As the enemy advanced, they all abruptly stopped, reaching up to touch their chests, their expressions shifting to one of shock. In that same instant, the sticky sensation restraining Oliver's limbs vanished, and the ground beneath him, which had turned to swamp, reverted to solid soil. With a single pull, he was free.
The barriers and shields surrounding his opponents dissipated just as suddenly. The shift was so unexpected that Oliver could hardly believe it.
Without hesitation, he pivoted and sprinted away, watching them from the corner of his eye. He noticed fragments spilling from their chests, shards of shattered stones. The elves wore expressions of utter confusion, clearly still grappling to understand what had just occurred.
Once he was hidden within a dense cluster of trees, he looked back. The elves were casting puzzled glances at one another, emptying their chests of fragmented stones, still unsure what had gone wrong. Realizing that Oliver had escaped, they began moving quickly in the opposite direction.
He weighed his options: should he continue his mission to confirm which nearby villages would offer support, or should he follow the elves and try to learn more about their base? The opportunity was too good to pass up, and with no injuries holding him back, he decided to make the most of it.
—
Back in the lab, the old man's face remained calm, but his back was damp with sweat. Beneath his steady expression, he was shaken. Although the stone's defense should have been impenetrable, he couldn't shake the anxiety gnawing at him, like standing inches from a blast with only a flimsy, nearly transparent sheet for protection.
The lab was a disaster zone. Walls were cracked, debris and dirt scattered across the floor, and precious documents smoldered in the wake of the recent explosions. Liquids of strange colors oozed from broken containers, filling the air with an unpleasant odor, while researchers scrambled, their despair evident as they watched their work literally go up in smoke.
Yet the newly awakened figure showed no signs of stopping, as stubborn as a child defying reason. The old man sighed inwardly, realizing the cleanup would be monumental.
As he continued to fend off the relentless barrage, he thought of the researchers who had no means of defending themselves. Their survival was paramount; any loss would be irreversible to their work. Even as he struggled to hold the defense, he noticed some researchers watching the attacker with a disturbing curiosity, their fascination outweighing their fear.
—
After weaving through a maze of small trails, paths so winding that it could make even the most seasoned pursuer question if they'd been led astray, the elven group arrived at the base of a hill. To the untrained eye, there was no visible path up, just dense greenery and natural landscape.
But this was by design. The elves, as nature's children, had built their home without disturbing the environment, using the untouched appearance as a shield to conceal their location.
Once the group was well out of sight, Oliver rose from his hiding spot in the bushes and moved closer. The hill was unremarkable, surrounded by larger mountains that reached up to the clouds, effectively hiding it from view.
He took careful note of the location, committing every detail to memory. He knew he couldn't risk a closer look without being spotted by a hidden sentry. If they changed locations, finding them again would be nearly impossible, but he now held a precious advantage; a mark on the map of their hidden world.
Oliver knew he needed to mark his way back. The path was complex, winding through dense forest, and even his sharp memory might not be enough to retrace it perfectly.
So, he began subtly marking his route. He placed small stones on branches, carefully snapping a few thin twigs or cutting inconspicuous notches into trunks. Each mark was deliberate, designed to blend into the surroundings yet guide him back should he need it. He stepped back, eyeing his handiwork. It was enough, not obvious to others, nor likely to be wiped away by nature.
Now, it was time to head toward the elven village. He hoped the journey would be straightforward, but something in his gut told him to brace for complications. Still, he thought with a sigh, maybe he'd get lucky this time.
—
In the lab, the young test subject finally halted his attacks. Perhaps he'd hit his limit, or maybe he'd grown bored. Whatever the reason, he stopped, his gaze shifting curiously to other things in the room.
The old man sighed in relief, feeling as though he'd just escaped a burial by earth itself. He used the brief respite to glance at the young man who had started the trouble.
"So," the old man asked, his voice crackling with both relief and frustration, "why did you provoke him?"
The young man looked down, refusing to answer.
The old man clenched his fists, irritated. If this weren't a high-stakes experiment, he'd have reprimanded him long ago. Instead, he softened his tone. "Forget it. Go and rest."
The old man watched him leave, noticing the young man's hands clenched so tightly his nails dug into his skin. Whatever tension had brought him to provoke the subject clearly hadn't faded.
With one troublemaker gone, the old man approached the still-awakened subject, silently hoping to avoid further chaos.
"Is there anything you need?" he asked carefully.
The awakened figure slowly lifted his head, his gaze unfocused and unreadable. But he made no move, only watched the old man in silence.
—
Tom looked across the table at Aegnor, who was hunched over his work. "How's it coming along? When will this project of yours be done?" he asked.
Aegnor groaned, rubbing his temples. "Don't ask me. The last one was completely scrapped; now we're back to square one. Can't you send a few extra hands?"
But Tom shook his head. "I'm already stretched thin," he said. "And I'm not sending all my people out for some folklore hunt. We don't even know if the payoff is worth the risk."
Aegnor shrugged, understanding well enough. "Fine. I'll keep going and work as quickly as I can."
As Tom left, Aegnor took a moment to lean back and stretch. As he did, a silent elf swordsman emerged from the shadows behind him.
"Sometimes, I wish you'd talk," Aegnor muttered, casting a glance at his quiet companion. With a weary sigh, he tucked a small piece of torn paper from his notebook into his pocket, hidden from view.
—
It had been some time since that day. The armored warrior lingered by the place where his rusted sword was buried, staring at the earth with an expression drained of passion. Days passed in a blur, each one identical to the last, a dull echo of vengeance filling the void.
Something gnawed at him, though, something missing. Lately, he noticed a strange emptiness whenever he awoke or drifted off to sleep, a feeling that there had once been more than revenge on his mind, though he couldn't remember what.
Under the open sky, he lay back, eyes drifting over the vast blue expanse. A sense of confusion washed over him, the kind of feeling one gets from trying to remember a dream that slips away upon waking.