Blood Immortal
Chapter Five

Scales of Ice

Taking hold of a rod-shaped branch on the ground, Xel’vakora waved his hand over the tip while mumbling a spell. Fire ignited on its end, partially lighting the way. At the same time, Frostwarm cast a powerful spell of his own, enchanting his scepter to be a source of light. Bats fluttered out of the cave, startling Aarian and his company.

The passage they were treading through was narrow with a stench of death. Trees’ roots hung from the cavernous ceiling, dust sporadically falling. Insects scuttled left to right, straying away from the lights produced by the wizard and necromancer. And ahead, where cracks formed along the concrete, lay yellow bones. Whether they belonged to Mor’vyi’dou or Quel’de’nai, no one knew. Gasping at the elven remains, Parla’vasa readied her bow.

“Calm yourself,” said Xel’vakora. “Those bones are old.”

“I don’t care if you’re right,” she said gruffly. “After what we just experienced, I want to be prepared for anything.”

“Fair enough,” said the dark elf, continuing to be a guide.

Upon reaching a corner in the jagged tunnel, they turned left and walked through a much wider path. Stalactite hung above, water drops occasionally dripping. Liverwort and ferns grew between cracks. There were also several webs along the pathway. They didn’t disturb the dark elf who led the way. Dargain, however, resentfully tore them down. Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ FindNʘᴠᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Exploring the dim passage, they eventually heard a trickle of water. Although they could still smell rotten flesh, it wasn’t as bad as when they’d first entered the cave. Not a minute later, Aarian and his comrades came across a junction. The path on the left, however, was filled with boulders. The ceiling had apparently collapsed long ago, thought Aarian. With no other choice, Xel’vakora entered the other corridor where a stream flowed.

“Must we enter the water?” asked Aarian.

“Oh, are you afraid of that too?” scowled Parla’vasa. “You could always turn back and wait for more demons.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” she said firmly.

“Yes, we must go into the water,” answered the dark elf, no longer amused by their petty quarrel. “Tor’kales is an ancient place that’s been abandoned for many decades now. Sometimes the tunnels are flooded when there is a storm.”

“In that case,” began Frostwarm, remembering the abnormal weather prior to the prince’s wedding day, “we need to expect the worst flood yet. Tread carefully.”

The band of survivors carefully stepped into the water. Though it flowed serenely at first, the deeper they traveled into the cave, the livelier it became. The stream also rose, as Xel’vakora had predicted. Frostwarm slowed his pace, attempting to balance himself against the current and slippery rocks on which moss grew.

With the water rising fast, the survivors sheathed their weapons and realized the tunnel wasn’t just flooded; they were descending down some kind of elf-made trail—at least that was Aarian’s conclusion as he warily strode forward. When the water reached his waist, however, he stopped.

“Wha’t n’ow?” dribbled Olwe, the water at his neck.

“It appears to be a dead end,” said Dargain.

“This is not a dead end,” said the dark elf. “Quel’de’nai ruins lay beyond this point. Alas, they’ve been swallowed by the torrential storm that took place last night. We must go under and swim.”

“U’cleria, have mercy,” said Frostwarm, his voice cracking.

“Wait a minute,” said Aarian. “Master Dargain, Olwe, and I are wearing armor. We’ll drown if we swim. Shouldn’t we turn back and try to find another way?”

“There is no other way!” exclaimed Parla’vasa.

With the exception of the flowing current, silence descended upon them. Olwe and the Vlydyonians stared at the elven princess, surprised at her behavior. Even the dark elf appeared startled by her attitude.

“Don’t you dare look at me like that,” she continued. “I have sacrificed too much to turn back simply because of his wretched fear.”

Noticing her fingers shaking, Aarian, his eyes downcast, glanced at the murky water and then looked back at her. “I have failed my kingdom,” he said. “I have failed my parents, my best friend Scar, my beloved Belisa, and you. However, akin to Xel’vakora, I, too, deserve a second chance. I may not be the man you’ve always dreamed of—yes I’m scared and don’t know how to handle situations like these. But, like you, I’m trying.” He took a deep breath and went on, “All I ask is that you give me a chance.”

