The orc leaned back, his expression grew more serious as he pondered why the King of Elves needed information about the Elven dust.
Was it the same dust that had condemned him to death? And why on earth was this bastard still alive in the first place?
These thoughts raced through his mind as he stared at Arnar, feeling himself grow bigger, like a towering giant in the presence of the elf king.
"The dust was made by one of your wives, hundreds of years ago. Which one? I don't know," the orc confessed, his voice tinged with relief. "But you can find them in the mountain of Argus."
He emphasized his warning, adding, "But I would advise you not to go there. The mountain is infested with demons, and nobody who ventures there ever returns."
Arnar's eyes narrowed, a deadly glint was flowing within him. "I will make sure those demons welcome me with open arms," he declared.
With a swift motion, he stood up from his seat, his glance shifted to the orc again who had been leering at Eira's form.
"Enjoy the gazing, for it will be the last time you feast your eyes on a woman if I find your information to be false," Arnar warne him, laced with a dangerous edge.
He turned to Eira, his eyes silently conveyed his instructions.
She understood immediately, and with a single movement of her finger, she whispered, "Sireni..."
A wind-like rope materialized, coiling tightly around the orc's thick neck, cutting off his air supply.
"Eeukh!" The pressure intensified, piercing through the orc's resilient skin, and purple blood spurted from the wound.
Eira held the grip with playful defiance, a smirk danced on her lips. "Let this be a warning to you, chef," Arnar taunted, reveling in the power she wielded.
His lasts words were spoke. with a calm authority as they both walked out of the room, leaving the orc gasping for breath as purple blood dripped onto the desk.
"I won't forget this, you son of a bitch," the orc managed to rasp, only with words that meant hatred and a vow for revenge.
Arnar and Eira continued walking, knowing that the path ahead would be treacherous.
They were prepared to face demons and danger, fueled by a relentless determination to uncover the truth and restore their kingdom.
Little did they know that the secrets hidden within the mountain of Argus would test their resolve and push them to the very limits of their strength and courage.
As Arnar and Eira left the orc village behind, they found themselves walking along a desolate path.
Eira couldn't help but voice her curiosity, her eyes fixated on her husband. "Arnar, why do you need the dust? Aren't you afraid it could kill you once again?"
Arnar's gaze met hers, his face turned serious as he spoke.
"The dust was created specifically to target the king. And the previous king had a weakness that has been passed down to me. I need to understand what the dust is made of, to unravel my vulnerability in case those treacherous individuals decide to employ the same strategy."
Eira stood beside him, her eyes filled with newfound information.
"So, you are seeking to overcome your weakness?" She raised an eyebrow, her voice had a hint of mischief. "Yes, precisely," Arnar affirmed, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
Eira's eagerness to discover her own weaknesses resonated with him, finding her determination endearing.
"I want to know my weaknesses as well, so I can stand strong against anyone who dares to challenge me."
A sense of camaraderie enveloped them as they kept on walking, walking side by side. Eventually, they reached a town that appeared eerily abandoned.
With their gowns concealing their elven features, Arnar stood tall at 6.6 feet, casting a commanding presence.
Approaching a lone figure, he requested a room, emphasizing that even elves tire and require rest.
The person, initially startled by their unexpected presence, nodded hesitantly and led them to a modest room.
As they entered the modest room, Arnar's eyes fell upon the single bed that seemed barely large enough for one person.
Eira, with a hint of resignation in her voice, suggested, "I will sleep on the floor, Arnar."
Arnar, however, quickly rose from the bed, he looked at his wife. "No, you will not," he declared firmly. "You will sleep on me instead."
Eira's eyes widened in surprise at his unexpected statement.
Her cheeks got redder from embarrassment and intrigue. She glanced down at the floor, hesitating for a moment before meeting his gaze again. "Are you sure?" she asked, while whispering.
A mischievous smile curved Arnar's lips as he closed the distance between them.
He gently lifted her chin, his eyes locked with hers. "I am more than sure," he replied, his tone having a warm, tender determination.
Feeling uncertainty and anticipation, Eira slowly nodded, allowing herself to be guided by Arnar's desire.
She trusted him completely, and the intimacy of sharing a bed with him awakened a sense of vulnerability and closeness she hadn't experienced before.
Arnar settled back onto the bed, his body positioned comfortably against the pillows. He extended his arm, inviting Eira to join him. Hesitant but willing, she carefully climbed onto the bed, her body molded against his, her head was gently resting on his chest.
As they lay together, Arnar's arm wrapped protectively around her, creating a cocoon of warmth and security.
Eira could feel his steady heartbeat beneath her ear, a soothing rhythm that eased her restless thoughts.
The weight of their shared life and the upcoming challenges ahead seemed to momentarily fade away in this intimate moment.
In the quiet of the room, illuminated only by the soft glow of the moon peeking through the window, Arnar and Eira found solace in each other's presence.
"…Eira."