiating from Elda. She continues, her voice rising another notch, her gaze piercing Kael Vorath like a blade: "Return to the North, human, before it is too late. These woods, this forest, the dragon itself, all are under our protection. If you insist on remaining here, our warriors will descend upon you, and believe me, your weapons and magics will not suffice." Bran, standing to my left, lets out a deep, almost mocking laugh, striking the blade of his axe against the ground to punctuate Elda¡¯s words. The lightning runes on his weapon hum in response, sending faint arcs of electricity crackling through the clearing. I remain silent, letting Elda command the moment. She is like a storm held in check. Kael Vorath remains impassive, but his fingers move subtly, tracing minute gestures¡ªperhaps spells prepared for a quick invocation. I don¡¯t like it. Would this madman actually fight here? I grit my teeth imperceptibly. Our bluff cannot be exposed by this bastard. The human captain attempts to defuse the situation. He raises a hand to calm his troops, his face tense but respectful. "Lady Elda," he begins, his tone oddly familiar. I notice how he says my wife¡¯s name, almost as if he recognizes it. "We are not here to challenge you. We have endured much to reach this place, but what we seek is..." Elda interrupts, her anger unrelenting. "What you seek, Captain, is not yours to claim. Captain?" The captain shifts uncomfortably. "Captain Eldan Rochefer, under the orders of the King of Elbak," he finally responds. Ah, so that¡¯s it. The man¡¯s name resembles a dwarven one, eerily close to my wife¡¯s. She points her hammer at him, unyielding, then directs it toward Kael Vorath.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. "Leave now, or face the consequences of your arrogance." The murmurs in the human column intensify. Some soldiers begin to doubt, their gazes darting toward us as if facing an insurmountable force. But others, particularly those near Kael, remain resolute. They will follow their leader¡¯s orders no matter what. I step forward, my hammer glowing in unison with Elda¡¯s, and address Kael Vorath directly, breaking the tense silence: "You are in our lands, magician. Whether you come with words or spells, know this: the dwarves do not forget intrusions. We do not seek conflict, but if you persist, you shall have it." The inquisitor stands motionless, his cold gaze assessing each of us, weighing his options. Behind him, his escort murmurs among themselves, their armor reflecting the light of our runes. Eldan, the commander, appearing hesitant, directs the rest of his troops, his eyes darting between his forces, us, and Kael. The tension is at its peak, like a taut string ready to snap. Everything hinges on their response, but one thing is clear: if these humans dare to advance, we¡¯re doomed. We are only forty against their two hundred. From the moment this inquisitor opened his mouth, I knew he was different. More than dangerous, he¡¯s a man who calculates every word, every gesture. His words are sharp as blades, his mind as cold as the mountain peaks where his perfidious order resides. When he speaks, his voice slices through the air like a whip, resonating with an almost unbearable irony: "Oh, you almost frighten me, dear dwarves, with your gleaming hammers and runes. I suppose your good King Durmar fully supports your bold words, little warrior!" He slowly waves his hands, gesturing to the forest around us as if to highlight the irony of the situation. He speaks of the cataclysm, the rain of fire that ravaged these lands, the chaos that shattered the skies. His insult is no longer veiled. Elda, beside me, grips her hammer so tightly her knuckles whiten. I can feel her rage rising like a forge blazing to life. Her glare could pierce Kael if it were possible. But for now, she remains silent. Bran, on the other hand, lets out a low growl, his axe humming faintly as its runes activate in response to the provocation. I take a deep breath, attempting to rein in my own anger. It¡¯s not the first time I¡¯ve seen a human disdain dwarves, but Kael does so in a way that transcends the usual arrogance. He plays a dangerous game, and he knows it¡ªinsulting even our king. "Your words, magician," I finally say, my voice heavy and rumbling, "are as insulting as your treacherous order. This cataclysm, this rain of fire you point to, did not simply awaken the dwarves. It shattered a balance¡ªand you only deepen the imbalance." I spit on the ground. If we fight, I swear to take this dog down first. Kael doesn¡¯t move, but his eyes glint with a cold light, their dark hue hiding an imperceptible