Parla’vasa glared at him hardheartedly. “I’ve given you so many chances since you left me to die by the temple. I simply don’t trust or respect you anymore.”

“Princess,” gasped Frostwarm in a croaking tone. “This union is sacred. None of us were prepared for this. Surely you understand?”

“Of course,” she said considerately. “Yet you and your brother, as well as the dwarf, have fought admirably by my side. Aarian, on the other hand, has been screaming, crying, and running away like a child since the demonic incursion. I won’t tolerate this any further.”

“His name isn’t Aarian,” said Dargain. “His name is Prince Aarian.”

“Spirits, help me,” she said aloud, sighing. “He is no husband of mine and most certainly no prince of mine.”

“The el’ven prin’cess is a fei’sty one,” whispered Olwe to Dargain.

Aarian began, “I think I’ve had about enou—”

“As much as this is amusing me,” intervened Xel’vakora, “the demons aren’t going to sit and wait for this trivial debate to end. Even now the hell rift is expanding in Fal’shar. We need to move.”

“What is Fal’shar?” asked Aarian.

“The citadel and home of Saldovin Keldoran,” answered Frostwarm, tiredly walking past the prince. “Despite how all of you feel, Xel’vakora is correct. We must make haste if we are to defeat the leader of the Mor’vyi’dou and seal the hell rift.” He turned to Aarian and said, “As for your armor dilemma,”—He waved his scepter over the prince, his brother, and Olwe, a sprinkle of light in the shape of feathers brushing over them—“How does that feel?”

“Much better,” said Aarian, smiling.

Parla’vasa rolled her eyes at him.

“Incredible as always, brother,” said Dargain.

“Khordalam be prai’sed,” said Olwe, stunned. “If on’ly I cou’ld always forge ar’mor th’is ligh’t.”

“You’re still the best blacksmith in the world, Olwe,” said Dargain.

“Aye, ya don’t hav’ ta tell me tha’t,” he said, guffawing. “My bla’des ‘n ste’el armor ar’ the fin’est cre’a’tion since the Nine be’came im’mortal.”

“Tch,” uttered Parla’vasa. “Dwarves...”

“All right,” began Aarian to the dark elf, “lead the way.”

Nodding at the prince, Xel’vakora waded through the rising water. Then, at what looked like a dead end, he plunged into the flooded trail and swam downward. Shortly after, the others joined him. Together they propelled into the cavernous depths of Tor’kales. With the dark elf’s torch getting wet, the only light they had came from Frostwarm’s scepter. He made it brighter, helping his companions see ahead.

Aarian noticed cracked statues of Quel’de’nai wielding bows and curved swords. Some elves were accompanied by tiny pixies on their shoulders. Seeing the pixies’ wings reminded him of Scar. If his parents died during the demonic invasion, as horrible of a thought as this was, he’d be able to live with it. He couldn’t, however, bear the thought of an innocent animal—who happened to be his best friend—being a victim to this nightmare.

Even though he was in dismay, he refused to cry again. No, not any more, Aarian thought to himself. He was done being a child. Master Dargain and the others needed him now more than ever, and so he tightened up, his countenance strong, and swam with purpose; a purpose to defeat Saldovin Keldoran, seal the hell rift, and restore Vlydyn.

Not more than two minutes of going deeper, the sextet had no choice but to swim back up to the passage’s surface to get air. Yet when they reached it, only a few inches of breathing space remained.

“Th’is can’t git any bloody wor’se,” said Olwe, gasping.

“Brother,” called out Dargain, wheezing heavily, “is there any chance you can provide us with a breathing spell?”

“I am not a fountain of mana, Dargain,” said Frostwarm, trying to catch his breath. “As it is, this spell of light is draining me. Mind you, not more than an hour ago I unleashed everything I had to weaken that demon in Grisfall.”

