The silver bolt descended like a serpent baring its fangs at Henry. He looked up just in time to have his vision filled with blinding silver light. There was no time to evade. Instinctively, his hand reached for his sword, and with a slash faster than the light itself, he struck the incoming bolt.
A deafening explosion echoed through the mountains, and a hole was torn in the clouds above them, allowing sunlight to pierce through and reach the gates of the dwarves' village for the first time in decades. Black purplish smoke enveloped the spot where Henry stood, obscuring him from view, his life or death unknown.
The dwarves watched the black mist with careless, stoic expressions, certain that Henry had been reduced to ashes. Yngvi looked at the black mist with an expressionless face, his hammer crackling with tiny lightning bolts slithering around it.