smirk. "Fascinating," he murmurs, almost to himself. Then, louder, he adds: "You speak of balance, yet you seem to forget that we are here to restore it. If this dragon, this creature you seem to revere, is the cause of the imbalance, then it is our duty to study it... or eliminate it." "You are not here to restore anything, human!" Elda shouts, her voice fierce and unwavering. "You are here to impose your will, as always! This imbalance you claim to fight, YOU are its cause by setting foot here with your selfish ambitions and destructive magics. The dragon has nothing to do with your wars and schemes." It¡¯s rare to see her like this, but I understand her anger all too well. CHAP 25 - Still Alive ?! The tension is palpable. Despite all this chaos, I remain a mere spectator, huddled in the shadows of my cabin. Outside, the sky is nothing but a kaleidoscope of shifting luminous bands, with no sun on the horizon. It reminds me that this place isn¡¯t a planet, but some kind of flat dimension. With all the implications that brings... namely, the haunting reality that I might never leave. A strange world, yet oddly familiar. Here, day and night alternate like aboard imperial ships, synced to Earth¡¯s cycles. A bitter irony that lingers in my mind. I¡¯m still glued to my VR goggles, but my focus is waning. The humans and dwarves, after what seemed to be heated exchanges¡ªat least according to the droids¡¯ analysis of their facial expressions, because I can¡¯t make sense of it¡ªare now far enough from the reactor for me to relax a little. Leia confirmed as much. Yeah, from the way they bark at each other and trade glares, I doubt either group will suddenly unite and sprint toward my location. The transporters have finally managed to haul the massive reactor free from the muddy crater of debris it had sunk into after falling from the sky. It¡¯s now moving toward the western peaks. I should feel relieved, but I don¡¯t. It¡¯s curiosity, born of my lack of understanding of their language and strange powers, that keeps me glued to another droid feed. These droids, sent further north into the largest crash zone where I know the bulk of the ship landed, are revealing something extraordinary. The screens display a hellscape: mountains of twisted metal, entire sections of the Colossus scattered over kilometers. But amidst this chaos... I see cryogenic pods. Thousands. Tens of thousands. My heart stops. I stare at the screen, my breath shallow, my throat dry. The droids advance cautiously, weaving through colossal debris, revealing more and more pods. Some are overturned, others half-buried in the ground. But many are intact. Their shiny surfaces, their familiar design¡ªI recognize them immediately. It¡¯s the colonization module. This is where it crashed. And with that, a flicker of hope ignites within me. If they¡¯re intact, there might be survivors. My mind races. Leia¡¯s words echo in my head: "All cryogenic compartments are compromised. You are the only human alive." But now, faced with these images, another thought takes hold: What if she lied?Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms. My breathing quickens, shallow and ragged. My vision blurs¡ªnot from the screens, but from exhaustion, hunger, and a rising wave of anger. Could Leia have dared to hide the truth from me? "LEIA!!" My voice erupts, hoarse and uncontrollable. I stand abruptly, my muscles trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline. The cramped cabin feels too small, too suffocating, as I begin to shout. "Explain this to me, now! You told me they were all dead! Look at those pods! Look at them!" Before she can respond, my mind offers a grim answer. It¡¯s unlikely that Leia is malicious. She has been forced onto the last surviving servers during the crash. Either her sensors malfunctioned, or she lost parts of her functions and fabricated the most convenient explanation. Leia¡¯s synthetic voice resonates calmly in my earpiece, unperturbed. "Admiral, I remind you that initial readings confirmed a failure in the cryogenic systems. The data recorded during the crash indicates¡ª" "Stop with your excuses!" I slam my fist against the metal table in front of me. My voice trembles, a mix of rage and despair. I want answers. I want the truth. "You knew there was a chance they survived, and you didn¡¯t tell me! How many of them are in there?! How many are still alive, Leia?!" Silence. Then, her response falls, neutral yet deafening in its simplicity. "Status of the pods: unknown. No biological readings confirmed from your current position. Cryogenic modules are designed to withstand significant impacts, but a failure of life support systems remains probable after a shock of this magnitude." Probable. That word pins me in place. It means there¡¯s a chance. A chance that they¡¯re still alive. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself, but the thought gnaws at me. If people are still there, trapped in those pods, then I can¡¯t just stay here and wait. But I can¡¯t rush to that zone either. The humans and dwarves are still nearby, and their tensions could erupt at any moment. If I¡¯m discovered, I lose everything. But those pods... they could change everything. And if some colonists are alive... I can¡¯t abandon them. My voice is hoarse. "Leia, tell me this is a failure of your sensors, of your reasoning systems after being forcibly migrated to unsuitable servers." I need to know that the only entity I trust, the one I literally rely on for survival, hasn¡¯t lied to me. "Admiral, it is not within my functions or interests to lie. Yes, it is possible that some of my capabilities and sensors are compromised, and that I omitted sharing all information by considering only the highest probability." Fuck it. What a stupid AI. "YOU MUST NOT LIE TO ME, LEIA! DAMN IT!" I scream. She¡¯s pushing me to the brink. I want to break down, to cry, but the thought that some colonists¡ªpeople from my world, not these damn humans, some with pointy ears and bows, or dwarves with glowing runes like LEDs¡ªmight still be alive keeps me standing. CHAP-26 : I Dont Want War I stagger, my legs heavy, almost ready to collapse. The rage I unleashed yelling at Leia has drained what little energy I had left. My breathing is short, ragged, and my head spins. Her mechanical voice echoes in my earpiece, still calm, untouched by my frustration. "Admiral, I must advise you to consume some¡ª" I raise a hand sharply, cutting her off mid-sentence. She falls silent, finally. At least she¡¯s learned that much, this damn AI. Yes, I know rations are available. Yes, I know my droids have stored enough to last for months. Some crates survived the crash, buried in the ground or protected by layers of metal partially melted during atmospheric entry. But hunger isn¡¯t what¡¯s really tormenting me. My stomach is knotted with stress. Humans. Dwarves. Cryogenic pods. This entire morning has been a series of shocks. Just yesterday, I thought I was the sole survivor, the last remnant of my world. And now... I¡¯ve discovered that Leia either hid an essential truth or was too limited to share it. The thought of potential survivors haunts me as much as it gives me hope. But I can do nothing for them. Not yet. The idea that some of my comrades might be out there, just a little farther north, still fighting for their lives, trapped in cryogenic pods... Maybe some have already emerged, their bodies ruined by the lack of proper protocol. I imagine auxiliary batteries drained, bodies half-frozen and gnawed by the cold. Eyes unable to open due to frost, hearts that stop from the chill¡ªor just hearts that never restart. Lifeless corpses rotting in hermetic metal coffins slowly warming. I try to swallow my anger, my disgust, but it won¡¯t go away. My hands tremble¡ªnot just from fatigue, but from frustration. "Stay focused, dammit, one thing at a time!" I mutter to myself. The reactor remains the priority. Without power, I have no chance of reopening the pods, let alone activating the cryostatic wake-up protocols. The technology keeping them alive¡ªassuming any of them still are¡ªrelies on systems far too complex to be manually operated or run in an unstable environment. I grit my teeth. Duty calls, but this world gives me no respite. These humans and dwarves still roam, and if one of them gets their hands on the pods, it will mean war. I don¡¯t want it, I don¡¯t wish for it, but if that''s what it takes to protect my people, I won¡¯t look away.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. A transporter arrives at my location. The deep hum of its engine and the heavy thud of its massive legs blend with the lighter metallic footsteps of the twelve humanoid droids escorting me. Their weapons, ready to fire, provide some comfort. I don¡¯t have the strength to walk the fifty kilometers to the karst peaks. Not in this state. Not after more than twenty-four hours spent salvaging what¡¯s left of my old world. I climb into the transporter, nestling myself between its two mechanical arms, in some tissues, like a bird in nest. The landscape rolls by slowly: towering trees, scorched clearings, scattered debris. The droids have done a good job of hiding most traces¡ªthe large tracks from the transporters meticulously concealed, and the salvaged and repaired debris already moved to the