“I understand,” he replied calmly. “I just hope this doesn’t get worse.”

“Believe me when I tell you that you’d better count on this getting worse, humyn,” said Xel’vakora, dipping himself back into the murky water.

“He’s guiding us into a trap!” said Parla’vasa.

“Dark elves aren’t raised to make you feel safe, princess,” said Aarian, not caring that she was giving him a long look of death. “Right now there’s no one else who can help us. There’s no time to doubt; we simply need to follow him. And if he’s in fact leading us into a terrible trap, as you claim, then we’ll deal with his treachery when the time comes.”

“I couldn’t have said it better, Prince Aarian,” said Dargain proudly.

She snorted at Aarian and then thrust herself underwater, bitterly following the dark elf. Dargain patted the prince on his shoulder, making him feel slightly more confident in his ability to make decisions.

Getting their breath back, they returned underwater and caught up with Xel’vakora who swam swiftly through the flooded trail that eventually led him and his followers to a gargantuan chamber of Quel’de’nai ruins. They could see the sunken kingdom clearly—moonstone citadels, many of which stood slanted, crystal staircases, moss-covered bridges, broken statues made of marble, and silvery walkways accompanied by arches. Although weathered, the remaining walls of the abandoned city depicted elven hieroglyphics.

Aarian accidently swallowed some water, mystified by what he saw. Upon choking, Magi Frostwarm aimed his golden rod at him and cast a weak spell on him. Not more than six seconds passing, Aarian grew gills. He nodded with gratitude at the frail wizard and continued swimming while taking in the forgotten sights of Tor’kales.

The rest of the group desperately needed air. Yet the surface was too far up. Xel’vakora grimaced, having no choice but to slit his forearm using a dagger. Etching a wavy symbol of Lólindir on his skin, he spoke an incantation within his mind, his eyes briefly gleaming blue. Then he, along with his followers, grew gills. While the others were relieved to be breathing underwater, Frostwarm felt disturbed that he was being kept alive by black magic. Parla’vasa also didn’t feel right even though the dark elf had called out to the Spirit of water. The distressed duo nevertheless put their troubled feelings aside, following the dark elf.

After swimming between twin moonstone shrines, Xel’vakora spotted a flicker of natural light above and propelled himself upward. The quintet pursued him. Though much darker in this cavernous chamber, the magical glow produced by Frostwarm’s golden rod still allowed Aarian to see far. By chance, he glanced down to see if he could determine how deep the elven kingdom had sank. When he looked, however, he no longer cared. His eyes widened, fixed on something squirming at least a mile or two below. He instantaneously whimpered, bubbles rising from his mouth.

While gurgling, Aarian was able to see the moving object better. It wasn’t squirming; to be more precise, it was slithering. Staring at the scaly monstrosity, the prince wondered if this thing was a figment of his imagination or as real as he. His companions ignored him, thinking he was simply complaining about the gills dissipating. Upon reaching the surface, Aarian burst out of the water screaming:

“Monster!”

The others, who had already climbed up vines attached to a moss-covered bridge, looked at one another disappointingly. Just when they’d thought the prince had finally stopped moping or being frightened by his own shadow, he started whining again. Their faces became sullen, including the dark elf who barely knew him. Dargain, as usual, reached out and gave him a helping hand.

“What monster?” he asked wearily.

“Down there,” replied Aarian, pointing below. He saw a tower at the end of the bridge, inside which stood a spiral staircase, and ran toward it as he went on, “We need to get on higher ground now.”

Just then, water burst upward, gushing onto the bridge. Like a ray of blue heavenly light, wings expanding, the creature flew into the air with an ear-shattering roar. Its spiky tail twirled, walloping a wall on its left, causing it to collapse. The sextet, mostly slack-jawed, gazed at the scaly beast that ruled the forgotten realm of Tor’kales in disbelief.

