HUMANS, ALBION

  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—a 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.

  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—none 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—it’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. Kral their leader, is particularly unsettling. Tall and imposing, his brown eyes seem to pierce everything they land on.

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  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.”

  DWARVES

  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—this cataclysm—it 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—that dragon—to 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!”

  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.