karst zone. It''s no doubt traces of something will be found, but by the time they realize, I''ll be deep hidden. I hope. Nothing remains here but unusable scrap, pieces too damaged by atmospheric entry, the crash... or perhaps even that strange anomaly, the black hole that brought us here. Or rather... brought me here. My thoughts linger on the pods. Those thousands of lives frozen in time, suspended between life and death. The worst part is that I have no idea of their status. Alive or dead ? And what if the humans or dwarves find them before I do? It¡¯s obvious they¡¯ve seen the pods along their route. But will they be able to transport them quickly? A single pod weighs nearly a ton, so without vehicles or... then I think of their damn magic. Yes, they could very well have ways to carry them, at least a few. I clench my fists at the thought. I can already see the disaster: these barbarians opening the pods without understanding their systems, destroying the life-support mechanisms in their ignorance. Or worse, they¡¯ll seek to exploit them¡ªslaves, experiments, or trophies to parade. I can¡¯t allow it. My attention briefly returns to the altercation I caused. The dwarves and humans finally seem to be dispersing. The humans, at least, are retreating. A partial withdrawal. Not a total defeat, but enough to temporarily ease the tension. Perhaps a bloodbath would have been more useful to me, after all. Fewer humans. Fewer dwarves. It would have spared me the thought of having to consider doing massacre myself if they dare lay a hand on my people. My duty is to protect the citizens of the Empire, no matter the cost. The transporter crawls toward the West. The maintenance droids remain active in the background, securing the reactor, establishing rudimentary defenses around my temporary position. I can¡¯t stay here long. This world, these tensions... it¡¯s all intensifying. My thoughts wander, between the weight of the mission, the pods to the north, and the factions prowling this cursed forest. I¡¯ve never felt such a mix of hope and despair, a paradox that eats away at me. I order Leia to mobilize as many droids as possible to locate intact pods. One thing is certain: if there are survivors, I will save them at all costs. If I must build an empire from ruins, then so be it. CHAP - 27 : Will You Ease Up ALBION (HUMAN) Salina and Groboln instinctively move closer to me, almost as if by reflex, as the tension escalates. The soldiers under Commander Eldan form up, shields raised, ready to deflect an attack that seems more and more inevitable. The air is heavy, thick with threats and palpable hostility. The dwarves remain motionless, planted firmly in place, their axes and hammers adorned with glowing runes, gleaming like flames barely contained. I can already tell this isn¡¯t going to end well. That bastard Inquisitor, Kael Vorath, is provoking the dwarves. Why? Why do they always have to pour fuel on the fire? As hunters, we know better than to provoke these small creatures. Dwarves are proud, vengeful, and most of all, dangerous. Even outnumbered, they could decimate a weakened column like ours if they decided to strike first. I have no desire to fight. Not after everything we¡¯ve been through. The battle with the mutated troll among the debris already drained our morale and strength. Too many of us are exhausted. Even though I¡¯m still standing, my muscles protest with every movement. The last thing we need is another fight. Eldan, visibly under pressure, is surrounded by his officers. They¡¯re murmuring in his ear, some almost shouting directives, suggestions. He hesitates, clearly uncomfortable. From a distance, I can¡¯t help but think he¡¯s out of his depth. Why was this guy appointed by the king? He¡¯s no leader of men. He spends more time walking on eggshells than making decisions. A coward, that¡¯s what he is. Finally, he steps forward, reluctantly, toward the dwarves and Kael. His gait is stiff, almost trembling. He¡¯s got a problem with dwarves; that much is clear. Maybe a trauma? He seems incapable of looking them in the eye without flinching. Meanwhile, the Grand Inquisitor stays in the background, cold and calculating, but his eyes shine with a dangerous glint. The two men exchange words I can¡¯t hear, but everything about their posture and tone screams tension. Then, suddenly, Eldan¡¯s voice rises, clear and strong, carrying through the clearing: ¡°The official army of the Kingdom of Elbak and the conscripted adventurers will NOT engage in direct armed conflict with the dwarves, except by explicit orders from the King. We do not answer for the Inquisition, Kael. If your order wants a war, that¡¯s your choice.