“Take cover!” shouted Xel’vakora.

“Lólindir’s breath, it’s a water dragon,” gasped Frostwarm, readying his staff and trying to muster whatever magical energy was left within him.

Barely avoiding the falling moonstones, Aarian ran to the tower’s entry. Unsheathing his sword and shield, he reached the spiral staircase he’d spotted a moment ago and went up as fast as he could. Upon reaching an arched window where the wall had partially crumbled, the dragon approached and breathed frost onto him. He swiftly raised his shield, blocking the icy attack. His already damaged shield, however, grew rime and cracked. Aarian frowned, vertically hurling his shield at the jaw of the flying dragon. It shattered upon impact, enraging the beast of flight that flew straight toward him. Frightened by this, he hurriedly scaled the steps. Yet when he did so, the dragon crashed into the tower, causing it to fall apart.

“Prince Aarian!” bellowed Dargain, alarmed.

He froze, watching the prince unconsciously fall into the murky water. Not a moment later, Dargain dived in and pulled Aarian to safety. In the meantime, Frostwarm enchanted Parla’vasa’s arrows, allowing her to launch fiery bodkins at the dragon. At first they tickled the creature. After one piercing its teal chest, however, it screeched and gave out a thunderous roar, fixing its eyes on her.

“Get behind me, princess,” said Frostwarm frailly, raising his staff at the approaching dragon that hurled a sphere of frost at him. “Tei’ven’dis mor’de’kalas!” he firmly announced to the air, a wall of flame manifesting in front of him and melting the icy orb. His wrinkled face grew paler than ever as he slammed his staff on the concrete and continued, “Wy’deh hei-mei la’kala dus!”

At that precise moment, a powerful gust of wind brought the dragon to the ground. It gave out a deafening bawl as it crashed down, its body crushing a part of the mossy bridge. As soon as it landed, Olwe emerged from the shadows, unsheathed his spare axe, and plunged it into the dragon’s tail. Parla’vasa continued to shoot arrows at it while Xel’vakora leapt onto its back, slicing one of its wings with his double-bladed scimitar. Dargain, meanwhile, laid the prince in a corner inside a shrine. After doing so, he unsheathed his swords and joined the battle, striking the beast’s icy scales on which magical glyphs of rime shone.

“Return to the depths from which you came, dragon!” commanded Frostwarm, his eyes seething with fire as a red aura enveloped him. “Jih-hen fra—”

Before the wizard could finish casting an incineration spell, the beast rose on its feet and struck him with its giant claws. Silence fell for a moment, punctured only by a whispering croak from the wizard whose flesh gushed open with blood. Then he became soundless, his split body sliding apart.

“Spirits!” gasped Parla’vasa, feeling the urge to vomit after seeing what had become of Frostwarm.

“Brother!” cried out Dargain.

In the blink of an eye, the dragon swiped its tail at Dargain, fracturing his breastplate. Groaning in tremendous pain, he flew into the tower and smashed through a wall. Dust and crumbled moonstone littered his body as he lay unconscious on the remaining staircase of the toppled tower. After dealing with him, the vehement dragon performed a movement akin to bucking until Xel’vakora lost his grip, thrown into the cold water. It then spread its wings and, despite one of them being torn, soared back in the air.

Olwe and the princess hid when the dragon repeatedly whacked the jagged ceiling with its wounded tail, stalactite falling. Then the beast swiftly descended, breathing frost at the dark elf. Grumbling with hatred, Xel’vakora climbed up a vine just before the icy breath reached him. A chill ran up his spine when he saw that a portion of the water had froze beneath him. Realizing that he’d narrowly escaped death, he wheezed and joined Olwe and Parla’vasa in hiding.

The dragon took off, roaring. Its ear-piercing bellow awoke Aarian who found himself alone in a roofless shrine. Fortunately for him, the dragon hadn’t spotted him yet, otherwise he would’ve been dead already. He got to his feet and peeked out of the doorway, trying to locate the beast and his comrades. By chance he saw Frostwarm’s remains.

