Chapter 3 - Ghosts of Old Men in Robes

Three. Two. No, there's more. Shards of magic rupture against the quickening incantations coming from the delicate mouth of the fiery haired halfling. Again and again, a flurry of glass-like confetti disperses in mid-air for only a brief moment, before fading into oblivion.

For every of her undoing, she could feel her consciousness sprint off into the dark. Yet, she held on, ignoring the sense of unease of whatever they'd have to face inside the fortress after she was done with its ancient defences. Even under her own fatigue, she couldn't help but feel a sense of approval to whoever set up these protective enchantments. They were stubborn, those old Archmages.

And with all the trouble that those ghosts of the past had prepared for any invaders, they were doing a job well done from beyond their graves. However, that only made Namiah want to break all of these magical barriers with even more force of her own. There was something 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 valuable inside to which they only preserved this fortress for.

Either it be knowledge of the ancients or a hidden keep filled to the brim with treasures of all kinds. The two will never know, unless they make it inside. As of now, the halfling only felt it calling for her: 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 and 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 or maybe it was just her own exhaustion catching up to her.

They were closer to the metal doors of the fortress that it would've only taken four steps to reach it. Three more had given way, the remnants of magic coating bits of their scalp like dust then fading away as if it never existed.

Namiah was panting now. Bent over, hands on her knees as she fought to keep herself upright. Halgar came to her aid with a single swoop of his hand wrapping around her abdomen, he caught her just in time from face planting towards jagged cobblestone.

"That's enough," he whispers almost too affectionately, then gently settles her down into a sitting position on the ground. He unties his own waterskin from the belt around his breeches and hands it over to the redhead who takes it gratefully. She drinks the freshwater in long gulps, a few drops escape into a landslide down her chin. Halgar crouches beside her, adjusting the straps of his rucksack around his shoulders.

"You shouldn't push yourself so hard and I should've--"

"Should've what?" the halfling intersects him with a narrowed stare. "I know you're worried about me, but if you keep coddling me like a helpless child, I won't be able to do what I do."

She hands back the leather pouch, without a single glance thrown at his way. "I'm fine Hal, truly!"

The lad only frowns, biting the insides of his cheek to prevent himself from starting another dispute with his stubborn companion. Latching his waterskin back onto his waist, he watches the halfling from the sidelines. Her scarlet brows furrow back into concentration and her lips move again into rhythm to her repetitive incantation. Her hands hover over the surface of the last defence standing between them and their objective.

Another glistening rain of magic falls upon them like the first drizzle of snow, then melts away without any resistance. This was it! Namiah heaves out her relief with Halgar at her side, a half-arsed smile dashing his usually brooding expression.

"That was a pain in the arse!" the halfling groans, stretching her arms above her to loosen the stiffness in her shoulders. "Good thing the spell has already rotted at its core, just needed a lil' push to bring it all down."

"Aye, I'm just glad that you're still standing," Halgar states lightly, trying to impede on the rising criticism climbing up his throat. Him, out of all people, knew it took more than a '𝘭𝘪𝘭' 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩', though he knew better than to express his concerns. "Good work, partner."

It took her a couple of seconds to reel back from her daze to realize the warm hand that ruffled her scalp. Before she could even protest, that hand was already gone and she was left to stare at the broad back of her traveling companion. A bit flustered from the praise and his childlike gesture, she caught up to him at the smooth treads at the front of the metal doors of the undisturbed fortress. Something tug at her chest, only for her to bury it with a question towards the wiry lad next to her: "What do you think these dead mages were trying to protect?"

Halgar stares at the metal entrance, studded with refined paeastones radiating its ethereal white glow, half contemplating an answer to his halfling friend while simultaneously inspecting for traps or any other magical hindrances.

"Mages don't exactly care much for material things, perhaps…" The lad pauses for a moment, glancing at the halfling with an unusual drawn look to his steady appearance, "Maybe they were trying to keep something in, instead of out."

𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦. That statement may hold more truth much to the halfling's chagrin even if his thoughts didn't align with her speculations. There was a glimpse of a face that she'd caught moments ago in the corner of her eye from a tower window. If it weren't for the gentle swaying of its curtains, she could've passed it off as a simple misconception from the dark and the paeastone's light glinting off the glass.

"You might be right on that." She crosses her arms over her chest, taking wary glances at the windows of the fortress. "Hal, I think there's actually something in there though."

"What do you mean?" he asks, not really paying much attention to her fidgeting and instead wholly focused on testing the brass handles of the massive entrance.

Namiah hesitates to answer as she subtly scans their surroundings in search of another possible entity lurking in the dark crevices of the fortress' exterior. "Just that, I saw somethin', a face at one of the windows up there." She points her chin at the impeccably built tower attached to the right side of the fortress like an upper limb.

"That wouldn't be possible." Halgar grips at the slender brass arm, the tension in the halfling's voice barely making a ripple against his fortitude. "Centuries underground in this miserable place, I don't think so. Whatever's in there shouldn't be breathing at this point."

𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. The thought of it should've been comforting, maybe it really was just a trick of the light or an apparition of the past. Yet, Namiah knew better than to trust her insensitive human companion with her instincts. "I hope you're right! But if your face gets mauled off by a beast from your skepticism, don't come cryin' to me for stitches."

Halgar side-eyes her with a glare, followed by a taut smile dimpling his boyish looks. "Fuck you," he says in the most endearing way possible for someone who's normally impassive by nature. Some may even think that he was professing an unadulterated confession of love. Only the redhead seems to induce that amount of warmth through his words and reciprocated with her kindness of gestures with a single finger.