¡± An icy silence follows those words. Eldan has made his decision, though not in the way Kael had hoped, and it¡¯s evident the Inquisitor is seething. Eldan¡¯s officers immediately bark orders to reform the ranks and prepare for a retreat. The tension remains thick, but it seems a direct confrontation has been averted. I allow myself to relax slightly, a small sigh of relief escaping me.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. I can¡¯t help but think, ¡°All that, for this?¡± Next to me, Groboln pulls a disgusted face, muttering to himself: ¡°I hope we still get the gold they promised.¡± To that, Lyrel, the elf I¡¯ve spent the morning trying to charm, responds in her usual teasing tone: ¡°Don¡¯t count on it, big guy. We didn¡¯t even see the dragon.¡± Her smile pulls a chuckle from me despite myself, but Salina, ever the pragmatist, is about to reply when an officer strides past, looking irritated: ¡°You three, follow the rest of the group. We¡¯re heading back north. Move it!¡± We have no choice. The order is clear. We¡¯re going to have to trek back through this enormous debris field. I exhale, glancing up at the sky. The shifting bands of light move slowly; midday has passed. Soon, the trees will give way once more to the scarred and scorched plains. All we can do is hope that no new abomination swoops down on us. The stark divide between forest and debris reminds me of how alien and incomprehensible this place has become. I¡¯m not even sure what we came here to find anymore, but one thing is certain: the forest has changed. As we start marching, my thoughts wander. I watch the soldiers reorganize, tired but disciplined, and the adventurers, like me, following out of necessity rather than loyalty. I wonder if we¡¯ll make it to Benamire before nightfall. With how slow our progress is and the state of some in the column, I strongly doubt it. Salina, Groboln, and Lyrel still have the energy to joke around. I think she¡¯s finding her place in the group; a faint smile crosses my face. We¡¯re not the only group. Around me, murmurs resume. Soldiers talk amongst themselves, discussing what just happened. The adventurers share their thoughts about the dwarves, some showing respect, others openly disdainful. I stay silent. I¡¯ve rarely seen dwarves before. My mind drifts back to the confrontation, to Kael, to Eldan, and especially to those small, rune-clad men. What is their goal? To claim new lands, the dragon, the debris? This forest belongs to no one, yet everyone seems eager to stake their claim. I glance at Lyrel, walking slightly ahead. Her pointed ears twitch at every noise. I find it endearing. I''ve never slept with an elf before. I move closer to her. ¡°Do you stay in Benamire, Lyrel?¡± I ask. ¡°No, I was in Pontoven when the conscription notice came,¡± she replies, stepping closer to me. ¡°Why? Do you want me to stay with you?¡± she teases. I keep the playful tone. ¡°Why not?¡± She laughs. ¡°Why not!¡± Groboln, the ever jealous and cynic mage, interrupts, "So, Lyrel, you have no group for the moment ? Why is that?" Lyrel looks more serious ; not that she''s vexed or anything, but she just drops the teasing tone. "Yeah, alone for now. It¡¯s a long story, but let¡¯s just say I was with other elves, and, well, they left Elbak" "And you stayed." Notices sharply the old man, I decide to joke on him. "No, she left too. What you''re seeing is just her ghost!" I can''t help to be eager we leave this place, even tho we joke, it''s creeping me. CHAP 28 : Much To Do THORVAK (DWARF) Elda throws me a look full of relief. The human, the one whose name strangely resembles hers, has finally ordered his men to retreat. I can sense their frustration in their heavy movements and scowling faces, but they obey. Part of me savors this moment; the other knows it¡¯s only a temporary reprieve. Around me, in the shadow of the massive trees, my men loosen their tense muscles, their hands slowly releasing the grips of their axes and crossbows. Yet no one truly moves. Every breath feels measured, every motion restrained. It would be foolish to let them realize now we¡¯re not even fifty strong, that a confrontation could have easily turned in their favor if their leader had decided otherwise. But our bluff has spared us a bloodbath today. I take a deep breath, my chest filling with the icy, damp air of the undergrowth. We¡¯ll have to act quickly. These humans haven¡¯t found what they¡¯re looking for, but that won¡¯t stop them from coming back. And we neither have the luxury of time nor the resources to fend off repeated offensives. We need to inform King Durmar immediately. And that¡¯s not a