“Impossible,” he muttered, his face as pale as the lich inside Jerelaith’s crypt.

Never did he think Frostwarm could be killed. Such a gruesome death prevented him to mourn. He instinctively stepped back. Yet he stopped short of it, aware of his fear. This parasite would always latch onto him if he didn’t do something about it now. Too many people had died because of his dread. But no longer would he allow fear to relentlessly consume him. It was time for him to be a prince and protect his people, including elves and dwarves.

He peeked out again, hearing only the dragon’s continuous roar. Leaving the shrine, he sprinted across one of the few bridges that remained intact and entered what appeared to be an armory. Many of the weapons here had grown dull over time, and most of the armor either had cracks or looked as though they would disintegrate upon being touched. There was one set of equipment, however, that glinted anew—a hunter-green moonstone suit of armor, accompanied by a shield of the same material and a crystal sword.

“That’s more like it,” he said to himself.

Feeling a spark of hope, he replaced his cracked Vlydyonian armor with the elven one and brandished his new glossy sword and embossed shield that depicted the gorgeous, immortal face of Daela’han. He then exited the armory and, upon seeing the enraged dragon flying near the spire of another tower, charged toward it. Entering the dilapidated structure, he scaled the spiral staircase.

Upon traveling midway up, he found a doorway leading outside. Aarian caught his breath and went through. Stepping onto a balcony, he approached its balustrade while trying to spot the water dragon. Instead he noticed that the ceiling wasn’t completely concealed; he saw a ravine. It was far too narrow for the beast to escape but had just enough space for him and his comrades to climb. When he realized this, however, a massive shadow appeared over his. Gulping heavily, he raised his shield and turned around, at which point the vehement dragon swooped down, blasting him with its icy breath.

Rolling aside while shielding himself, Aarian promptly got to his feet and sliced one of its scaly limbs with his crystal sword. The beast gave out a yelp as it landed sidelong, crushing a part of the balustrade. Aarian stood opposite it, his shield lifted high. By chance Parla’vasa saw Aarian confronting the dragon, her eyes widening in disbelief, and nudged Olwe, pointing at the five-hundred-feet high balcony.

“I’ll be da’mned,” said Olwe, clutching his battleaxe. “The hu’myn prin’ce is wor’th some’thin’ after all.”

“We need to do something,” she said.

“Leave it to me,” said the dark elf, appearing from the shadows. He unsheathed a dagger, etching a magical rune into his scrawny chest. The blood dripping from his self-inflicted wound glowed as he commanded, “Rise up and defend your princess, Quel’de’nai!”

Scouting the area frantically, Parla’vasa sulked and asked, “What kind of heinous spell have you cast now?”

“One that may very well save our lives,” he said callously.

In the meantime, Aarian continued to swipe his sword at the dragon. It attempted to sink its razor-sharp teeth into him; however, with the blade piercing its scaly jaws, it withdrew by two feet and yelped. Aarian advanced, keeping his guard up. When he was ready to strike again, the dragon walloped the tower’s wall with its tail. Pieces of moonstone crumpled down, some falling toward Aarian who raised his shield high. One of the larger bricks smashed against his embossed shield, not only damaging the design but forcing him to the floor. Struggling to get on his feet, he saw it reaching out with its claw, ready to split him in half as it did with Frostwarm.

Two inches away from tearing Aarian apart, arrows pierced its scales. The dragon roared monstrously, turning its horned head and glaring at dozens of undead Quel’de’nai archers. They were scattered throughout the sunken kingdom, some on towers’ balconies and others along the silvery walkways and mossy bridges. While a few of them still had rotten flesh attached to their bones, the majority of them were simply skeletons in armor. While exhaling hoarfrost-colored fire from its mouth and blasting undead archers apart, Aarian managed to stand up and charged toward the beast. From the corner of its eye, it saw him approach and spread its wings, trying to whack him off the terrace.