prospect I relish. I can already hear the protests of the old sages echoing in my head, their shrill voices rising to denounce my supposed recklessness. Durgil the Wise will be the first to cry scandal. Always eager to preach caution while the world crumbles around us. "Why leave the tunnels?" they¡¯ll say. "Why risk our safety? The rock has always been our refuge." But they refuse to see the truth. They don¡¯t see that the very earth is changing, that the forest is forcing us to act. They cling to their traditions, to their sanctuary beneath the mountain, as if the past could shield us from the present. They¡¯d rather remain hidden, waiting for the rocks above us to crumble and doom our people to eternal darkness. We must be the agents of change, taking the lead. The crisis shaking the surface is an opportunity, a turning point in dwarven history. If we remain passive, if we cling to our old certainties like a smith to his rusty anvil, we¡¯ll be swept away, forgotten. I know, however, that such a message won¡¯t sit well with King Durmar. He, too, is a traditionalist, bound by the fragile balance of dwarven politics, and his centuries rotting on his throne. Sending forces to the surface risks alienating not only factions within the kingdom but also the humans of Elbak¡ªnot to mention the Inquisition. That¡¯s a terrifying prospect. These mages and fanatics wield a power we don¡¯t fully understand, and can¡¯t afford to ignore.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. But I refuse to be a spectator to this catastrophe. We must seize this chaos to strengthen ourselves, to redefine our place in the world. This isn¡¯t just about survival¡ªit¡¯s about power. Runes aren¡¯t meant to languish on forgotten galleries. They are weapons, tools, and it¡¯s time to bring them back into action. The stress builds as I think about descending, about being summoned before the council, facing those old, decrepit dwarves. Elda approaches me as the humans continue their retreat, the column slowly moving north. She places a hand on my shoulder, her runic hammer still faintly glowing, though her rage has subsided. "They¡¯re leaving, Thorvak. We¡¯ve avoided the worst." I nod, but I can¡¯t help murmuring, almost to myself: "For how long, Elda?" She grips my shoulder firmly, her piercing gaze meeting mine. "I don¡¯t know... Hopefully, Hilda will arrive soon." I watch the silhouettes of the humans slowly disappear. These long-legs, as Bran calls them, leave grudgingly. Their faces bore marks of exhaustion, perhaps even a hint of disappointment. They expected to find something here¡ªtreasures, answers, maybe even the dragon itself. And they leave with... nothing. Part of me delights in seeing their greed frustrated. Still, I have no doubt they¡¯ll return soon enough to scavenge whatever they can from the debris. Bran, ever himself, growls as he pounds his axe against the ground, the electricity from its runes sending small sparks skittering across the grass. "If only they knew how close they came to death..." he mutters, almost amused. I don¡¯t respond. He¡¯s not wrong. If our group had been complete, if Hilda and her warriors had reached the surface in time, this encounter would have ended very differently. Those humans would now lie scattered in the clearing, their blood staining the ground. But had our bluff failed, it would be us, the rotting corpse under their sole. Yes, as my wife says, Hilda and the rest of our band can¡¯t arrive soon enough. "Torlin, take your men and make sure the humans leave the area. Once they¡¯ve crossed the debris fields, return. We''ll go back to the dragon" The dwarves begin emerging from the trees and bushes. The human army¡ªbecause that¡¯s how I¡¯ll describe them to the king¡ªis no longer visible. I hear murmurs from some of the harder-headed among us¡ªa polite way of saying the stupider ones: "Those long-legs should have tasted our axes today. They¡¯ll come back, and when they do, this forest will be a battlefield." I grumble. It¡¯s in our genes¡ªwe always thirst for the blood of others. But for now, we need to return to camp, contact Hilda¡¯s group, who must be exhausted from climbing kilometers of stairs to reach the surface. And for me, it¡¯s time to descend and report to the king. I lift my hammer, its runes shining with determined brilliance, and address my men: "We¡¯ve bought time today. Our bluff, our boldness, have earned us a reprieve. Prepare yourselves, brothers, for once I¡¯ve informed the king and Hilda arrives, this forest will truly be ours!" A murmur of approval ripples through my warriors, their weapons glinting softly in the fading light. We still have much to do.