Ducking past the tattered wing, he grimaced and stood up, sinking his sword into the dragon’s throat.

“This is for Magi Frostwarm!” he bellowed.

Ice-cold blood poured down its chest as it screeched and yelped in agony. Twisting and turning in frenzy and swiping its giant claws blindly at the prince, it toppled over the remaining balustrade and fell to its death. Aarian heard a tremendous splash and gazed down, watching the dragon sink into the forgotten depths of Tor’kales.

Breathing with relief, he turned away from the icy water and spotted a few Quel’de’nai archers standing still. Shortly after, they crumbled apart. Aarian realized that those undead elves must have been conjured by Xel’vakora’s magic. The dark arts, he thought, weren’t so bad after all. Like all things in life, the danger lied with extremes, he conceded. About to leave the ruined balcony, he unexpectedly heard the princess shouting.

“Aarian!” she said excitedly, waving her hands at him. “You did it! You actually killed the dragon!”

“With my help, of course,” the dark elf said to her.

“Ne’ver knew th’ose buggers still ex’isted in Vlydyn,” said Olwe, scrubbing his massive beard with one hand while leaning an axe on his shoulder with the other.

Ignoring his comment, Parla’vasa rushed over to the prince when he descended down the tower. Aarian, fatigued, exited the building, finding himself embraced by the princess. This was the first time she’d ever shown him affection. Though an uplifting feeling, his heart raced while looking ahead, only spotting the dark elf and dwarf.

“Where is Master Dargain?” he asked direly.

Backing away, Parla’vasa glanced at a partially destroyed tower. Her pink eyes downcast, she didn’t say anything. But her silence was enough. Without hesitation, Aarian ran to the ruined building and scaled the stairs until he located his mentor.

“Master Dargain!” he called out, pulling bricks away. “Master Dargain!”

His mentor did not reply. Frightened, he continued to lift and throw aside every splintered stone and wiped as much dust off him as he could. Olwe and Xel’vakora eventually approached and helped him. Finally clearing all the debris off him, Aarian shook him and called out once more:

“Master Dargain!”

“It’s no use, laddie,” said Olwe. “The dra’gon hit ’im har’d wi’th its t’ail. If he’s st’ill ali’ve, it’ll at leas’t ta’ke a d’ay or t’wo fer ’im ta wa’ke up.”

Aarian groaned, struggling to carry Dargain down the steps.

“Please,” began Xel’vakora, “allow me to help.” He lifted Dargain over his shoulders and went down the stairs. “I’ll make sure he lives.”

“Thank you,” responded Aarian, following him. “By the way…I noticed a ravine above the elven spire across from us. If we can somehow reach the stalactite, we may be able to climb through the gorge and get to the surface.”

“I’m afraid that wouldn’t help,” said Xel’vakora, exiting the building and passing by the worried princess without so much as a glimpse. “You see, centuries ago this kingdom had been built within nature. When the Quel’de’nai abandoned Grisfall, my people took possession of the forest. Saldovin, loathing high elves, cursed this city, making sure it would never rise again and see daylight. It was then struck by a landslide from the southern mountains.” He entered an elven shrine and laid Dargain down as he went on, “Apparently, the city was devoured by rocks until it became a mountain of its own.”

“And what does this have to do with us escaping above?” asked Aarian, an incredulous expression forming on his face.

The dark elf exhaled deeply and said, “If we even managed to somehow climb up through that ravine, we’d only end up on the peak of the mountain. The point of entering Tor’kales was to pass through it, not climb it.”

“But it’s been completely flooded,” said Parla’vasa angrily. “Where else are we supposed to go?”

“If the mountain was completely flooded, we’d have already drowned by now,” answered the dark elf, cutting his palm with a dagger. “Now that we are already on higher ground, we need only pass through this kingdom and keep traveling through the mountain’s cave till we reach the other side.”

Parla’vasa snorted, leaving the shrine.

In the meantime, Aarian and Olwe watched Xel’vakora etch a glyph into the palm of his hand, which was a serrated circle with an upside-down triangle inside. When seeing the elf start to mimic the glyph on Dargain’s palm, however, Aarian aggressively approached.

“What in Khordalam’s name are you doing?” he asked.

“Sacrifices are always needed in order to use black magic,” said Xel’vakora. “Watch and learn, and perhaps one day such power can help you defend those whom you love.”

Trying to compose himself, Aarian continued to watch the dark elf work his magic. When the rune was fully etched on Dargain’s hand, Xel’vakora joined palms with him, and their blood glowed. Shortly after, Xel’vakora gasped in pain while some of his life-force transferred over to Dargain who still lay unconscious. The two observers witnessed Xel’vakora grow pale, his body becoming a bit gaunt as Dargain’s bruises vanished.

“Some’times I bloody h’ate ma’gic,” said Olwe, his grimy face aghast.

Aarian agreed, watching his mentor’s hand heal. “What was the point of harming Master Dargain if in the end you wanted to restore his health?” he asked, astounded.

“I already told you,” began Xel’vakora, “sacrifices are always needed when using black magic.” He wheezed until his skin darkened to its natural pigment, his body no longer looking malnourished. “I advise us to rest until he awakens.”

“Here?” asked Aarian, taken aback.

“The dragon is dead,” said Xel’vakora. “There is no harm taking refuge in this shrine. If we progress, we might be attacked by something else lurking within Tor’kales and risk Dargain being harmed.”

“Aye,” said Olwe, settling down in a corner.

For reasons unknown, Aarian wanted to attack the dark elf and leave this wretched place with Dargain on his back even if it meant him traveling slowly. Breathing heavily, he knew deep down inside that anger had gotten the better of him. Listening to reason, Aarian nodded and left the shrine.

He wanted to bury Frostwarm but noticed that the bridge where his remains were on had apparently crumbled into the water when the dragon fell—it was no longer there. Frustrated, the prince stood by the edge of a walkway, teary eyed, staring at the blue depths. Somewhere in the flooded kingdom drifted the remains of the greatest wizard he’d ever known. It was thanks to Frostwarm that he’d been given a narll, his best friend. Now he had no idea if that narll was even alive. Scar was probably dead too, he miserably concluded. Then the only warm thought he had since the demonic attack crossed his mind: at least Scar wouldn’t have to suffer like him. Being alive became a nightmare to Aarian; but he wasn’t about to give up.

“No,” he muttered to himself, tightening his fists. “By the Nine, I won’t go down without a fight.”

“Are you all right?” asked Parla’vasa, approaching him.

“Huh?” responded Aarian, startled. He faced the princess and said, “Sorry, I was just thinking aloud.”

“Thinking about what?”

Turning back to the water, he answered, “Saldovin isn’t getting away with this. Even if it is my destiny to die, I’ll make sure he never forgets me.”

“I see,” she said. “What do you intend to do now?”

“We desperately need to get some rest,” he said. “But our quest remains the same: to put a swift end to Keldoran’s lunacy. As soon as Master Dargain recovers, we’ll leave this place and continue making our way to Fal’shar.”

“I’m proud of you,” she said abruptly.

“Don’t be proud of me yet,” he said, trying his best not to blush. “Please get some sleep, Princess Parla’vasa. This may be the only chance we have to rest.”

“Agreed,” she said, finding a place to sit.

Returning to the ramshackle shrine where the others were, Aarian decided to stay beside his mentor. Checking on Dargain and not finding any signs of wounds, he felt relieved. Then he found himself drained, his body ready to collapse. So much had happened in a week, he thought to himself. Yet despite the horrible tragedies he experienced earlier, he felt that he’d finally made a difference fighting the water dragon. He was still so far from gaining a soul, if ever, but before closing his eyes to sleep, he vowed to do his best to redeem himself and his fallen kingdom until his death.

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